Gendarme Time

Part of my post-operative therapy consists in strolling over to the lifeboat and giving the brass- and metal-work a good RNLI-style polish. Given that such obsessive-compulsive behaviour towards lifeboats seems to be a British but not French tradition, there is quite a lot of verdigris and tarnish to buff away. Still, it is a pleasant, open-air activity, with a free view of all the boats going in and out of the harbour, and often a friendly wave from their crews into the bargain.

Today's polishing session took place alongside the Gendarmerie's spring-cleaning of their veteran vedette, our neighbour in the berth, nearly thirty years old. The gendarmes of the sea patrol are a friendly and talkative bunch, with a nice line in wry humour. We are, of course, on kissing terms...

Naturally, a conversation started up, only interrupted on occasion by their stentorian shouts and threats when boats exceeded the speed-limit for the port. Their job in swabbing down the old tub was the nautical equivalent of washing a corpse. When I commiserated with them for the boat's vétusté, they just shrugged their shoulders and said that the craft would have to see them through their careers and probably that of the next wave of recruits. This could be explained, they said, by the fact that the plans for a replacement were well advanced, but took place necessarily in 'gendarme time', which is much slower than any other computation used in accountancy.

Put into gendarme time, then, the present boat is actually very new, despite its years, thus the absolute logic in not replacing it yet.