Je suis une cynique

Originally posted 12th March 2010

I'm just about up to the back teeth with this country. Cheating, lying, swindling politicians, potholes all over, rancid buildings à la '1960s USSR', ridiculous policing that's more bothered about car speeds than hooligans, gang culture, chavs, the benefits system, "asylum" seekers who give a bad name to those really in need of asylum, story after story of scandal and misbehaviour... and I get a letter from Bolton Council to say they won't backdate my council tax rebate because 'ignorance of the rebate isn't a good enough reason' for them to back-date it. I've paid into the system for all my life. I've worked since I was 11. My mother never claimed benefits, even when she could have done. I went to a private school on a scholarship, so I cost the tax payer nothing for my 11-18 education. I have grafted every single day of my adult life. I've paid 40% tax at some points in my life. And because I'd rather be self-employed than on incapacity benefit for my bipolar disorder, they'd rather not give me any money. I still haven't claimed a penny. I still pay council tax. And here I am, eating spaghetti with tinned tomatoes for my lunch because I can't afford anything better. Spaghetti and a tin of tomatoes will keep me going for 4 lunches for less than £2.00. It disgusts me. I can't afford to buy washing powder, or bleach, or conditioner for my hair. And yet I have worked every day of my adult life. I worked hard. I didn't claim benefits even when I could. And because of that, I'm being punished.

Not only that, I can't open a bank account because I'm self-employed and I've only got 1 tax year's summary because I've only submitted one set of accounts. I can't, therefore, get a job that needs a bank account. I'm still waiting for bank cards that I asked for 14 days ago, and yet my bank harasses me as soon as they think I might go overdrawn. Bankrupts are treated better than this. It's no wonder people declare themselves bankrupt. I'd be able to open a bank account if I'd just come out of prison, yet I can't because I'm self-employed. So... those on parole, those who can't manage their finances, those who are benefits' hounds, they're the ones who have privileges. If you've got credit, if you use catalogues and have cards, and store cards and HP and loans, then they'll lend you money. But not me.

I hate this country and how it treats its citizens. It's all about money. I earn enough to live (just!) and yet I still get slapped for tax and I pay my prescriptions, even though my drugs are cheaper than a prescription price, and I pay to see, because I need glasses, and I pay car tax, even though the roads are full of potholes. And my local council can go cap in hand to the government and get more cash. I can't. If I can't pay my bills, the bailiffs come round, not someone from the government with some more cash. I pay more than enough for my bank account, and they, more often than not, are responsible for pushing me over the edge when they slap on fees. £10.00 for 5 pages of bank statements exactly the same as the print-offs I had, but the bank I'm trying to deal with in France only accepts 'bank' copies, not mine, and so I pay, even though it probably cost a pound to print and post them. £217.00 to get from here to London on the train. £7.00 return from here to Bury on the bus. RIP-OFF Britain. And I've had enough.

It makes me sick.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article3338076.ece

We're being constantly spied-on and monitored, and The Matrix is alive and well, people, and we're living in it!

Today's news:

terror; strikes; terror & strikes; expenses scandals; Budget reports; Income Tax rises; NI rises; man has heart-attack after yobs bait him; pay rise for MPs & pay freeze for doctors; Falklands' rows; vanishing species of flowers; birds fall from the sky....

Now, of course, you and I are rational people. We know this is media spin. Bad News makes Good News. Good News makes Bad News. No-one likes to hear about animals being saved, or kind people, or how much we give to charity, but it's just beginning to get to me. I'm a nihilistic sort of person suffering from anomie. Marx and St Simon were right. I can't stand all this corporationism and globalization, despite its positives. Yes, I can be in touch with people at the touch of a button. Yes, the internet gives me reading and information and TV and it's great. What I don't like is all the negativity.

So... in a way, I'm looking forward to being a bit of a rural terrorist, living off the grid, without gas and a TV line. To some degree, not having a phone would be great too, for business. I'd dearly like to pay only the hospital bills I need to.

I'm just reading:

http://www.off-grid.net/2010/03/05/off-the-grid-and-the-prepared/

which asks us what we'd do if our electricity failed. I know, because Steve often forgets to top up the meter until the last minute. I know about living without a fridge - did it at uni. It's amazing how far you can get without a fridge, and with powdered milk! Not sure how far we'd get without a freezer in France, because I'm planning on freezing a lot of it. Pickling and drying, I guess!! Living without music... a little harder, though you can make your own. Living without light? Candles, fire, early nights. Living without TV. Not so hard at all. Living without the internet? Not so sure.

Maybe this blog is kind of spiritual in the sense of sharing with an unknown world. My words are out there, even if no-one's reading them.

So... a moneyless existence, by and large. How ridiculous I was thinking of getting a horse, yesterday, because along with my bike, I'd need only public transport for longer journeys. No dependence on the car and on oil and petrol! I could wash my clothes in the bath, like I used to at uni, and barbecue stuff and cook it on the range. I could also read by candlelight, and go to bed with the seasons.

Perhaps, then, I should prepare well for an off-the-grid life. I want to be self-sufficient and cash only. That'd work! Except for the taxes. It's true what they say about death and taxes, you know!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whSYTSXm8wo

Paul Weller does a good job here of summing up my feelings!

Anyway, having listened to a bit of Bob Marley, a bit of Jimmy Cliff and some 'Lion Sleeps Tonight', I feel a whole lot better!

Gallivantin' wi' gobshites

Originally posted 6th March 2010

Steve's got the packing urge, really, really badly. He's now packing and labelling things with a fury that is going to outstrip my own. I must add, however, that it's in his own inimitable rag-and-bone, son-of-Steptoe way. All of the boxes are 'reclaimed' and have housed various other objects for various other places. I kind of like that. Boxes with history. They're all pre-labelled with suitably dull-sounding things, and because his office is moving, there's a lot of 'reclaiming' going on. There's an OHP and a gooseneck lamp, a drawing board and some large set-squares, about a hundred rulers and pencils and clip-on wrist-bands and drinks mats and bags and rubbers, strange filing systems, previously used box-files and the likes. And there now seem to be more boxes than there were things in the house.

My packing makes my house smaller and more free; his makes his more cluttered. I've relegated my boxes to the spare room, and whilst it's fair to say there are a good load at Steve's, I've still managed to reduce the contents of my house accordingly, and it's all now squarely secreted away in the downstairs toilet, waiting for April, when it will be moved to France. His packing has taken over the whole house. There are boxes everywhere you look, except in the bathroom.

All this means we're given to entertain Steve's friends in amongst the Steptoe Temple that is his front room. Mostly, they seem fairly used to it, as if it's not unexpected to be sitting between 30 pairs of odd socks, some kettle plugs, a dog harness and a book about the Hell's Angels. I, personally, shall be glad when I can relegate it to a room I never go in to. I would like to have more space simply so I can hide his findings more effectively. I would like to be able to sit on a settee without half of a laundry draped across it, and without a dog lead working its way up my rear end. I can't wait for that moment. In the meanwhile, he will have to live in the austere minimalism of my house, which is a zen shrine of simplicity, where everything is tidy and hidden and clean. I think he might implode. I know he will find my house very small and he and all his long limbs will struggle to fit into it, like a giraffe trying to fit into a hen-house. I dread that moment to the point where I'd quite gladly say 'you go off to France and be free for the next three months, and I'll bring Jake when school's over' as I think Jake and I can manage quite well without the chaos.

Still, perhaps I under-estimate his ability to adapt, just as I have adapted to his clutter and lack of space. Maybe he'll find it quite liberating, like last night when he shaved his beard off and said he felt like he could run faster now. I suspect he may even find it quite liberating.

I suspect that few of his friends recognise 'new' Steve... I think he's much calmer than he was. Listening to Lennie talk last night about him, I realised what a fine man he is. I never under-estimate him. Nothing he does surprises me. I think he tries to pass off his lack of French as something amusing, but it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest to hear him have a full-blown conversation. I don't think he likes to surprise, particularly, just that he doesn't boast, as I do! However, I think many of his acquaintances - maybe people who've never seen him at work - realise his talent. I know his boss, Tina, does - or at least, she seems to, seeing the same in him as I do... a man who is infinitely capable. It's almost as if many of the people who've known him in 'the real world' remember how talented and able he is. He is a man of gross understatement. I'm hugely looking forward to seeing what he will become in France: blacksmith, joiner, craftsman, gardener.... I think it's all up for grabs, and I think the Steve of the future will be a very different man from now. And I don't say that in ways I wish him to change. I love every inch of who he is now, and I know, deep inside, that my worries about him adapting are unfounded. He will wear this new life it as if it were a garment made especially for him.

Feckin whingey old Mary Anns!

First published 1st March 2010

Over a period of time, I've become increasingly disillusioned with the quality of people posting on ex-pat forums. That's a horrible phrase, anyway, 'ex-pat', it sounds so...... Malaysian-rubber-plantation-owner-in-a-gentleman's-club-drinking-gin-and-tonic-wearing-linen-suits... so...Quentin-Crisp-Englishman-in-New-York.... so.... pensioners-from-Merseyside-on-the-Costa-del-Sol.... and I don't like it. If I'm honest, I prefer 'immigrant' to 'ex-pat' - that's how snobbish I am about that word.
Anyway, many of the forums seem full of Malvolio-Malcontent, moaning about everything. They moan about other posters, about schools, about services, about telephones. They moan about neighbours' dogs. Here's some of the moans:

First, following the 'tempest' yesterday, there are people worried about their houses. I understand this worry, myself, but it has invoked the moaning of the ex-pat community because the original posters haven't worried about the 40-odd dead.

Second, there's an ongoing moan about the price of cake and coffee in a local coffee shop. Yes, really.

Then there's someone moaning that their broadband is bad, and someone else adding to the moan that they are lucky they even get broadband and moaning that they don't. This seems to be a regular occurrence, superseding a moan with a moan-trump.

There's people moaning about posters who don't put a photo with a sale, and those moaning about those who do. Then the moaners moan about those who ask for photos, and those who don't buy it when they've asked for a photo.

There's a big load of moaners who moan about Ryanair, and then there's those who moan about those who moan about Ryanair. There's those that moan about it and use it anyway, but they do love a moan!

The rank seems to go like this today:

1 Moan about the weather

2 Moan about tiles coming off the roof

3 Moan about people who aren't glad they're still alive

4 Moan about people who aren't sorry enough people have died

5 Moan about the price of cake

6 Moan about France Telecom

7 Moan about SFR

8 Moan about Orange

9 Moan about broadband

10 Moan about bank charges

It's like they're a nation of ex-teachers. Oh, wait... they probably are!

The worst thing about moaning is that it can really bring others down. Whilst it might do you some good to get it off your chest, it doesn't do any good at all for those who have to listen to it. It makes me feel pessimistic and worried and sick and panicky and uptight. And it makes me forget there are at least thirty people I already know who don't moan about it, even though life might be hard, and just get on with it, and are decent people. Bah.

So, there's the irony: me moaning about moaning.

I'm flummoxed... do they think I'm gormless?

Having sorted out (a bit) the finances... and realised it might not all slip away to nothingness and fantasy, we've been getting on with the process of uprooting and moving.

The first has been Steve's bike - a CCM 604DS - a beautiful northern beast of a bike - his love and passion. I've been frequenting a couple of forums for expats, and realising they might just not be the place for us! I'd asked what to do about importing the bike, only to have some quite superficially helpful advice.

Turns out, it wasn't so helpful. The guy who I was told to write to for an 'attestation d'identité' doesn't deal with CCM any more... so after I'd painfully transcribed it in French, he'd written back to me (in English) and faxed it through to CCM in Bolton, a mere 4 miles from my house. Bah.

Then it turns out it doesn't have a certificate of conformity because it was pre-1996 and it was not manufactured in great numbers... so it had a motorbike single vehicle approval, which isn't recognised in France, and it'll need the equivalent in France.

Not a big deal, I hope.

Still, I'm quickly getting the impression that the forums are full of moaners who have done things the hard way, if at all. They pass on second and third hand stories about difficulties they've faced.... without any specific 'do this, do this' info, and the guy who I did get some from was so much of a pedant I'd probably slap him in the face. He questioned whether I'd done as he'd advised (to the letter, and better) and then told me what I already knew. Bah.

Then there's the English ex-pats who want everything English - the same cheeses, the same meat, the same cars, who don't want to be in France particularly except it was cheap and not a big deal to move there. It might as well be Spain, Italy, Germany.... France is the accidental part of it.

Why even move to a country you don't want to really live in?

Steve and I went to his mum's on Wednesday, so I could make my famous Anglesey eggs (thanks, Hairy Bikers and ) and we were talking about how close we are to a complete monetary failure in England. So much is owed. We're like some tinpot dictatorship in Africa in the 1970s. It's quite shocking. I'm going to Cuba if the world's economy collapses. They're virtually self-sufficient, were it not for a bit of Hugo Chavez's oil. And they live like we plan to... fresh veg, chickens, bicycles, music.... I know there are social problems and problems getting various items, such as soap, when I was there, but when Hurricane Ivan swept over and much of the island was in black-out, it wasn't much different from normal. No street lights in Havana, no extraneous lighting, no ridiculous food, no commercialism. It's a world totally unaffected by commercial corporations, and I love that. I love that they sit 90 miles off American shores and stick two fingers up at McDonald's and Pizza Hut, Gap and Banana Republic, Abercrombie and Fitch and so on.... I like that they do things their way. I wish not every country in the shadow of America had joined the embargo.

But, it's a rural, quiet, basic life where people sing and play, work some and learn. They're healthy and literate and it's a beautiful untouched country. I like that about rural France.

So I'm not going to expect Sunday roasts and pubs and cheddar cheese and dole queues, but then I'm expecting it to be a lot nicer than England, too, if only because I won't be bogged down in all this political cynicism I've developed. And in many ways, I hope the ex-pats don't invade my turf. I'm interested in France, not living in an enclave or ghetto. Not for me, at all.

The day someone asks me something in French on the street, that'll be the day I'm at my happiest.

Anyway, why is it that people who don't know what they're talking about feel free to add their grumbles, the old women. It's as if they feel like they really should piss on your parade, just for fun. If something's been hard for me, I usually do the opposite and say 'oh, it was fairly easy' and assume that any complications were idiocy on my behalf, or stupidity on behalf of whatever it is I'm trying to do (like some of my ridiculous phone calls of late) not that it's impossible. That just makes me look incompetent.

Anyway, I've realised that someone is missing a damn fine PA. I'm very good at getting things done. I'm good at list-writing and ordering and colour-coding and photocopying, and things involving the post office. I'm good at phoning people up and following instructions and gathering stuff. I'm a paper-pusher of the highest order, and I do so in colour-coded box files and with multi-coloured sticky notes, with highlighter pens and dividers and folders and binders. I love Staples and Office World, and I especially love Paperchase who make organisation a kitsch and cute affair. I love boxes and labels and order.

I could definitely be a 'move co-ordinator' or a wedding planner or something like that. I would be an excellent sheepdog or shepherd, since I'm very good at corralling gormless animals, rounding up strays and bringing it all home tidily. At times, teaching is much more like herding cats, so all of this is easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.

So I say 'bah' in the general direction of the nay-sayers and the old Mary Anns who like to make everything sound impossibly difficult, and I promise, when I have done things, to share my wisdom and optimism about how easy it all was, in practical, colour-coded, logical steps. Yes.

Tha'll be maund'rin and maulin' about

Originally posted: 19th February 2010

I've got a couple of the bits and pieces coming through now to sort stuff out - namely, the motorbike and Jake's school. I'd sent letters (it's much easier to write in French than it is to come up with the right words when talking. I might pretend I'm mute) to the CCM importers in France, and to the Mairie, expecting bureaucracy, but not getting any. Harry, the guy from CCM Europa, doesn't even work with CCM any more, but still faxed on my letter back to (ironiquement!) Bolton where they're made, to ask for the Certificat de Conformité... moments later, I had an email from both; Harry said my French was very good - of which I was proud! - and Rachel from CCM asked if I could tell her in English what I wanted. If anyone tells me about French bureaucracy, I shall shoot them, especially in light of what happened later...

I also sent a letter asking what we had to do to get Jake into school - I've received the appropriate forms this morning, and had a little worry that his feeble 'short' birth certificate wouldn't be enough. It was back within 7 days, all sorted, all clear, as well as the details we need to get him into school.

Not so Bolton Council, who umm and ahhh about everything, don't send you stuff, lie about what they have sent, send you the wrong stuff, shout at immigrants and old people and entitled people and anyone who'll stop a moment. They have bizarre protocol for some things, and then none for other, more important things. Then we had Aviva, continuing to charge Steve for a van he's not had since October 2008 - and (in my very quiet opinion) his own fault for not checking his bank statements, but they'd also been charging him breakdown cover on a car he's not owned for over a year, and not really bothered, as long as the money comes to them.

I duly went out in search of a form Aviva said we needed to send to the DVLA. The DVLA agreed: the V888 was the form in question (nicely titled, to avoid confusion with other V documents!) and you could get it from any post office that sells car tax. Not so, it transpires. I went to Deane Road post office (yes, I'm naming and shaming you, because you've been rude to me twice, and the women at St Helen's Road Spar post office and the lovely Asian man in Daubhill post office are much nicer than you!) and was met by this:

Me: I need a V888 form.

BW: we don't have any

Me: but the DVLA said you do

BW: but we don't

Me: what is a V888 form? Do you even know?

BW: I know we don't have any.

Me: well, could you at least look??

BW: but we don't have any

Me: but the DVLA said you are supposed to

BW: Well, we don't.

Me: Do you know where I can get one from?

BW: maybe from Bolton Central post office.

Me: Bah. I curse you and your offspring, you bureaucratic weasel of the highest order. May the stamps you lick give you tongue cancer and may your tongue grow sores and cankers and fall out, thus rendering you speechless, which, surely to God is better than now.

* BW = bureaucratic Weasel. It's a name I give to jobsworths who rely on paperwork to get out of stuff. Mainly, they use the Data Protection Act as their main shield from doing work, but there are others.

So.... to anyone who tries to tell me that French bureaucracy is bad, I shall point them in the direction of Deane Road post office and tell them to go in there. What a waste of oxygen that woman was.

Things I shan't miss:

21. Bureaucratic weasels and the rudeness from them.

22. Unhelpfulness (though I'm sure that exists everywhere in the world!)

23. The drivers that block the roads when there's a lot of traffic

24. Drivers who pull out into the road when there's traffic and make everyone brake. Has the point of the single white solid line or the double dashed white line been forgotten????! It means STOP if it's the former or GIVE WAY if it's the latter. Why isn't this common knowledge any more? Has someone shifted the meaning to be that people on the main road should stop or give way???!

25. Overcrowded supermarkets

26. People who stop in doorways. Likewise, I know they will exist in France, but population density dictates these will be fewer and further between. I would, at this point, like to tell a little tale about a fight Steve and I witnessed in a car park in E Leclerc in La Rochefoucauld.... the man had obviously nicked her spot - which was ridiculous because there were about 200 spaces and only 20 cars... so she had got out of her car, where it was, where she had stopped in a moment of righteous indignation, and she was following him into the supermarket, barracking him and threatening to take his hat. It was hilarious. I think this should happen more often in England, let alone in France.

27. Those huge headphones. Anti-iPod headphones. As big as satellite dishes. What's the point? You aren't djing in the middle of the day, and the sound quality of an mp3 is pants anyway, compared with 'older' technology. You look like a knob if you're wearing them.

So... what is it that annoys me?

Originally posted: 18th February 2010

I was thinking I could do with a list of all the things with this bit of the world that hack me off (to be followed by a list of things I love and I'll miss!)

1. Potholes. Why are there so many??! Particularly the ones on Adelaide Street and the really, really deep one on Bury Road
2. Drivers. Slow ones. Fast ones. Ones that cut you up
3. People who stop too close behind me. What difference does 12 inches make if you stop that much further away from me? It MAKES me want to stall on purpose
4. The learner driver route that clogs up Bridgeman St
5. Traffic lights that aren't in sync. England has too many of them, and too many of them where you have to stop at EVERY SINGLE set, wasting time and petrol!
6. The grey sky
7. The fact it's nearly March and there are no signs of improving weather
8. The fact the council spends a ridiculous amount on stupid things, and then not enough on important things
9. Buses that don't give you long enough to overtake when they pull in
10. Tax. Fuel tax. I've paid income tax on my salary - any other tax is just stealth tax. I reckon actual costs are so minimal now and tax accounts for about 80% of the products we buy
11. The way council operatives talk to you
12. The extortionate amount credit card companies charge, without anyone stopping them and saying they're being ridiculous
13. Newspapers that feel forced to spin every single story and then can't see the irony of accusing politicians of spin
14. Miserable faces
15. The dirty shades of clothing Britain feels like it should dress itself in
16. Why all new building projects are in shades of brown and grey. I realise it would be ridiculous to build everything in white or colours, but it would make it a little less miserable if there was a smidgen of a pleasant colour about
17. The nastiness of my yellowing grass
18. Moss in my grass
19. Poor timekeeping
20. Cold calls, especially for anything you aren't at all interested in...

I'm sure more things will appear on my list as time goes on.

And the things I shall miss?

1. The hills around Manchester, especially when they're snow-capped
2. The Hark to Towler, a combination of pub, music venue and pirate ship
3. Rock Radio - nothing like Steve Berry's banter of a morning, and some rousing rock tunes to spice up the rush hour!
4. Manchester-friendly people, who'll chat with you just to pass the time
5. Northern curry houses - our best import! Trishna's fantastic house specials, and the lovely guy who brings them
6. Home delivery and takeaway - not that we indulge regularly, but I'm sure I'll miss it
7. Burger King and all its delightful burgers
8. Hot Dog vans and the smell of fried onions outside the town hall
9. Bolton library - France just doesn't do libraries like we do!
10. Manchester and city living - Affleck's Palace, Ancoats, King St South, Kendals, Selfridge's, Heals and all the shops, Kurt Geiger and Mac makeup. Paris is still a long way away!

I'm wondering if you can take the girl out of Manchester, but not Manchester out of the girl? It's made me gritty and hard-working and industrious; it's made me ironic and sharp, sarcastic and sardonic; it's made me 'mad fer it' and it's made me know how to celebrate. It's all Buzzcocks and The Smiths, Joy Division and New Order, Happy Mondays, the Inspiral Carpets, The Stone Roses and Oasis. It's made me all 'fuck you', but all full of self-swagger and insecurity. It's my history, my roots. Dark nights at the International watching punk bands and pretty-boy metal, goth bands and thrash; cold winter nights on the locks, sitting outside, laughing and drinking in zero degrees without a coat; fantastic chinese, thai, greek, indian, bangladeshi and british food, and more too numerous to mention. It's the Ritz on Monday night, and Dambusters. It's Jilly's and the Banshee, Band on the Wall and the Roadhouse. It's the Hacienda and the Boardwalk, Sankey's Soap and the Free Trade Hall. And Manchester has made me outspoken, concerned with social welfare; it's the city of Marx and Engels, of suffrage and Peterloo, of trade unions and political radicalism. It's a city of workers, lacking charm and sophistication. And it is me.

Can I reform sufficiently to leave this behind?

Thar's all moithered!

Originally posted: February 17th 2010

Still on the countdown... buying packs of vegetable seeds like mad and contemplating how many different strains of carrots to grow, in amongst countless viewings and worryings and so on. I've been compiling a list of things to be sure we can buy in France, food-wise, that make up part of our weekly diet... judge not!

• cornflour.... custard, thickening, gravy
• suet... dumplings, suet puddings and suet crust
• olive oil - simply because last time we were in Geant, it didn't seem to have any! Can't believe it would be a rare commodity, but there you go
• corned beef - you can't beat a tin of corned beef in the cupboard as a classic favourite to make a mighty meal with - much like last night, when I'd mislaid my shopping (it happens!) and we had corned beef hash with a suet crust!
• curry spices
• mushroom sauce
• worcestershire sauce
• toasted sesame oil
• ginger
• baked beans

I'm sure there'll be more, but this is about it. As long as I've got something as a substitute, I'll be okay. I know we go through pints of double cream, so it'll be creme fraiche from now on, and I know we'll have to make the switch to French cheeses, which is fine, although you can't beat the versatility of cheddar or double gloucester, or the lovely acidity of lancashire or cheshire or caerphilly. I'm sure I can manage with good old Port Salut for melting on stuff, and I'm looking forwards to a proper tartiflette with a reblochon cheese, rather than mozzarella and cheddar. I'm not sure I mind going completely native, but it is good to have a suet crust from time to time, or a bit of custard. I am, however, looking forwards to the rewards of fresh eggs on tap - home made mayo, ice-cream, meringues, pavlova, forgotten pudding, yummy baked cheesecakes, boiled eggs for breakfast and proper egg pasta, and eggy bread, and bread and butter pudding.... I was reckoning I spent about £250.00 a year on good organic free range eggs - I might have given up my vegetarian ways, but I can't quite bring myself to buy something made in a cage by a poor life-less animal, unless I can absolutely help it. I don't even buy things with eggs in these days, for much the same reason. I'm planning on turning Steve meat-free, over the long run. I reckon with our own eggs, plenty of fresh fish and lots of vegetables and cheese and bread, that'll happen fairly easily.

What I love is how often he tells the Molly-dog 'you'll love it in France', which is sweet, if un-needed. I know animals understand a lot of what we say, but I'm not sure she yet understands she's moving from England to France. I think what he's really doing is getting himself excited. I hope so. He's not a gig-dancer like I am, so it can be very hard to the untrained eye to see if he's actually giddy.

There's a lot I shan't miss... the media frenzy and deliberate misinterpretation of facts, the 'sleb' focus we have in this country. I don't care what Jordan/Katie Price/Kerry Katona et al are up to, but someone must. They keep buying magazines with their faces on them, tuning in to programmes about them. I shan't miss that at all. I also shan't miss the way the press make demons of people, or angels, when we're all somewhere in between. It's shallow and fickle and cruel. Headlines won't affect us so much, I hope. I'm sick of the way the world has become managed globally, although I appreciate that someone somewhere has the foresight to see a big picture on our behalf, and I'm hoping I won't feel as enmeshed in politics as I do here, and that the media frenzy which turned a slump into a credit-crunch and a recession, in my opinion, is in some way responsible for the panic that ensued.

Neither shall I miss the foul-mouthed, nasty, small-minded underclass we've got in this country, the kind that litter the Jeremy Kyle show. I wish, I really, truly wish, that Jeremy Kyle had no guests and they were actors, but you can tell that they aren't. They're symptomatic of the foul society that Britain rests on, its weakest link, the Karen Matthews' of the world, who pop out children and fill up the welfare system and drain resources, and there's times when I wish the government, the police and social workers would say 'you're a foul individual! Stop being such a fuck-up and sort yourselves out. You've got no-one to blame for this but yourself. Now step up to the mark and start contributing to society instead of sucking it dry' Petty-minded, over-fertile, badly-nourished alcoholics and drug addicts and dependants who haven't got the slightest concern about any other living being, and feel like the world owes them a living. The worst thing is, there seem to be more and more of these as time passes. I don't know whether it's the distorted view I get from the press or the fact that I run into these oxygen thieves on a daily basis, but I'm sick and tired of the fact that nothing is ever done about them, although we all seem to despise them, and no-one would own up to being one. Where have all the nice people gone??!

And now you get a small sense of what it is that's driving me to abandon this country and have a go somewhere else. I'm tired of everyone running each other down with words, terrorising each other, abusing each other and thinking it's harmless. It's okay to scream at your children instead of loving them, blaming a seven year old for being 'bad' instead of thinking it's anything to do with yourself. I hate the way there's no-one left to intervene and neither the police nor social workers are even allowed to say 'this isn't okay', and it's left to Jeremy Kyle to say 'it's not okay for you to behave like this'. Heaven forbid anyone should cast blame on a parent for not bringing a child up effectively. I hate that. Maybe if we did say 'it IS your fault your three-year-old is naughty' instead of accepting excuses, then things might be a little better. Too few people take responsibility for their own weaknesses, yet find much to criticise in others. I hate that.

So... I'm hoping the nun-like solitude and the occasional copy of Charente Libre will keep me up to date, and revive my faith that the world is a lovely place after all.