Lazing In Life's Lay-Bys

Annecy is a lovely place. I've been going there in the summer for several years since I more or less gave up productive work. Trawl around the historic town, have a leisurely sail on the lake, go for a swim at the plage or use the pedalos, enjoy a glass or three of chilled rose wine and enjoy the ambience of one of France's nicest towns and scenic settings - that's my routine anyway. There are far worse ways to spend a few days: ask anyone who's ever done time in the less scenic parts of Sheffield or Glasgow. Anyone for Red Road ?

Anyway, having enjoyed a day in Annecy, the coach we were travelling on developed a hydraulic leak. The drivers phoned their garage back home and were told that the local branch of a certain well-known European manufacturer of buses and lorries would come out and repair the bus. That's the service they pay for - Europe-wide coverage with efficient, quick and easy repairs. It's only £500 per call-out and satisfaction guaranteed. That's what we were told anyway.

So we stopped in a small service station outside Annecy - approx 17:20 hrs - so that the drivers could buy hydraulic oil to top up the system, working on the principle that they could get us back to our hotel and the service agent would repair the bus there. Anyway, the service agent, in a pristine van and looking like the real McCoy (albeit with the tightest lips and the worst hair-line moustache you've ever seen), pulled into the service station having seen our bus and wanted - nay demanded - to examine it there and then. Seemed sensible. After all he was still close to his base in Annecy in case he needed parts etc. So, passengers disembark and exeunt stage-right to a grassy knoll to while away some time. Quite a lot as it turned out.

After a few minutes he decided that there was a pump / filter which was in danger of breaking free from its hydraulic lines and the bus would need to be towed back to Annecy. Drivers immediately light up and go 'tilt' like an old-fashioned pinball machine. I ended up doing some of the translation for our drivers so that's how I know the story. Mechanic gets on his phone to his base, then explains that the system is linked to another and that, as well as the risk of one or other of the lines going into the the pump breaking, that various others parts would not be working. Overheating would occur - c'est tres dangereuse !!! Much gallic sucking in of breath through teeth and shaking of head.

After frantic phone calls back to Blighty. the drivers suggest that they drive to the hotel and he can either fix the bus there or they'll bring it back to Annecy for him to fix there. Cue mechanic's turn to have hysterics. One of the drivers then had an idea. He put on old coveralls, went under the bus and started taking pictures - aren't digital cameras and mobile phones so useful ? Mechanic goes pretty - actually extremely - quiet and gets back on his mobile. He disappeared into his van for about 10 minutes then emerged before wandering around with his mobile attached to his ear so tightly it looked as though extreme surgery - probably with a chainsaw - would be required to remove it. Meanwhile time is passing, and passing, and passing...................

Having been there for over two hours, he decides that he's got to back to Annecy. Guess what for ? That's right. Just what anyone would expect. He's going back to get hydraulic oil and a spanner larger than anything he's got in his van !!! Now possibly I'm being a bit thick here. I assumed that firstly he would have known not only the model of the bus he was coming out to, but everything about it. That's what pan-European computer databases are for, no ? Apart from that, he was told 'hydraulic leak' and comes out without hydraulic fluid or a full range of spanners ? Hello ! Has he never heard of pipes vibrating loose? It happens and it's not uncommon. Surely that was the first base to cover ?

Actually I had forgotten. When I worked in Britain in a system with a commercial janitorial service, the technical support was supplied by a number of firms. The janitor would phone in as directed and report a fault in incredible detail. Some hours later, XXXXX XXXX would turn up - sans any parts, equipment and tools - claiming he had had a vague call-out, instructing him to come out to assess the situation and, oh, and by the way, please sign this slip authorising 4 (or more often, a helluva lot more) hours of work. Needless to say, he was often told to ******-off !!! He was obviously this Frenchman's close cousin. It was really quite funny when he did this once too often. He tried to make out that he had no information but one of the janitors had recorded the entire call on his mobile phone as a video. You should have seen his face when it was played back. He made a SHARP exit (remember that advert ?) when the janitors offered to stick the mobile with the video message somewhere where the sun could never ever shine !

Anyway, back to the story - it's worth noting that, by now, it's nearly 20:00 hrs. On being asked, he says he'll be back in around 35 - 45 minutes. He returned - over 90 minutes later. No doubt les escargots and cuisses des grenouilles were getting cold 'chez mechanique' ! Out he jumps with large spanner, gets on his back under the bus - having first warned that if he can't fix it there and then, the coach will have to wait till the next afternoon for the parts. Six minutes later, after profuse gallic profanity, a tiny movement of the wrench/spanner and and some effort, the bus is fixed. Litre upon litre of hydraulic fluid (nearly 10 litres) - which he actually has this time - is poured into its tank. The bus is fired up and checked. Pas de problem ! Quelle surprise !

22:30 hrs and we resume our journey. Our least favourite Frenchman had refused to let the bus move until the company back home had paid in full. So that accounted for another 30 minutes or so. You would not believe that bus companies actually pay an annual fee over and above the call-out fees for this service would you ?

The significance of 20:00hrs ? Perhaps I'm just a little cynical. Seems to me he wasn't able to 'bump' the bus company into an inflated bill involving tow-out charges so he killed time until he was being paid on bonus-rates. I can't help feeling that, had that been Germany, Switzerland or Austria - the bus would have been fixed and on its way in 30 minutes at the absolute maximum.

Not a good advertisement for a certain manufacturer's call-out service or the charmless French mechanic involved. Any good points - well, a little restuarant beside the service station pulled out all of the stops and provided excellent friendly service at short notice. For what it's worth, a lot of Brit kids - also passengers on the bus, behaved impeccably even when stranded with no entertainments or facilities for five hours, despite looking as if they'd robbed an Oxfam shop for its clothing. Most of them were also sporting bites - courtesy of the local insects enjoying late evening refreshments. Shucks - it would just about bring tears to a glass eye !

As for the manufacturer's name ? Well you only need 2 consonants and 1 vowel. It's not D, A and F though. I never said once only for each did I ?

Oh ****, it's that word again !

I'm not given to swearing. In fact I'm bored hearing it most of the time, especially that one word which has become so widely used that it is probably meaningless. That's not meant to be 'holier-than-thou' in any particular shape or form. Over the years I have worked in a wide variety of places where oaths and profanities turned the air blue. Ask me if I get bovvered ? As usual, answers on a postcard .......... I have been known to use the odd expletive myself but when it's so widespread it becomes a real turn-off. Listening to a girl with an angelic face but the mouth of a sewer, approximately 12 years old, standing beside an absolutely unperturbed mother, I had a wry smile and a number of random thoughts on the matter.

Am I the only one, for example, who thinks that Billy Connolly was actually much funnier in the days before he felt the need to swear at least once in literally almost every sentence ? An odd thought, triggered by my experiences in France. When I was a kid, and until relatively recently you would hear the French referring to the English as 'les Rosbifs'. Now, you're more likely to hear gallic references to 'les ****-offs". I'm not even convinced that it contributes significantly to most films. Good actors could have made Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs etc just as gripping and exciting with far fewer swear words. Note I did not say ban swearing from films altogether.

Standing in one of those large booze warehouses in Calais is an prime example of the place to hear lots of that sort of English. You do get the odd laugh though. June, last year, in drove a large Volvo estate with a big Geordie at the wheel. He raced in and filled up his car with a load of beer in almost record time. Standing next to him as he was getting ready to get back on to the ferry, what did I hear but "That's the real ****ing stuff - Sans ****ing alcohol !" Result - me with the most massive fit of coughing when I looked and saw that, yes, he had filled his car up with - as he said - beer sans alcohol. I wonder if one of his mates set him up by telling him that 'sans' meant real. I don't suppose I'll ever know. Mind you, that stuff gives you an evil headache which should be punishment enough. I just wish I could have seen his face when he realised............

It's not confined to the areas afflicted by the booze-cruisers though. We've been staying in a pleasant little town 60 klicks north of Marseilles. If you're really that way inclined, you can get most of the day's papers you could get at home (Times, Mail, Independent etc) . There are clearly enough Brits to make it worthwhile selling them. What do you hear in the queues or sitting outside the cafes ? "****ing this" and "**** that" almost as often as you'd hear it at home - usually voiced by a shaven-headed lout with sunglasses perched on top of his shining pate. Actually, it seems to rhyme with 'dark' rather than 'duck' more often than not these days.

In Edinburgh for the Jazz Festival to see George Melly this year, hopefully not a bad move - for him, that is. I went to see Larry Adler a couple of years ago and he died shortly after so I hope that's not an omen. The reason is that I'm quite into the music of these old bluesmen - Dr John, Leon Redbone etc. The problem is that I go to see one of them and they die soon afterwards. Obviously, the writing is on the wall for Pete Green and John Mayall then.

Footnote (added 29.07.07): sad, but somewhat prescient comment in the paragraph above.  George Melly died a little while ago.  You have to admire his wit.  My favourite was that the great thing about Alzheimer's was that you kept getting to make so many new friends.

Anyway, back on topic: there were two occurrences that will probably remain with me for the rest of my life. I unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for my wife as I have been wont to do for all these years. She got into the car watched by a woman standing by the passenger door of the adjacent car while her man was opening his door. "You could do that for me" she said. "**** that" said the man. How to make the woman in your life feel cherished - not. The look on her face spoke volumes. That reminds me of a story from foreign shores concerning dowries but that's a topic for another post.

The other was in a Morrison's supermarket on the way out of the city. A little boy ran round a corner and barked his shin against the edge of a fruit and veg counter. "Aw ****" he shouted. His mother appeared as if she had materialised out of thin air. Clattering him good-style, what was her measured response ? "How many ****ing times have I told you no to ****ing swear, you ****ing stupid wee ****." What chance does the wee lad have ? However, it also made me think. Why do parents feel the need to take their children into supermarkets so that they can smack them ?

Sallying Forth (Singing Sealbhlaith's Song Softly)

Isn't it amazing ? Things that damage you when you're young or in your teens can leave deep lacerations that still hurt you immensely even decades later. This is, of course, even though those events - in hindsight, or from a different perspective, are relatively trivial events. From my point of view I now know that, looking backwards and with much thought, there were several events which all happened earlier in that one week. They conspired to leave me in such a vulnerable state that what happened was bound to be devastating. Knowing that didn't help me very much at all for such a long time. I've pondered this post quite seriously, wondering if I should sally forth into cyberspace with it or not. Oh well, here goes.

Sealbhlaith, Sarah or, more precisely, their diminutive -- "princess" (how apt that was !) / "lady of possessions" -- who humiliated me so completely and publicly when I was 16 or so, haunted my thoughts for quite a lot of years, albeit less and less so as the years passed. She's probably forgotten it completely by now. I still wake up in a horrendous sweat in the early hours of the morning - too often for my liking, even now, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me up whole when I remember that particular incident. On a really bad day the feelings from that particular nightmare can last long into the day.

There is a fair amount of irony too, in that I suffered significant amounts of serious 'ragging' at the hands of my peers for a long while afterwards because of that humiliation yet in so many ways it was one of the things that actually made me focused and determined to be successful. My life really began once I left school and went to university. So here I am, nearly 60 years old with a degree and several diplomas plus a far better life than I could ever have dreamed of when I was 17. Sealbhlaith's the one who's been married several times and from all reports, has had quite a hard life since leaving school. I would never have wished that on her whatever. I hope I could never be that shallow or vindictive.

I hear occasional news of "the princess" and, coincidentally, one of her friends -- "Foreign woman, speaking no Greek" -- from various former classmates. By chance I saw a set of supposed new-age versions of name meanings recently. The modern interpretation of "foreign woman's" name is supposedly "S**** like a rabbit. Not fussy about appearance" - that's really so unkind and absolutely so untrue ! She had a warm open personality and nice nature, both of which were luminous. I found them both, together with the french girl who was the third of the alpha females in that year group, incredibly attractive though.

I actually spared "foreign woman" from total humiliation - ok, merely acute embarassment after the last dance at our school's Senior Prom. I didn't ask her out out. Work that one out. Even as the idea crossed my mind I realised how much she'd have to bear if the word got around that I'd asked her out. So I checked my tongue - to my great regret ever since. She might even have said yes, However I've always believed a man should always be realistic - and I had absolutely no illusions how I was perceived by that particular circle of girls. I guess she would have blushed a lot but then found it remarkably easy to say no. I've always wished her well though.

I met the french girl about 3 years after I left school whilst working in a menial job during the summer vacation. Clearly she thought I was doing that for a living. Her jaw probably left a dent about 6 inches deep in the floor as it dropped when she saw me. She said something to the effect of "What are you doing here ? You're far too clever to be doing this !" I was SO surprised. I had always assumed that she and the rest didn't rate me at all in looks, intelligence or personality. Still I suppose one out of three's not too bad. Actually it was a job which paid enormous wages relative to average money thanks to copious amounts of overtime - the basis for much of my financial well-being these days thanks to enjoying Mathematics at school and developing an active interest in things financial.

As for Sally ? Well, I long since gave up hope of any sort of reconciliation. I did see her a couple of times in recent years. The first was quite a while ago near the green outside the church in the small(ish) market town where we grew up, went to school, church and Youth Fellowship. Our eyes met and she paused, puzzled for a few seconds. I realised she did not recognise me and I gave nothing away. Recently, I was enjoying un petit dejeune in a small bastide in the Dordogne when I realised she was in the same cafe. She has such a distinctive rich voice with cut-glass vowels and virtually flawless French (so unlike my rustic pronunciation and mangled verbs). As before, there was no hint of recognition when I pointed out she had forgotten one of her bags as she left (in my execrable French) : not too surprising I suppose. I look and sound so very different to several decades ago. Will I 'let on' the third time - if, perchance, there is a third encounter ? Perhaps. Probably not.

I went off to university shortly afterwards. Within 72 hours of arriving, I was asked out - to my absolute and utter astonishment - by a wonderful Texan girl called Heather - a real flame-haired American Beauty - who was the first of several really great girlfriends until I met my wife to be. Life began for real and just got better and better.