Mad as a tin of monkeys

A theme of doors runs through events this week. Firstly, JL lost his front door key. Nothing new there; he loses everything. Sunday, he arrived back from a quick spin up the Ventoux in the neighbour’s 1932 something or other in a state of excitement. The 1932 something or other has no windscreen which had not done much for his usually debonair appearance. Neither had having to climb over the wall due to the fact that he’d also lost the ‘beep’ to open the electronic gates. (I was round the back of the house so failed to hear the ring of the gate bell.) On hearing the rapping on the front door, I finally made it up the stairs to allow entry to the wild man of Provence who promptly accused me of hiding his keys; this obviously after he’d regaled me with an extended account of his journey to the summit of the Ventoux. (Madame was, naturally, missing in action).

Tuesday, JL forgot that he’d lost his keys; even if he’d remembered he wouldn’t have done anything about it because he’d expect me to be home. (What did these people do before I lived here?). Well, I wasn’t there, having accompanied Madame to the studio to watch Patrice the electrician hang the paintings for the exhibition. I don’t know why this guy’s referred to as Patrice the electrician as he never does much that involves electrics. So, we both arrive home late to be confronted by the sight of JL, wearing nothing but a small pair of underpants, pedalling furiously on his exercise bike by the lily pond. We both stare in amazement. I have lost my key he shouts in English. Madame doesn’t understand a word of her husband’s newly acquired language and looks to me for an explanation. He’s lost his mind I want to say but think better of it. He looks furious and much as I try not to laugh, I’m unable to stop. She looks at me in wonder; then she starts laughing.

Wednesday, JL took my key. So now Madame and I have only one key between us and both headed in different directions. At this point I decide to mention the door to my room. Something is wrong with the handle and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to get in and out. I’ll send Patrice the electrician she says. We arrange that she’ll leave first and come home last…..so no change there then….and I’ll have the key and be back in time for Patrice. It’s a long day and I completely forget about Patrice until I emerge from the shower around 7pm to hear more frantic ringing at the gate. I let him in and explain the problem. He doesn’t understand so I take him into the bedroom and shut the door. You know what’s coming reader don’t you? Now both of us are trapped in the bedroom and my stuffed pears are waiting to be retrieved from the oven. It’s impossible to open the door. Fortunately, my en-suite has a door to another bedroom. Anyone remember those Brian Rix farces where folk were constantly in and out of adjoining doors? Out and round I go, emerge back on the landing, and with great force push open my door from the outside and thus release Patrice. Patrice stands with hands on hips, shrugging and saying tres bizarre. Of course he does. Any minute now, the meh bah’s will start so I ask if he minds if I leave him to rescue the pears in the oven. He misunderstands and thinks I’ve invited him to eat something.

Madame arrives home closely followed by Jean-Pierre who only travels by quad bike. JP’s internet has crashed so he’s come to use ours. I can hear him reading his emails. How can you HEAR a Frenchman reading his emails? Easy. You just listen out for Merde and Putain and more Merde’s followed by tres bizarre. I can’t see him but I know he’s shrugging. Then JL arrives home after a quiet day at the office and I show him the pears. JL loves puddings. We all have dinner and by the time we get to dessert, the men are in heated discussion about the money to be made from introducing the raclette into England. I serve the stuffed pears with pear ice-cream. They don’t even look at what’s in front of them but JP takes one mouthful and literally stops mid-sentence. What’s this he demands? English pudding says the all knowing JL. Mon Dieu! C’est superbe says JP and I have scored maximum points as he eats another two before zooming off into the night on his quad.