French Fingers is the blog of Fingers who explains that he is… “A working Brit with a young family in the south of France. No car, no mobile phone and no time off during school holidays. After visiting ninety-odd countries, no desire to live anywhere else at the moment, either.”
Now, the blog hasn’t been updated for a while but I’m going to review it anyway in the hope that someone will tell Fingers and that, as a result, he pulls his finger out (no pun intended) and starts updating it again.
It really is that good a blog!
City Life in France….
Urban Poison is a nice little rant about city life and the youth of today!
Fingers explains that… “City life in France is not much different to city life anywhere else: hooded youths with sad, sagging trousers, the odd beggar, dog pooh, car fumes and the like.”
His children become ill and Fingers has some words for Mr Hooded Cretin.
Be aware; this is not another “I can see the Eiffel Tower” or “Another glass of rosé by the swimming pool in Provence” type blog!
And Just when you thought you understood everything… those nice people next door turn out to be Heroin Dealers!
Still, as Fingers says, it could be worse… “Maybe the Brazilians on the first floor are actually people traffickers or disposal agents of other countries’ nuclear waste. Actually, seeing how many rubbish bags they put outside every day, that might not be so far from the truth!”
There’s a lot about being sick in this blog….
And I like that!
For example, in Why Buy? (an innocuous little post about buying a car or renting), the post veers from the sensible to the motorway poo-station scenario before finishing off with the kids falling ill… “It’s gastro-bug time in this fair southern city and our two haven’t been spared. Nor have the duvets, sheets or pyjamas for that matter. Nonetheless, they’re over the worst and our washing machine hasn’t yet stormed out in disgust, so we can consider ourselves lucky.”
And, in Called to Order, one of the kids… “has got another bout of gastrointeritis. So far she seems to have kept it to herself but not without some pretty impressive performance artistry.”
But it’s not just the children getting sick.
Oh no, in Now, I don’t want to get all alarmist on you it’s Fingers himself who… “was back on the big white telephone to remind God he was still important to me.”
Bah! details the children passing on their germs to Mr and Mrs Fingers (some children are so generous, aren’t they) but all is well as Onwards and Upwards explains that… “Mrs. F and I successfully navigated our bouts without any recourse to Generation Game-like redecoration fantasies and can envisage a happy bug-free week while we go out and get ourselves poisoned by car fumes.”
Now, that’s nice to hear, isn’t it?
A Musical interlude….
Fingers does something with music; I believe he does some teaching, some conducting and, who know, maybe he even plays as well?
In Nothing particularly new to tell myself, Fingers seems reluctant… “do all the commentary and introductions for the abysmal fee they were paying” but then he… “caved in when I saw the expectant faces in the audience.”
He also seems to enjoy giving Piano Lessons.
Of course, it must help if he can sneak in a little rant about British expats.
Nice one, my man!
And over Mulled wine and minced pies he announces that his singers have come up trumps!
So nice to hear!
And, on strike again…..
We all like a dummy run at something just to make sure… actually starts out as a minor (but really rather interesting) rant about Jours Feries before going on strike to protest about… “President Sarkozy’s projected reforms.”
And then, in False Dawn, it’s the school that’s on strike (although I expect quite a few other public bodies will come out in sympathy?) and the, in The Discontents, everyone is one strike (See, what did I tell you?)
And even the Holidays don’t stop the strikes.
Isn’t that the French way?
If we’re not on holiday, we’re striking!
So, summing up…..
The whole blog is summed up in So here we are… (the first post) with these words from Fingers… “I’m not a clichéd English expat. I’m not retired, I don’t live in the country. We bought a flat in the centre of the city and I go to work every day like anyone else. We don’t own a car, we have no mobiles and since greasing the palm of every parasite involved in our real estate purchase we have no savings, either. Still, our children are healthy (except when they’re redesigning their pyjamas) and Mrs. Fingers hasn’t left me for a wealthier model. Yet.”
Diving in here there and everywhere will only leave you confused.
However, if you want to read about real life in France (or, at least, one person’s version of real life in their part of France), you really should take a look at French Fingers.
You see, I tend to agree with Fingers when he says… “I’m convinced that the only safe French car is a parked one.”
All the best