Day 6. (Tuesday)

Huw left for London at 7.55am and it was really strange waving him off. I tried to go back to sleep but it was impossible. I only have one book left to read and I have to stay in all day in case our boxes are delivered. I packed three books in each box and now I can’t get at them even though they are only 3.7km away. I just wish somebody would confirm that they are actually there – everyone is being so bloody vague. I am going to be so bored but I daren’t finish my book because I may not be able to get another one until Thursday. There is an English book exchange in a bar in town but I can’t go there in case I miss the lying bastard courier company. I can’t even go to the boulangerie in case I miss the delivery! I hope to god they get here soon or I’ll be a gibbering wreck by the time Huw gets home on Thursday. Hell, I’m even thinking about cleaning to keep myself occupied, that is extreme. I’m just not the kind of person who can sit and do nothing; I can sit and read in the sun all day but I’ve only got one book.

I managed to keep myself busy typing this blog this morning (I’ve been writing it by hand up until now) and a few hours flew by and I thought this isn’t going to be as bad as I thought. Then Huw phoned with the hideous news that the delivery people have told us even more lies and bullshit. Apparently four of our boxes are still in Nice and only three are in Beaulieu – why separate them? We are both seriously pissed off to put it lightly and they are still claiming it’s our fault for not being psychic to know to be at home on Monday when we were told they were coming on Tuesday. They are now saying that they’d only brought three on Monday when originally they said that had seven on Monday. At least have the decency to consider the lies before blurting out such crap! On Friday we were told that all seven would be delivered on Tuesday – again – why separate them? As it was ‘our fault’ we’re not psychic apparently it is our responsibility to collect the three from Beaulieu and the four from Nice will be delivered tomorrow (Wednesday) but they refuse to give any indication as to approximately what time they will be here – oh joy another long day stuck in the flat with only one book. I looked at the DPD website and they claim to be the most reliable delivery service in Europe! WTF are the rest of them like? For the life of me I cannot understand how they could screw up a simple matter of getting seven boxes from A to B, I mean how difficult can it be especially when we can assume that these people have done this kind of job many times before. So I’ll take a second here to mention that if you ever come across a courier company called DPD or their French subsidiary Chronopost (or Chronic Post as Huw has renamed them) run away very quickly and use someone reputable.

Many years ago when I lived here I became friendly with a lovely woman named Mara. She ran a restaurant in the old town and a group of us yachties used to go to there every Friday night. Mara is an extremely beautiful, elegant woman and I never saw her without a stunning hat on. A few weeks ago during our last visit as tourists we met an expat called Paul and we got chatting. He lives half here and half in Kent and has been coming here for 20 years. I must have only just missed him by a year or two. We talked about people we might know and I mentioned Mara, I was chuffed when he said she was still here and gave me her number. I didn’t think she’d remember who I was but I texted her anyway, reminding her that I am Welsh (not many of us over here) and mentioned the yacht that I worked on. I was seriously delighted when she replied straight back saying, ‘of course I remember you Tracy girl!’ We got connected on messenger and have been chatting ever since. I contacted her last night to say I was here but couldn’t leave the flat because of these sodding boxes. This afternoon she rang me and we spoke for the first time in over 20 years.  After the pleasantries were over she told me a horror story about waiting for boxes to be delivered. A few years ago she sent some boxes from Holland to here and only half of them arrived and she never got a penny compensation – that’s just what I wanted to hear!

She is having surgery on Thursday and I was loath to ask a favour, but ask I did; as my French is nowhere near good enough to make a phone call I asked her to phone the post office in Beaulieu to confirm that there are three boxes there with our names on. She readily agreed to do this for which I was extremely grateful. I then spent the next two hours trying to find a phone number and Huw was doing the same in London. Their website will tell you anything but their phone number, I guess nobody wants to pick up the phone go a barrage of angry people complaining about their absolutely appalling service and blatant lies. The only number we could find only had four digits followed by the words ‘not surcharged’ WTF does that mean? In the end I sent this to Mara to see if she could make head or tail of it and thankfully she assured me that she would get onto it first thing in the morning as the office would be shut for today – what an angel. I feel so very guilty asking this favour when she is preparing herself for what sounds like some pretty unpleasant surgery.

Huw speaking now - I really didn’t want to go back to London so soon but my new computer was there and I had to bring it back on the train. My trip started with a good laugh when a woman at Villefranche station arrived just too late as the doors shut and began hammering on the window and yelling out a very rude word which sounds exactly like Russian president ‘Putin’.  How French newsreaders can ever report a Russian story without laughing is beyond me. Eventually got to the office in Stratford and straight to work. It already felt odd to be ’home’, didn’t feel like it at all.