It all started before we actually moved, on one of our trips to look for a place to buy. Everything here closes on Sundays. We needed petrol (gas) and stopped at a station, where some pumps take debit cards when the kiosk is unmanned. We inserted our English card and ... nothing. It wouldn't take it. Thinking the machine was defective, we went looking for another station. Same thing happened. We decided to look for a larger one, but the card still didn't work. Another guy was filling his tank using his card, so we asked him to fill our tank with his card and we would give him the cash. Relief! But a certain person (the husband of a blogger) had left the petrol cap at one of the other stations and our gas would evaporate if the cap wasn't replaced soon. The next day we stopped at the mechanic's shop in the village where we finally settled (we didn't know it at the time) and asked if they had a spare cap. That's when we learned that we needed a "bouchon de dépannage." Bouchon is the actual cap and dépannage has various meanings, one of them being "stopgap solution." The shop is run by a couple and we were helped by the wife, who we quickly named Madame Dépannage! I have another story involving Monsieur Dépannage. I'll leave it for another post.
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| Bouchon de dépannage |
After we moved, we used to see a very good looking guy at the cafe. He looks like one of my Spanish cousins, so he became Monsieur Espagnol. Now we know his name is Gilles, but still call him Monsieur Espagnol, it's so fitting! He has put on some weight over the years, but he's still lovely and has the sexiest French voice...
When we started refurbishing our apartment, the neighbour on the ground floor used to get annoyed with the contractors, fearing for his pristine car parked outside when they unloaded building materials and large equipment. As he dyes his hair really black and dresses in flamboyant clothes, he became Monsieur Peacock. His real name is Jean-Pierre and he has moved to a dainty little house around the corner, but rents a garage opposite our apartment, so we still see him a lot. He's a really nice person.
Monsieur Peacock sold his apartment to Madame Mim. She's small, plump and only wears black. Her real name is Lyliane, and she's a dreadful driver. She knows absolutely everything about everybody in the village.
Before we learned the names of our neighbours across the road, Jean-Claude and Jeannine, we referred to them as Monsieur et Madame Soup. They have soup every evening, something we observed in the winter months, when their lights are on and we can see into their kitchen. Apparently, it's the custom in the Correze. They have a big lunch, then soup for dinner. Monsieur Soup tends his large vegetable garden just outside our kitchen window. Hey, they need lots of veggies to make soup! Jeannine looked after Pirate when we went to Paris a couple of years ago. They're both lovely people.
The kitchen window gives us a vantage point to do some people watching. The garden next to Mr Soup's, towards the main road, belongs to Monsieur et Madame Tidy. Jean-Claude's plot is incredibly messy, with pots, bottles and other bits and pieces strewn all over the place. But the Tidys' is absolutely immaculate. They're fastidiously preparing the soil and Monsieur Tidy has already planted some onions in very neat rows. We don't know their real names.
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| Monsieur Soup's compared to Monsieur Tidy's garden |
Two other people have recently acquired nicknames: Madame Cooker, on the main road (visible from the famous kitchen window), on account of a very complicated delivery of a brand new cooker a couple of weeks back.
That leaves Madame Precious.
Madame Precious is a bit of a pain in the neck. She's renting one of the back apartments in our building. The apartment is very small. She moved from a large farmhouse and instead of sorting her belongings prior to moving and discarding unnecessary items, she cluttered the apartment with very large furniture and a load of bric-a-brac. She shares the tiny place with three cats and two dogs (one of them has only three legs).
There's a cellar under the building, divided into three areas. One is a common area, where the water meters are, and there are two separate storage "rooms," one belonging to Madame Precious, and the other to our friend Dominique, who moved away but still owns her apartment.
Madame Precious put ALL her surplus stuff in both storage areas and the common area. The passage into our bit of garden is littered with the things she couldn't fit in the cellar. Then she put a padlock on the door! The guys from the Prefecture came to read the meters and couldn't get in, so they rang Madame Mim's bell, who came to us in a panic. I quickly realized who had padlocked the cellar and knocked on her door. She took her time to come down to open it, then the guys couldn't get to the meters because of all her stuff in the way.
We told her that she can't clutter the common area and can't padlock it. She said somebody stole one of her precious belongings (we took that with a pinch of salt, as nobody steals anything around here, let alone some garbage), then started moaning about not having a car, so she can't take all that junk to the dump. But she does have a car! It's purple and we hold our breaths every time we see her go out in it. Her driving is even worse than Madame Mim's. Her nickname came from her junk and her car being too precious...
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| Monsieur Peacock's garage is the first on the left. Madame Precious parks her purple car outside Monsieur Soup's garden |
Well, what started as an account of how we invent names for people ended up as a bit of venting about an inconsiderate neighbour! The cellar is worst than ever. We think she's collecting junk from all her friends, because more and more stuff keeps appearing... but at least she stopped using the padlock.
C'est la vie...
UPDATE
I wrote this post in the morning and scheduled it for our 4 pm. At 3 pm, we left for the supermarket to pick up a few items. Peter went downstairs first to start the car while I put my coat on, got a carrier bag and my shopping list. When I tried to go downstairs, I couldn't get out of the entrance hall door. My path was blocked by a load of odd stuff. Peter managed to get over the pile, but my short legs couldn't do it.
Imagine our surprise when we saw two men loading a large rental van with ALL Madame Precious's junk! We haven't been down to the cellar yet, but the guys were bringing things up the steps, so we reckon it's all gone.
Of course, she came upstairs to move some of the things out of the way, so I managed to get out and we did our shopping. When we came back the van was almost full and her car was bursting at the seams.
Madame Precious must be psychic!
