The French Are Such Wine Snobs

No surprise in that statement eh? So why do the bars sell absolute plonk for €1.20 a glass when we’d pay more for better quality wine? Well, the Brits would, we’re used to paying extortionate prices in the UK.

But enough of that for the moment, I’m here to talk about the plumber, Monsieur Patane.

A few weeks ago I noticed a wet patch on the garage ceiling. As the days passed, the wet patch became wetter until there were drips falling. Now, I’m all for letting things fix themselves or until they become a disaster and after dismissing the theory that the water was a result of the ultra wet weather we’ve had recently, I called, or rather, J called our builder, Antonio. I reckoned one of our water pipes, embedded in the concrete kitchen floor had burst, and that would be an absolute disaster.

Antonio turned up the next day and when we met at the front door it was kisses all round and it’s not many builders who kiss their English clients, and it is most certainly unique for English clients to kiss their builders and I’m not just talking about J, I got kisses as well!

In he came, looked under the kitchen sink and shook his head. ‘C’est grave. C’est serieux’, he said shaking his head again. ‘It’s a leak’, he said.

Two things sprung immediately to mind. One – even Shadow could see it was a leak as when he needed water, all he had to do was go into the garage and have a shower, and two - maybe it wasn’t that bad as when he was building the house, Antonio was always shaking his head at J’s designs, saying, ‘C’est grave. Pas possible’! 

‘The floor will have to come up. How many spare ceramic floor tiles have you got left?’ he said, conveniently forgetting that when he’d finished the house, he took most of the spare tiles for his next project!

‘I will call Patane the Plombier’, he said.

Mr Patane called round a few days later and looked at the ‘leak’. He shook his head. ‘No leak’, despite the fact that the floor under the sink was soaking wet. He then checked the other sink in the kitchen (J decided to have two sinks installed in our kitchen – his and his !) and after a few minutes declared that he had found the leak.

It appeared that the water from the ‘proper’ leak was working its way under the floor, along the protective covering and up and out of the other end of the pipe, a physics phenomenon which I will research and cover in another posting when I’m totally bored. Either that or it’s a second leak!

Mr Patane cut out the offending section of pipe and when he was out at his van, I checked the length of copper and noticed that it was one of his joints which had split. ‘This will be interesting if he presents me with a bill’, I thought, also wondering just how long plumbing work is guaranteed in a French new build. Anyway, 15 minutes later, he proudly stated that it was fixed.

As he headed for the door, I grabbed a bottle of wine to give him as a gift in case no bill was forthcoming and as things turned out, he did not present a bill, but shook my hand and said ‘au revoir’. I said ‘thank you Mr Patane’, and handed him the wine.

Instead of thanking me and continuing his walk to his van, Mr Patane set down his tools on the drive and carefully looked at the bottle I’d given him (a nice white burgundy). He looked at the label, he looked at the vintage, he turned it round and looked at details of the chateau which had produced it and finally, held it at arm’s length and nodded in a sort of 'knowing' way.

This wasn’t somebody checking the wine as a form of gratitude. This was somebody looking at it to see if it was the plonk they sell in The Midi! 

I’m a Mystery Wrapped in a Riddle Inside an Enigma

In many respects I’m an old fashioned guy. I think that when I organize a ‘boy’s lunch’, J should not turn up unannounced, simply because she knows I’m there with my mates and she fancies a Kir.

I believe that there are certain household duties which the man should do, whilst the woman should have her responsibilities and don’t think by that I mean the kitchen because ….. I have just prepared and cooked a roast lunch. I do my own ironing and hang out the washing regularly, much to Tan’s disgust. I clean the house and put the washing on, but of course, I only do this so that J has plenty of time for her girlie lunches and doesn’t feel the need to gatecrash mine! So, in many respects the traditional role of women with me is a blurred boundary.

But I do draw the line when I see women writing football articles. I mean what do they know about football? The offside law for a start is completely foreign to them – they haven’t got a clue. And what does a female football physio do when the guy has been kicked in the ‘unmentionables’ – how can she possibly ease the pain by putting a cold sponge on the affected parts without the crowd going into a frenzy?

The Delicious Viki Butler-Henderson

I would hate to see a woman presenter on ‘Top Gear’ and yet I get all hot and bothered (in the nicest possible way) when I see Vicki Butler-Henderson on 5^th Gear, a rival programme. I hate men presenting the weather – give me a shapely female any day, despite the fact that it’s probably a guy who has interpreted all the graphs and statistics and written the script.

Women are technophobes and yet I adore Suzi Perry on The Gadget Show. The fact that she was also a successful motor cycle racer and model just adds to the allure which confuses me and those that know me. If J was single and bought a new telly, it would lie unused for ages until man came into the house to show her how to program it, and I guess that’s the case for most women.

And yet, those that do know me are astounded to find out that at one stage I had four women working on my technical sales team out of a complement of six, and they were all recruited by me – not inherited! So nobody can cast asparagus at me on that score. I knew my clients were a bunch of randy old sods and I just reckoned that the girls would sell more and so it proved.

Suzi Perry

Yet when a crowd of us go out for a meal, I reckon it’s the boy’s duty to organize things and pay the bill. I always open doors for women whether I know them or not and I would never pass a woman in distress. I once stopped a cab I was in because a guy was giving this woman a severe slapping in the street and when I’d dragged him off, I was astonished when the woman started laying into me saying I shouldn’t be so rough with her husband!  Has that put me off? No way, I would do the same again.

So where did all this come from? From a football article in Saturday’s Gurdian newspaper which was something I really wanted to read but which I didn’t because it was written by a  ……. woman! What do they know about football?

Assistant Referee - Sian Massey

And if to prove my point, one of the top football games on Saturday had a female assistant (she’s pictured above) and unfortunately, two Sky presenters were making disparaging remarks about her and her understanding of the offside law when they thought their microphones were switched off!

But to her credit, she got an absolutely crucial offside decision spot on – she would have been crucified if she hadn’t!

What do I know?