La Minette Anglaise

Bureaucracy

I think it must be the French who invented bureaucracy. Form-filling, proof-of-postage certificates for piles of documents, endless hours of standing in queues are national pastimes. Where one set of information is required, please fill it out in triplicate...and that is just the beginning.

Since I moved here, I think I have filled out more forms, photocopied my passport and sent off more information about myself than I ever have before. Getting married required at least seven trips to the Marie with various bits of information and now that I am setting up my business here, well, I better get used to it!

However, there are a few advantages, like coming across the interior of the Greffe Tribunal de Commerce de Paris - an imposing building on the Ile de la Cité, sandwiched between the Conciergerie and the flower stalls in the Place Louis Lépine.

I was there to collect yet more forms from the Registre du Commerce and I couldn't resist taking a few photos of the amazing central staircase.

On the same note, and in the same week, a visit to my notary.

Again an amazing, sumptuous office.  I couldn't resist taking a sneaky photo (below)

Now I just need to find some time to fill out all those forms...

La maison de compagne de nos amis

 

A email on Thursday night arrived from an friend. He was inviting us to his parents-in-law's house in the country. "Come on Saturday afternoon" he said, "it's just 50 minutes from Paris by train, we'll meet you at the station. It's lovely and relaxed here and you sleep really well."

With sunny skies and the prospect of some fresh air and a good nights sleep we could hardly refuse!

Saturday morning we rushed around looking for suitable gifts to bear. From the market, a beautiful hanging basket of strawberry plants dripping with fruit, tart à l'abricot & a tart cerise aux crumble (why are the French so crazy for crumble?) for dessert.

We arrived on Saturday afternoon, earlier than expected and made our way down from the station. I had forgotten to get directions to the house but knowing it was a small village, I knew we couldn't really get lost. But we didn't need directions - we just spotted Cyrano the donkey. My friend had told me about their pet donkey and what I funny crazy creature he is! He was hanging out in the garden so we soon made friends.

They have a beautiful house part 13th century, expanded with a converted barn and surrounded by gardens and fields. Since it is so close to Paris, they spend nearly every weekend here and all their close family also have country houses nearby.

Being woken up by the bray of a donkey was a new experience for me. And after breakfast we all went for a ride by horse and cart to the next village - It was a really lovely way to see the local area. Then back to catch the train back to Paris. We have an open invitation to come back when the raspberries and gooseberries are ready for picking. I'm so there...

Girlfriends

Of all the things I miss the most about home, it’s my girlfriends.

I grew up in London and lived their until I moved here, so I still have friends from nursery school and a whole group of really close friends from secondary school. They are like sisters to me.

We call and email and whenever I am in London (a lot these days) I see them and we always make time to catch up over dinner or after a yoga class. But it’s not the same as being in the same city, the chance to pop round for a cup of tea or a spontaneous afternoon lounging around on the Heath.

I have been here for nearly two years and I have very few friends in Paris and I’m not sure how you find them. For sure it takes time and luck to meet people you click with.

But if anyone knows where all the funky, fun-loving, creative, smart women are hanging out in this city, please let me know!

Royal v. Sarko

Yesterday was the first round of the presidential elections here. I went with the 'kindest man in the world' to the polling station whilst he voted. Not being French, I'm not allowed to vote here  so it struck me that it may be time to apply for French nationality. I've always appreciated that right and it felt so strange to not be able to cast my vote.

As it is, the two candidates I thought would go through did and the second round of voting is in two weeks time. Personally I favour Ségolène Royal. As a woman and a mother I hope that she will bring a more humane voice to France. (Although the same theory didn't work with Thatcher!) And quite frankly I don't trust Nicolas Sarkosy. Well, in two weeks time we'll know who's won and I hope it brings better things for France. 

Le Chomage

As my mother and now my mother-in-law like to remind me, I should be looking for a job. A nice sensible pay-your-mortgage kind of job. The problem is I am quite happy in Cloud-Cuckoo-Chomage-land.

The “Chomage” is the French version of ‘Signing On’. Except that here they really do it in style.

When my contract finished in December, I had the pleasant surprise of the last months pay cheque. A couple of weeks later, and for the first time in my life, I found myself in front of a very nice lady at the Social Security office who explained that I was entitled to 7 months of unemployment benefit.

Unlike English dole, the sum I receive is directly linked to how much I earned last year. Let’s just say I nearly feel off my chair when she told me how much it would be. Suppressing my inner Homer Simpson (“Whoo!”), I made my obligatory follow up appointment at the equivalent of the Job Centre.

At this point I should give some context to my employment history. I graduated from art school 10 years ago with a wonderfully creative degree in Jewellery Design. Over the years I have been a self-employed jewellery designer, a gallery owner, commercial director for a very well known British jewellery designer and commercial manager for an award winning French home ware design company.

All of with makes for an interesting and varied CV. However, it seems that here in France my career path is considered a little too creative.

There I was in my interview at the job centre – form filling and data entry onto their system – and it’s all about putting your skills into a nice neat category that sums you up in two words. The poor woman interviewing me had a hard time trying to fit me onto their “system”.

After half an hour of scrolling through lists she whispered that perhaps I should start my own business. “I don’t think we will have much to offer you” she ended with.

So for the last couple of months have been very happy at home. After a morning visit to the local swimming pool (free to whose registered as unemployed – “Whoo!”) I settle down in front of the computer, surfing the net “researching” (well if I’m truthful, 80% blog reading, 20% research).

There is nothing I would love more than to be my own boss. I have an idea, just a little grain of an idea that I’m nurturing, hoping it will grow towards the light and put out a couple of leaves, then a couple more. I have a few potential options and offers of help to get me started and the security of a few more months’ social security payments.

Yes, I am scared of the prospect of paying 55% of my earnings in taxes and social security and yes, it’s daunting to do this in a language that is not my mother-tongue. But I’m going to give it my best shot.

Things the guide books don't tell you

There are things that the guide books can never tell you. Mainly, because you only start to discover them once you are living in a place for a certain amount of time. The weirdest was discovering quite how English I am.

I have never thought of myself as English. I come from a family of who could almost make up their own mini European parliament - Polish, Russian, Lithuanian, Belgian, Swiss and Austrian. So it's bizarre to now be classed as L'Anglaise and to witness other people's reactions to my broken French and funny accent.

Contrary to all the cliches out there about the relationship between the French and English, almost everyone I have met have been quite charmed by my Englishness. I have been told that my accent is cute (much in the same way as the English find French accents cute).

But so many of the things I took for granted have changed since I moved here. For a start, I never appreciated that to have command of a language and to be able to express myself EXACTLY as I wish to was so very important to who I am. Witty retort and quick fire banter have been put aside for conjugation and personal pronouns.

Have you ever tried to talk to a dentist who's fiddling in your mouth whilst trying to looking up words in the dictionary?

Or stand at the front of a queue in a hardware shop trying in your best French to ask if they sell radiator keys?

Or do a presentation to your new bosses in French with a limited vocabulary?

I can't tell you the number of times I have wanted to shout "I'm English - not stupid!"

But to be fair most people are unbelievable patient and kind with me, gently correcting my grammar and  sharing the joke when I make a 'faux pas'. I still make plenty of mistakes, but I care less. And slowly, slowly I am improving.

Welcome to La Minette Anglaise

 

Welcome to La Minette Anglaise.

I moved to Paris from London about a year and a half ago. Why? Two reasons; to be with the kindest man in the world and because I had always dreamed about living in Paris.

Ever since I moved here, I have come across the most wonderful stores, little restaurants and tea rooms, beautiful views and discovered amazing museums - I thought it was about time that I shared all these treasures.

I had a really romantic notion of what it would be like, strolling along the banks of the Seine, eating exquisite food, relaxing in the Tuileries Gardens and rummaging at the Clignancourt Marche aux Puces.

The reality of being 'L'Anglaise' in Paris has been interesting but nonetheless enchanting, not least because I have come to realise so many things about my 'Englishness'.

The girl from North London may have only crossed the Channel but some days it seems much further..