Le Couvent Diary

Damn, damn, damn. We lost, outright, no messing about with second rounds, we just lost. So we have the old Maire and his team for another six years. I console myself with the thought that we chose to live in Roujan because it felt like Britain in the 50's and with a bit of luck some things might remain that way if the villagers are so entrenched.

The main problem for me is the proposal to build a big supermarket in the village.  Roujan has two fantastic butchers, two excellent bakers, two general stores, a post office, a bank (albeit with mercurial opening hours), a bus into Pezenas twice a day, two bars, a florist, a pharmacy, heaps of estate agents, two hairdressers, two newspaper/tobacconists and so on. But the villagers are super keen for a new supermarket to be built on the outskirts of the Roujan.

Having lived through the demise of the English village we encourage them to imagine how our lives will all be when one-by-one the shops disappear and we all have to traipse nearly a kilometre down to the supermarket to drag our shopping another kilometre back up the hill. Either that or get the car out all the time. Unfortunately the rosy glow that sits over the village leads the villagers to believe that the independent shops will all remain. Now that would be a first.

Today we voted in the municipal elections for the first time. It's a simple affair. One is handed a blue envelope. On the table are two lists of 19 candidates. You choose the list you want to vote for and stick it in the envelope, or if you want to choose some from each list you can go into a booth to make your choices. We were both happy with one of the lists so into the envelopes they went. Then a short queue before handing in your voting card to be stamped, the envelope hovers over the open ballot box and you sign to say you've voted and an important person slides a lever to let your vote fall into the box. All very civilised. Here's Ali placing her vote.

 And me outside the Mairie after having voted. Yes my face is all puffy because I STILL have this bloody cold and cough. 

I'll let you know how we got on tomorrow. I'm praying our party ousts the current Maire and his gang. The contenders have great plans which include a festival and a market in the village - both of which I would love.

First a new roundabout appeared at the Pezenas end of the village, by the Cave Cooperative, last summer. It was pretty ugly, and well, just round. Then another popped up at the other end of town on the road to Gabian - slightly prettier this time, with lots of decoration in the middle - as is usual for French roundabouts. As if that wasn't enough new pavements and a squillion laurier roses found their way along the road to Neffies - Avenue Henri Mas.

At the end of the summer all the pavements were torn up, heavy machinery caused chaos in the main road, traffic was diverted round various routes (one of which saw pantechnicons wedged on the sharp bend by the bank) all of which were fairly disastrous and nearly caused the local garde champetre a heart attack. No two days saw the same road diversions as each 'plan' was as flawed as the next.

Then just before Christmas the first roundabout had lots of new planting and interesting stonework installed to end its summer-long building-site look.

The reason for this flurry of activity? Yes, the municipal elections. Every six years towns elect a new council and mayor. So they hang around doing nothing obvious for five years then make major changes in the sixth year. We're about to start voting on 9 March (it's a dual-pronged process) so Monsieur le Maire recently sent to every household a newsletter giving details of all the major achievements of the council. Just to remind us.

Anyway, for those of you who've stayed at Le Couvent, Roujan before, we hope you like the changes. Just watch out for the axle-high speed bumps all the way up the main street. Oh and we're not alone, the same phenomenon can be seen in all the towns and villages around here - and probably throughout France.

It'll be a relief when the elections are over, then we can all go back to sleep.

M. Lafitte arrived this morning with a thousand litres of oil for the central heating. Every time he comes he whinges about the Banksia rose scraping the top of his lorry. He is clearly very stressed by having to negotiate his truck up our steep and narrow drive and takes it out on the rose. This outburst usually lasts until I've written the cheque at which point he becomes positively chirpy. I've become fond of him.

When we first arrived here some five years ago the wine made at the cave co-operative in Roujan turned your tongue blue after the first glass. Things have improved enormously and the wines are becoming drinkable. The labelling is still awful, sporting the Roujan hedgehog - a design so particular that it has to have been created by someone closely related to the maire.

I found this bottle on e-bay. The whole label is a pastiche - it's brilliant. Maybe they'd sell more if they used this design.