Feeling flat

I drove the family to the station this morning to catch a train down to the Auvergne where Brainbox and Princess Perfect will stay with their grandparents for two weeks; The Frog Queen returns tomorrow night.

That I could use the car was a bonus. Yesterday I discovered that the car wouldn't go. The key wouldn't activate the locks. I opened the car manually but the car wouldn't start. Not a flicker. Why?

I trudged down to the Peugeot garage (for a second time as the first time it was closed for lunch) but the guy didn't know the reason. Nothing wrong with the key, perhaps the battery, he suggested?

To cut a long, boring, toing-and-froing story short it was the bloody battery. A friend (thank you Agnès) drove over with jump leads and we tried to resuscitate my car. Nada.

I was puzzled why the battery was flat as I'm usually so careful about switching things off. And, anyway, the car has a warning system.

As we're trying to work out how to affix the jump leads, a neighbour I've never seen before comes over and, realising I don't know what I'm doing, takes over. He tries everything but to no avail.

Then a woman down the road from us came over to me and said, "Oh, I saw your car lights were on last night. I rang and rang and rang at your doorbell but no one answered."

The reason no one answered is that last week the doorbell broke and I haven't got round to fixing it. Damn.

I had been intending to go into Paris for a farewell drinks party last night but I had to say farewell to that as time haemorrhaged. It was nearly 6pm and Her Royal Frogness called out the Peugeot rescue services.

Man with spiky hair and attitude turned up, poked around and said my battery was knackered. He wasn't very friendly and a smile was out of the question.

He "kindly" put in a new battery. Price for battery, call-out fee, work: 219 euros. I couldn't have afforded the smile.

So, I left the lights on (Brainbox and I did recall later that when we left the car there was a funny beeping noise but we ignored it) and I didn't fix the doorbell and it has now cost me 219 euros.

And I missed a party. And The Frog Queen said there was no money now for my birthday (10th July, don't be shy, cheques accepted).

I've had about enough of this country. My all-too-brief visit back home last weekend has unsettled me. Where I was met with kindness and friendliness in the UK, I've been met with surliness and rudeness here.

I was buying a newspaper and a book for PP at the station today when a midget, rancid old bitch-troll with glasses pushed in front of me. I looked down on her and said,"What the feck do you think you're doing?" Shrug, pout and distinct whiff of body odour was the only reply I got. I could have crushed her like a raisin but didn't want to dirty my hands.

Having seen the family on to the train, I was driving home past the zoo in Vincennes when a taxi came up behind me murderously close and started hooting to hurry me up. The speed limit is 50 and I was doing 50.

I pointed to the sign. He tried to cut in on my inside and nearly hit a car. By this time, I'm furious and have given him the finger.

He then zooms past me and, as if I didn't see it coming, braked sharply in front of me to "scare" me. Prat. I hurled abuse at him and gave him a thousand fingers. I'd have given him the toe as well but I wouldn't have been able to work the pedals.

I've lived here 16 years and should be used to this behaviour but I've had enough. I've spent years stopping at pedestrian crossings to let people cross but rarely does anyone acknowledge it.

Ah, sod the lot of them.

I'm feeling flat like my (old) battery.

Cat's-eye view

Scabby the cat writes: Moan, moan, moan. Leave it out, Dumdad. You bleat on about the rude Frogs and yet you conveniently forget the kindnesses they have done for you. What about Agnès who drove out with jump leads to help without a second's thought? Or the stranger who came over and got his hands dirty fiddling with your battery? Or the woman neighbour to whom you've never spoken who tried to warn you about your lights? What about all your French friends who are generous, warm, funny and supportive?

Dumdad's-eye view

Dumdad writes: Bog off, Scabby. You're forgetting who feeds you.