Well, “hows about that then”….the mobile homes never came, and how very expected is that. When I scrambled into conscientiousness this morning Mike was dressed and ready to go, today was mobile home day and as I clomped my way through the tedious routine of getting ready for the day I had a real feeling of foreboding. Before breakfast I had given HOSS a ticking off for barking too loud and the cock for cockadoodledoodling inappropriately so early in the day. I called Monsieur Morris to make sure he was prepared for the transport lorry and he sounded as ready as a French chap can sound selling two old mobile homes.
I made porridge, as punishment for the moody start to my day and it felt good and justified. The sound of the phone screaming for attention from the lounge forced me to pass a comment in the way that you do when you know precisely what is about to happen next and I said, “that will be the transport company saying they can’t come”.
I must confess that if the transport planner had said the driver had colic and he couldn’t come I would have sent him my best wishes and accepted a new plan, but when the planner calls you to say the vans will be delivered on Thursday because we had not been given Monday as a delivery date I just saw red. My French is good and my intuition and observations of behaviour is mostly spot on and the attitude, speed and volume at which the planner was telling me that at no time was I given a delivery date just made me screech with anger. I knew he was in the wrong, and so did he. We were both at it hammer and tongs, me, in the “I am the client” corner and him in the “I’ve got your deposit and your caravans” corner so I took the blow as soon as I realised that at any moment he could throw the phone down and I would be at his mercy to get my caravans to Brevands. I shut up and let him tell me that despite my daily calls to his office the girl who gave me the date of Monday, actually said, “we will call you on Monday”. So, I wonder where the conversation was going when I asked her at what time we could expect our delivery on Monday and her reply was that the driver would call us en route to ensure that we would be in and ready for him. I am amazed that the large transport company can allow the planner to lie to that extent, he most likely took a call late Friday afternoon to collect a load from Caen or Cherbourg on Thursday and moved us about so he could get a return shout at our expense. Mike and I got over the initial, put the house on the market we are going back to the UK routine but then agreed that any profit seeking transport company would do the same the world over, I just don’t like being treated like an incompetent foreigner when I actually hold my own quite well. We have a few extra days now to prepare for delivery and come up with a cunning plan of revenge.
As soon as I had got over the now routine collapse of confidence, the questioning my worth and my ability to squabble in French I called a lady in Baron Sur Odon and arranged a little retail therapy for Mike and me. We set the GPS to small roads only and followed the mesmeric tones of Lovely to the back end of Caen to buy, for twenty five Euros, an ancient water pump, all broken and rusty but perfectly formed to adorn our garden. Tomorrow we will give her a clean and find her a corner to rot in dignity. Why does that make me feel so good…