As France goes to the polls....

Bingo Card Sample (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The rate of abstention is predicted to be high in the first round of the Presidential election, and the two candidates to go through are predicted to be Sarkozy and Hollande...representatives of the main stream right and left parties respectively.

With a choice like that you begin to understand the reluctance of people to turn out on Sunday - neither Mr. Bling nor Mr. Blobby will even start to crack the mould that has made France a dispirited, morose country where the radiance of the Siecle des Lumieres has waned to a nightlight in the financial morass that is the Eurozone.

If the France d'en bas'....the little people.....are to recover their enthusiasm, their faith in their society, then things have to change.

An example, involving charitable effort, shows what is wrong.

Since Mme. Pompidou at least, the wives of  French presidents take on a charitable cause and Carla Bruni has been no exception.

She accepted a role as ambassador for a charity - the Swiss based  and U.N. backed Global Fund - aiming to fight killer diseases in developing countries and, in particular, she accepted a role heading the Global Fund's Born HIV Free campaign, set up to help mothers and children whose lives have been devastated by AIDS.

Money from the Global Fund was directed at the request of Carla Bruni to companies owned by a musician friend of hers to provide publicity for the charity.
We are not talking peanuts here...but millions of euros.
Very little has been done to improve the lives of the women and children supposedly targeted by the campaign.
The Global Fund is supported by public monies contributed by the countries belonging to the U.N. - including France.

It's not only the wives of French presidents who undertake charitable work....the network of charitable associations in France is impressive....and particularly the local efforts.
I remember the campaigns to get a proper wheelchair for a paralysed child - where was the famed medical system  when it was needed....to fund medical treatment unobtainable in France...any number of local efforts over the years.
No public money here.

Two grannies in the north of France have organised bingo sessions in aid of charity for years.
Neither they nor their friends have ever touched a penny of the proceeds.
People in their area trust them implicitly.

They have been hauled into court for not observing the regulations on games of chance - effectively, not jumping through hoops at the Prefecture.

In three years, they raised over 450,000 Euros for charity...nowhere near the sums directed to the friend of Carla Bruni......and the court has condemned them to pay just under 50,000 Euros representing the tax due on the money raised, a further 20,000 odd Euros in Customs penalties, not to speak of assorted fines.

Clearly, the grannies cannot pay. All the money they raised, from private purses, went to the charity it was aimed at.

The contrast between the two charitable efforts exemplifies the malaise of French society...and, I suspect, many others...virtue reprimanded, vice rewarded.

In all the clamour of the rival election campaigns I see no mention of the factor vital to the resurrection of France....that the decency of the majority of ordinary people is reflected in those who lead the country.

Woolly jerseys.

Image by my favorite yarn via Flickr

I wanted some woolly jerseys for working outside in winter. As they were inevitably going to be snagged on wire and twigs, be left outside because I forgot to put them on again and probably receive all sorts of contact with manure, chickens, ducks, paint and varnish, secondhand and cheap was the answer.

Now, in the U.K., years before I would have gone down to the Oxfam or Sue Ryder shop, have had a rummage and come back with the required items and a carrier bag full of other odds and bods that had seemed to be a good idea at the time. Friends tell me that U.K. charity shops have gone distinctly upmarket since my time, with advisors to weed out the best items. The whole delight of the old fashioned charity shop was, after chatting with the volunteers, the prospect that you might find something really good for not very much, so this weeding out process is extremely unfair. And don't tell me that it makes more money for the charity concerned as I bet any extra is swallowed up by paying the advisor's salary. I have distinct doubts about the way in which the big charities work, but I suppose now is not the time to start on yet another diatribe.

However, this is France. Charity shops are not thick on the ground....there is a Red Cross shop in the nearest town, but it has been firmly closed ever since it opened, if you see what I mean, which left me with Emmaus.
Founded after the War by Abbe Pierre, the Emmaus organisation is implanted across France and extends abroad. The idea is that communities of people down on their luck live together and make their own living, repairing and renovating items donated by the public, supported by volunteers. Inevitably, down the years, all this gets over organised and there is the usual profiteering by the people running the charity, but Emmaus is about all France can offer by way of charity shops, so my search for woolly jerseys took me to their weekly open day. In my time I have been lucky with Emmaus...I have found fully lined curtains long enough for my windows, and a horde of the linen sheets with fine embroidery that no one wants any more as they take too much space in the dryer, but I hadn't browsed the clothing section before.
There was a vast table piled high as if a Scouts' jumble sale had just opened, offering garments in a wild variety of disorder to be bought by the kilo, and then the more sedate area where clothing was sorted by sex and by function. Woolly jerseys did not feature. I should be clear here, that to me, woolly means made from wool, not from whatever synthetic fibre which has been produced to make washing things easier. I know wool gives problems..my uncle provided proof in my young day by proudly doing the weekly wash and hanging it out in the back garden. My aunt was down from her sickbed in a matter of seconds to remove the evidence from the line before the neigbours could see it....underwear a nice shade of khaki, and men's pullovers reduced to something which would have been appropriate for the children's teddy bears in size had they not been reduced to unyielding felt by the prolonged boiling to which they had been subjected in the copper. On the evidence of my afternoon at Emmaus, my area of France is strong on synthetic fibre and bright colour, but distinctly lacking on the pure wool and subdued shades front.

Then I bethought me of eBay. French eBay, as I reckoned that posting woolly jerseys would be expensive from across the Channel. Sure enough, I found the garment section and pushed all the buttons for size, fabric, style, etc. and came up with a number of possibilities. I bid, and obtained five, from different sellers.
One, a lurid affair in blue with large sunflowers, arrived without problem...it would, wouldn't it? You'd do anything to rid yourself of it and it is a measure of my desperation that I bid for it.
Another then arrived, and proved to be made of synthetic fibre. I checked the sales entry and it did, definitely, claim to be made from wool. I entered into contact with the seller who flatly refused to do anything about it. He had my money and I had his jersey. End of story.
A third arrived, which had clearly been washed by my uncle, proving that it was indeed made from wool. I checked the details, and there was no way to see that the item had shrunk. I entered into contact with the seller, with the same result as above.
A fourth arrived with a large hole at the back of the neckband. This time the seller claimed that it had been damaged in the post as well as the usual line about who had the money and who had the goods. I am a great fan of La Poste and will be participating in the citizen's vote about its' proposed privatisation, but I had until that moment been unaware that they had trained technicians who could insert sharp objects into parcels wrapped in paper without leaving any external sign of their activities.
The fifth did not arrive at all. Instead I had a breezy note from the seller to the effect that she had noticed a small hole below the neckband and had decided that she should not sell damaged goods. I suggested that she might consider returning my cheque, but this idea did not appeal. I saw the same jersey on sale again a week later when it received a more generous winning bid. She still did not return my cheque.
Result of eBay experiment? One jersey covered in sunflowers and four dispute procedures, resulting in mutual blacklisting, absolutely no assistance from eBay, and a small financial loss.
I was moaning about my eBay experiences when friends came round and one told me he had had a similar experience when buying a gold coin. The item advertised was a Napoleon III ten franc piece - I think - and what turned up was a tiny gold coloured token! Unrepentant seller who blacklisted him, apparently for being such a fool as to believe the description!
I've always liked playing around on eBay and have only ever had one problem with an item on another national site, which was when a Polish seller could not deliver because he needed an export permit which he didn't have and didn't know he needed. He contacted me and returned my money with no problem. A good few friends play on eBay as well and their experiences reflect mine...all goes well until you hit eBay.fr!
Items described as in working order which are completely seized up, damaged or with parts missing, refusal to make recompense, abusive messages, you name it, French eBay will provide it.
Is the entire nation dishonest? Is it just that element of it who use eBay as an extortion racket? Why are they so proud of having done the dirty on the unsuspecting buyer?

All these thoughts go through my head as, visible to marksmen at a great distance, I take off my only eBay jersey and manage to drop it in the pond.