So why was I sitting in a freezing cold hunting lodge, -8°C outside, at 10-O-Clock in the evening with 18 other very chilled people, a real log fire with pretend heat (-6°C inside), some fairly grotty cooking wine and a pizza, well dear reader the answer is “La Liste”.
In the eight years that we have been here we have not got involved in French politics, whether that be Presidents, La Pens, MEPs, regional government or our local Mayor. (We have watched and read about the sorry state of English or should I say Scottish politics, but have had no interest in that either). We would often look at the huge boards all around our small but beautifully proportioned town, put up exactly a week (not one day before or one day after) before Election Day with faces of the great and the good. Faces that had been manipulated by the local youth with false glasses, blackened teeth, and moustaches, faces that had been battered by the wind and the rain and aged prematurely, faces that some wag had written some derogatory remark in a balloon emerging from some innocent political appointees mouth. We would look, laugh and shrug, saying “nothing to do with us we are aliens in this land” or “shame about the Mr Spock ears”.
Well that all changed just before Christmas last year (2007). I was taking a pre-prandial stroll through town heading for my favourite Pastis parlour, when my good friend Gérard, my ex neighbour, ex senior international policeman (nod nod wink wink), co-owner of the local newsagent, oh and I almost forgot deputy mayor of Saint Antonin Noble Val slapped me on the shoulder and said “Richard we need to talk” and that was it, my first and probably last venture into French politics had begun.
“As you know Richaaaar, in March next year we go to the polls for a new Mayor and I would very much appreciate a few minutes of your time to discuss “La Liste” can we arrange a meeting at my house with you and the Mrs?”
“Of course Gérard, I will check with the patron and give you a call”
I got home in double quick time (no pre-prandials!!) and looked up La Liste in the French/English dictionary.
Elaine was as confused as I, as we discussed my pre-pre-prandial meeting.
Liste in the big book in paragraph one means list, paragraph two means electoral roll, and paragraph three deals with left-wing candidates and joint list of candidates and a commune of candidates. Look it up yourself if you don’t believe me.
We have never registered to vote here in France, nor for that matter have over 95% of the rest of the invaders or “étrangers” as we are known locally. We are not counted as tourists, which believe it or not is a good thing!
“So Gérard wants us to vote for him and has invited us for drinks to garner our ballot and tell us how the hell we go about getting registered” says the boss after a little female intuitive insight.
Well I was all for that, Gérard’s aperos were limited in choice but high in alcohol content.
“Richaaaar I have scotch or Dubonnet , you will drink scotch no?” Well how could I possibly refuse? It was ten minutes before eleven in the morning, but “a mans gotta do” etc. For king, country and politics down the hatch.
It was his next sentence that struck home “Richaaar I want you on my list” he didn’t stop, hesitate, breath, or drink but kept right on going, “You are a businessman, you have brought your children up here in this town, in our schools, you work with all our craftsmen, you bring tourists to our town, your website is better that the tourist boards, you know a lot of “les étrangers”, you only really socialise with the French” a slurp of Scotch a big breath then” It will mean a couple of days a month and a few evenings if we win, and I am sure Elaaaiinee will not be against it”.
We both sat stock still, Elaine white as a sheet, me thinking about another slug of Scottish fortification, well, basically gob smacked. Years ago I had been asked if I would be interested in standing as an MP (Conservative) in the UK and Mrs W had said she would divorce me if I went anywhere near the job…so I didn’t. Shame really because the beer in the Westminster bars is really quite good and plentiful, and cheap
He then explained that he had to create a list of eighteen people to be his “conseil de commune” who would be elected, with him, as mayor, and he wanted me on it.
I have to say I have done a lot of different, exciting, and crazy things in my life, but just to be asked to be his electoral companion was an unbelievable honour.
Anyway after various meetings (at –6°C in hunting lodges and peoples front rooms) we got our political objectives prioritised, Elaine, Sebastian and I were registered to vote and this week my photograph appeared all over town, ready for the local youth, the weather and the wags….god knows what I will look like by Sunday.
May the best “Liste “ win
www.saintantoninnobleval.com
So, who won?