nothing but blue skies

do I see

Quite a nice day today, especially appreciated after my sojourn under the Breton Sun (ie a raincloud).

So, I did a trigenerational matriachal thing over these last 5 days and went off to Brittany (must see a therapist regarding these masochistic tendencies I have) as my mother - who's also a bit of a masochist as far as I can tell (well, she married my father for one), is visiting HER mother on this part of the planet - for a limited time only. Like a special edition hamburger. If anyone wants clarification on the term TRIgeneration matriarchy, despite not having children, I am the only genetic representaive of my parents' DNA, that qualifies me enough in my opinion.

After 2 days I started to seriously examine the wisdom of my decision to stay a full 5 (my grandmother blew a few granny circuits with all the visitors coming and going and got a bit difficult), but I made it out alive (thanks to my good friend the alcoholic beverage, and some shopping).

Good news on the administrative front. I appear to have survived the first integration phase relatively unscathed. I turned up at the tribunal this morning and settled myself in to a nice long hours wait (note to self, bring more rations next time - think campout) to present my dossier of paperwork that proves that I am actually hopefully French enough to get the bit of paper that says so. I'm thinking to myself, paranoically, throughout the waiting period, that they're going to find fault with SOMETHING in this packet of paper. Most notably my proof of address, which I could only supply on my lease agreement (which could've easily been a knocked up a replica using Word) - in addition this lease agreement has the wrong building number on it (because the owners are suffering from chronic stupidity). I decided to bring along a copy of a phone bill for verification, but my boyfriend has rather thoughtfully left my name off every bit of official documentation that he possibly could think of. A great specimen of lateral and forward thinking, that one. Anyway, to my surprise, they accepted it simply on my assurance that we lived together (*insert eye boggling and jaw dropping*). Maybe she wanted to go to lunch.

The problem with the local tribunal (where you get your attestation of French nationality which you need to supply to get a French ID card) is not only that they are only open from 9-12, monday to thursday. The main problem is that you can't call them for any queries. If you're not sure about something, you have to turn up in person, before 11.15 (when they stop taking people), collect your ticket number, and wait.a.very.long.time. So I'm glad I bluffed my way through it with minimal waste of living time.

No luck on the job front yet (and let's not discuss the home internet connection issue either). Though according to my spectacularly negative relatives over there in Asterix land, I should expect to be unemployed forever now that I'm part of the nonworking plague masses. Through I do have some very nice relations also, most of them think they haven't done a good days work until they have lowered your morale by a good few degrees.

Otherwise I just had a grand time wandering round in the damp forest next to my grandmothers, gleefully identifying and learning the French name for all the spring flowering 'wildflowers' (most commonly known as weeds).