Village People

It was decided recently that our road should receive a makeover or face-lift after years of decay hastened by the constant passage of tractors on their way to and from the fields beyond. Work started two months ago and the finishing touches will be applied any day now. Potholes and puddles will soon be no more than a distant memory, their place taken by a shining black tarmac strip lined by tastefully landscaped pavements.

One might have thought that this would have been the occasion for joyful celebration, dancing in the street, new friendships formed, perhaps even marriages arranged, but it hasn't quite worked out like that. "On the street" the talk is all of shoddy workmanship "(they're working too fast"), the infernal noise ("will it never end?"), the hopelessness of it all ("you'll see, the tractors and combine harvesters will soon reduce the road to its original state") and bitterness ("how come our neighbours have got a nice new edging for their flower border, and not us?").

"Off the street", jealousy and rancour are the order of the day: "I thought we were supposed to be in the midst of a financial crisis"; "How come their street was chosen and not ours?" "I don't suppose it would be anything to do with the fact that there are four tribal elders village councillors living in the street, would it?" "This is going to add a hefty amount to our rates, I don't mind telling you".

It just goes to show how difficult it is to ever get anything done in a little French village, and how important it is not to cut back on the defence budget!