Not-great-things-about-the-French vs great-things-about-the-French

Not great things:

• French workmen are disgustingly messy; I'm trying to polish up the tiles in the bathroom to get everything all nice and shiny, and I don't know what the deposit over half of them is. It's behaving like silicone sealant: an invisible enemy that prevents shininess! I've tried a heavier duty scratchy [vs the non-scratch scratchy that I'm currently using], and that is scratching the tiles; I've never had that happen before. It's not grout, because the odd bits of grout I'm coming across are coming off quite easily, and it's splashed all over the window, too, so I know I'm not making it up. I wish they could leave behind a clean job; what should have taken me half a day will probably take me into next week, and I've had to go and buy additional supplies of Cif and M. Propre!
• French project managers apparently leave their brains in the safe before going to site meetings; OK another beef about T+B - when a client is describing an area as a "potager", if you don't know what this means [despite all other French people seeming to understand the term], please ask instead of instructing/allowing the builders to compact rocks and subsoil around the gas tank. How much easier my life would be if I wasn't trying to dig weeds out of solid clay interspersed with rocks; the soil round here isn't great, but that's the hard to reach stuff that is making up my potager. All the other things have had me mad at Jean-Marie's lack of attention to detail or lack of professionalism, but this just has me thinking the guy must be a moron. And that's not normally how I view people, even people I've come to dislike because their actions are impacting negatively upon me!

Great things:

• Our neighbours are really friendly; even those from out of town - I'm going round to the gîte this evening for a meal with Marianne and Eric and the vendangeurs. It's so kind of them to invite me, and they didn't seem phased by me being vegetarian. I was the bravest I've been at accepting solo invites, and said "yes!" straight away. It helps, of course, that I know Eric speaks English, so if I get really stuck I can always ask for help, and also I'm back on the wagon so I won't be getting one-glass-of-champagne-fuddled-brain!
• Despite the bureaucracy-gone-mad it can be surprisingly easy to get things done; we've had Schwartz come and just move electrical points without any bother, the postie has a key to the letterboxes so can deposit a parcel without me having to trek to Essoyes to fetch it because I missed her visit, and David can just pop along to see Bernard if we need some mayoral advice [I want a trench digging so that I can pernicious weed-proof my potager using damp-proof membrane; I had an idea that would work, but having seen it recommended on a gardening website, I'm much more confident in 'going for it'] and find out if we can take down the trees by the road so we can strengthen the hedge. Also our favourite ex-baker has a key and will let people into the house in our absence!

Putting it that way, it looks as though all things are equal, but they're not; the friendliness of the people far outweighs the idiocy I've come across during the building project, and I can always bribe a tiler to come out from England the next time we want things done!

I'm off to attack another few tiles with the very mild cleaning product and lots of elbow grease, and then bathe so I'm presentable for dinner!