Airfix Trafalgar

So here we are, one full year in France to the day. As I said yesterday, this is an achievement from which I take a deal of pride. One thing I can tell you with no doubt in my mind is that it’s been the most tiring year of my life. The concentration level which needs to be practically permanently maintained as a result of the language issues can be so high and intense that it can leave you completely drained and dizzy by mid-afternoon. See blog Lingo Bingo for a more detailed look but you’ll also see there how the situation eases in time.

France seems to be far more status-oriented than the UK. Working people here seem to be far more cognisant of their own personal hierarchical position than the average Brit and I once heard it said that French neighbours might view someone in the neighbourhood who returns regularly from work at 6pm in a less positive light than the bod who parks his car at 8pm most evenings. The basic rationale holds some water but it takes no account of quality and true value. It’s all about the clock. Consequently, people might be tempted to be more interested in being “seen to be there” than in what it is that they actually do with their time. It’s true, all over the World, that people try to impress their colleagues and alleged superiors – it’s just one small component of the social structures we’ve developed for ourselves over lots of time and, in different parts of the World, different elements have assumed differing levels of priority. I understand that, In parts of Asia, status is best displayed by the weight of the individual. It was an Indian Sikh woman explained to me that someone’s being fat would be viewed as a real demonstration of their success. Makes perfect sense. In a society not propped up by huge welfare structures like ours, to be fat, you’re going to have to have been successful. Old sayings like “getting fat on the back of our labours” were intended to be taken entirely literally. I suspect that the average Brit neighbour, however, might spend more time concerning themselves with the specifics (age and type) of the car being parked across the street as opposed to at what time it’s usually parked there each evening or whether or not the driver has “man-boobs”.

For the most part, levels of respect and camaraderie demonstrated between colleagues here in France are very high, irrespective of relative position in any hierarchy, but that doesn’t mean that the parties concerned aren’t acutely aware of the order in which they might peck. They absolutely are aware and it matters a lot to them. I’m not saying that there aren’t people in Britain or all over the place who are status-aware and status-hungry but the emphasis is certainly different and I’m pleased to say that I, personally, neither crave nor respect "status". I just do what I’ve always done. I respect people who warrant it and avoid people who don’t. I make no judgments based on bank balances and business titles, volume of subordinates or numbers of furrows in brows. I just suss out how intelligent someone is (not hard to do), multiply that by how genuine and trustworthy they are (can take a while to establish) and then I multiply the result by how pleasant and considerate they are. The scale of the results of all this determines the respect I automatically have for them. Another way of putting this is that worthiness of respect is written on a “soul”, not on a business card. I approach everyone in this same manner and, from time to time, it causes problems. In an environment where status is more important than positive human traits, someone who cares more about the latter than the former can seem like a weird creature! Fortunately, if people who don't know me have negative opinions of me, their opinions are of no interest to me and affect me not one bit. On the other hand, once someone knows me, knows what I am, what I'm capable of, I then begin to care greatly about their opinions...........unless they're an idiot, of course! ;o)

A strange sense pulsed through me as I planted my foot on the runway of Charles de Gaulle airport, a few km outside Paris, a year ago today. I had a train to catch and a shuttle bus to get me from here to there. I had to find my bags and all the usual stuff but it was all done in auto mode. I just went through the motions. I’d done the trip 10 times in the preceding year so, thankfully, I didn’t need to think about the connections. I just kept walking. “Is this right?, Is this right?” bouncing around my head. This wasn’t the 2 ½ months in Tenerife thing I’d done on a whim a few years before. This was the “whole life in boxes” thing that I was doing and I was doing it alone. Would it last 2 ½ weeks, 2 ½ months, 2 ½ years or forever? I didn’t have any idea about the timescale. One of the most popular questions I was asked in the final couple of months in the UK was “How long are you going for?”. That question easily mutated to “How long are you here for?” (but in French) and, of course, it’s a perfectly reasonable question if asked to most human beings in circumstances such as mine. Normal bods would have a contractually-based or practically-divined answer ready but….. hey, I’m not normal. My answer is as true on this anniversary day as it was when I gave it around a year ago. “Haven’t a clue – no rules”. This sounds, I suspect, a bit too haphazard an answer, especially when you bear in mind the fact that, on a weekly basis, my “English side” gets joked about (in an affectionate way, of course) in relation to some lump of work I’ve done or presentation I’ve given. I can see what they mean as well. I rationalise, put things in boxes (usually “cells”, as I’m very much “Monsieur Excel” over here – I’ve already saved decades of unnecessary work here with my nerdish Excel interjections). I’m gently accused of being “too British” in my approach to certain things and “not Mediterranean enough” on other occasions. I take it in good part. Why? Because it’s an entirely fair distinction to make.

Picture a Brit and a “Mediterranean” side by side. They each need to make an Airfix model of HMS Victory (random choice! Tee hee!) and quality and deadline are both of vital importance.

Some time later, it will be clear that the British version is perfect in every detail, right down to the shape and position of Nelson’s bloodstains and, finally, the finished model ship will be delivered, in a silk-lined teak box, sitting on an ermine cushion, carried by the sixth in line to the throne and marched sombrely in to the sound of gentle harpsichord music…… two years too late.

Meanwhile, the "finished" Mediterranean Airfix model would be delivered in a Jiffy Bag 18 months more quickly, they’d have stood a cannon on end and nailed a hat on it to represent the Admiral, the sails provided in the kit would have been thrown in the bin and “easier” sails would have been made out of post-it notes, the front and back ends might not be too easy to distinguish from one another and the theoretically empty Airfix box will still sound like a box of plastic cornflakes if you give it a shake.

Which is the more successful approach? Perfection and good order..... eventually.... or something available to sail on tomorrow (even if it might sink somewhat sooner than the other version)? The answer is, of course, “it depends”. It depends what you “really” needed and when you “really” needed it. There is no occasion on which quality and deadline are of genuinely equal importance. One is always, even if slightly, more important than the other. In a truly international environment, such as the one in which I work, the trick is to subdivide the project until you get to the level where you can see which components are more quality-dependent and which are more time-sensitive……….. all you need to do then is to give the right people the right tasks to undertake!

Et voilà! What you end up with is something of the best possible quality in the available time and you get it as soon as was possible within the quality-related constraints!

Welcome to Europe!

All this said, I still don't know the answer to the "how long will I be here?" question and, to be honest, I don't really care and I wouldn't want to know. I have the strength to stay and the strength to leave. We'll see. All I want, amidst all the other commitments, is an enjoyable stay on the planet. How and where that enjoyment might be found is still uncertain but the question marks don't unnerve me. It's irregular. It's uncertain. It's interesting!

Arrival stuff continues in blog Lille's Newest Arrival)