chroniques d’une fraise

Apparently, setting today as a signing date was cutting it a bit too close. My bank only wired the notary this morning, and naturally, the notaries need to wait until the money is actually in their account before handing over the keys. Although everything has always gone smoothly and quickly with my banker in Nice, the bank’s regional loans department, which has actual control over the contracts and money, has been dragging its feet the whole time, and there’s nothing my local banker can do about it. I no longer count the times I’ve experienced this sort of disconnect between local representatives and regional or national offices, in all sorts of businesses here; it’s rather ordinary. C’est la hiérarchie.

Soupir. (Sigh.)

So here I am surrounded by boxes — some of which I’d hoped to bring to my new place this afternoon — unable to do anything. I had scheduled movers for tomorrow morning; luckily my real estate agent (the mature one, not the kêk*) lives in the same quartier as my new place and agreed to let in the movers and me tomorrow morning. But I can’t sign tomorrow, because right after moving I have a training session for work, so I still won’t be able to settle into my new home. Then there’s the annoyance of having to keep things at my current place in order to go to work the next day, which means I won’t be able to move everything at once tomorrow. Encore soupir.

Soon, soon, belle terrasse, you shall be mine! (And Malo’s!)

* Kêk: Pronounced similarly to the English word “cake”. Southeastern French/Provençal slang. A young man who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Drives either a scooter or a souped-up Peugeot 205, wears slick hair and a grin. Has an inflated self-image.

This entry was posted on Monday 26 May 2008 at 16:20 and is filed under Journal, La France, Nice. You can follow any comments on this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.