Their obligation to sign in at the gendarmerie has ended. Their obligation to leave the country: still in effect. Legal recourses against the expulsion order: in motion, as they say. They may or may not find themselves with an early morning wake up call, today, tomorrow or next week. Meanwhile…
A phone call from the medical doctor he’s supposed to replace: his replacement may have thought the oral exam went well but the letter says he’s rejected for insufficient mastery of the French language. Would I be so kind as to help him write his appeal so that he can have another stab at the test in two months.
Why a boy from Guinea might become a butcher instead of a baker: because he had a narrow escape from the local baker who takes advantage of the French apprenticeship program. Two of his friends are now in nowhere land because the man has worked them for months – no wages, impossible hours and no paying jobs at the end of the process. Throw them out and take new recruits. In some countries, it’s called slavery but not here, not in France, of course not.
The Ministry of Kindness – sorry, Revenue Canada – was kind enough to inform me by mail yesterday that, indeed, I owe not a penny to Treasury for the fiscal year 2013. Not a word about reinstating my pension, suspended since July 2014. But of course, the reinstatement isn’t of Revenue Canada’s purview. The slower-moving wheels belong to the Ministry of Benevolence to the Aged – sorry, I mean Service Canada.
Does fiction-writing proceed despite the treks uphill while avoiding rusted manhole covers in order to get home to more exciting news from the great world out there? It does, with no promise of the rousing chorus from Beethoven’s Ninth as a finale. (Do I skip to a 5/8 beat anyway? As often as I can. Considering the overall state of the world, I would have to be a fool not to skip to whatever lively beat shows up.)