We’ve just returned from the déchetterie at Le Grand-Pressigny. We finally feel that we have 'arrived'! The man who oversees the place approached us, shook our hands and said "Le Petit-Pressigny"? This means he not only remembered us, but also remembered where we lived!
Our first visit there in February of 2010 bordered on farce. We arrived with a large trailer nearly packed to the gunnels with hedge and tree cuttings. Not a problem as the skips are large. The problem was that we had committed the cardinal sin of not bagging the waste for speedier disposal!
Luckily we had a couple of large boxes also destined for the skip. We spent a frantic half an hour filling the boxes and tipping the contents into the skip while the man looked on tutting and a queue of cars built up behind us. We could imagine him rolling his eyes and saying "les Anglais".
Today he struck up a conversation about Marguerita Chere who we thought he said lived in Le Petit-Pressigny, and asked whether we knew her. We thought for a while and said that we didn't. He looked bemused, returned to his buddies who turned to look at us.
It suddenly dawned that he was talking about Margaret Thatcher so we told him that we understood and he nodded gravely.
The news of Lady Thatcher's passing had reached this little corner of France...