Yesterday, we were introduced to a French tradition: the annual door-to-door sale of firemen’s calendars.
Last night. 8.00 pm. We were just finishing beef bourguignon. There was a loud knock on the door. The four of us said nothing. Who could it be?
At dusk, shutters are firmly closed on all Breton houses, and no one ventures out.
I went to the door and through the glass, I could see a red reflective strip in the darkness.
I opened the door. Two firemen beamed at me.
I’ve always managed to miss these visits and so have no idea what quality of calendar is on offer, how much they cost, or how much pressure is put on households to purchase one.
I learned yesterday that pompiers in France also sell smoke alarms at their stations for perhaps a little more than you might pay for one in a supermarket. We need a smoke alarm and I would much prefer to ‘donate’ something to the pompiers by buying one of these.
Wonder if I can produce the receipt for purchase of the smoke detector when they knock at my door to sell me a calendar?