Today we were assured that our piano would finally turn up (two months after the rest of our furniture). We had spoken extensively with the moving company, letting them know that at least four men would be needed to get it up the four flights of stairs and internal balconies leading to our apartment. When we first moved in a 'monte-meuble' was erected. It's a long ladder reaching from street level to the balcony on which a lift ascended precariously carrying our furniture. It was deemed not to be robust enough to transport the piano. We were sceptical at the time since this surmation had arisen as the rain started.
Around 1730 three chaps turned up. Clearly unbriefed they spent a good 20 minutes partaking in that past-time at which removal men everywhere excel: humphing, huffing and grumping. "C'est impossible!" was their suggestion. After a further hour of discussion, phone calls and general ambivalence little had happened. The piano remained snugly stored in their van. The big boss called. The chaps stood to attention as Maria gave him a piece of her mind. I was most impressed by her debating skills in French, however, the piano remained in the van. They suggested that we store the piano in either the wine cellar or garage, it didn't fall on eager ears. Around 1900 the men shrugged their shoulders and left to drive back to the depot. The piano remains in their van, but at least we have an assurance that it will arrive soon.
