Lunch

At this week's flower making group there was much mention of an evening get together for our commune and another local commune. When I asked what sort of an evening they said it was a lunch, with much delight taken in that I would understand their English word.

Ummmmmm sorry but lunch is always at lunch time. Didn't really get to the bottom of what they meant because they all got diverted to brunch and other meals.

Lunch was last night. We found the salle des fetes which was the only place lit up with cars outside and also a coach. Out of the coach came a few ladies in long (mostly black) dresses with white lace bonnets and shawls. We all cram into the village hall type room where some of the coach load are setting up with accordians and sort of wind up cross between a guitar and a keyboard - maybe hurdy gurdy??

Plastic cups of a fierce aperatif are offered. Him Outdoors looks hopefully at the bottles of red wine on the table looking for some assistance with his smiling and nodding but that is definitely for later. Some tiny squares of nibbles handed round. Everyone that we recognised seemed delighted that we had come which was lovely. Maurice (the boss of the flower tying on) made a point of telling Him Outdoors what a good flower maker I was - bless him. Surprisingly only two or three of the flower makers were there.

Then on to the buffet (or lunch, since buffet is french for sideboard?) couscous, cold roast pork, pate, bread, a sort of quiche mixture cooked as a loaf, several deserts and at last the red wine. Much talk getting louder and louder. General shedding of layers as the room begins to warm up with the bodies.

Then the musicians start, one of the ladies starts to sing and walk around flirting with the men. While she is singing, the dancers are arranging themselves. Half a dozen middle aged women and one tiny dapper man and one much larger man in huge wooden clogs who for some reason had a bandage wrapped round his middle outside his shirt but under his braces?? Some of the music was familiar to us from other events and some of the dancing but lots of complicated footwork, weaving in and out and spinning.

After a few dances we were invited to join in and lots of the younger ladies got up and danced in pairs. 'Strictly' eat your heart out. The best dancers were a couple that looked as if they should be part of a little house where the man and woman come out of the door depending upon the weather. Tiny, neat dark clothes, perfectly synchronised, obviously danced together for years and were thoroughly enjoying their skills.

Then they let the audience have a go and we all learnt the sort of line dancing that they do at every one of these sort of things with lots of laughing and jollity and confusion. By this time the dancers were very hot and tired and by general agreement there was a pause. And Maurice was called for. Mau.... rice, Mau.....rice, Mau......rice.

Now Maurice is a dear, rotund smiley man of about 60. With some pretence of hesitation he walks to the front and starts to tell a story much to the delight of the crowd who knew exactly what was coming. The story was something about a young man who leaves his village to go to Paris and goes to a bar and asks ladies to dance and then somehow that I lost completely there is mention of their underwear. Just enough vulgarity to make the elderly ladies giggle and the men laugh out loud. Such delight in the room at his brilliantly told story. We were laughing out loud with no idea what was actually being said.

Very simple. Very affectionate. Lovely.

The stair case saga..................again again

We have received the result of the judicial decision about the stair case saga. Not enough assessors have been involved yet. So can you please send the court assessor 1,000 euros and he will turn up to make an official assessment of the stairs. We have one month to decide whether we want to do this and then the court assessor has three months to come and so it goes on. Our lovely local man took his copy of the papers this morning and will ask his company - who have already given us 700 euros to pay our solicitor - whether they will cover this. And so it goes on. Doesn't look lie we're going to get a balcony this summer :-)

The Killing

Several things are churning about in my head at the moment so I'll probably end up writing about the unimportant ones and not confronting what I'm really pondering............ The Killing is a television series we have been watching for 20 one hour episodes. It is a crime thriller - can you tell that from the name?? - and it has been brilliant. Last night was the last two episodes and we still weren't sure 'who dun it' right up until the end. And we have been having 'how do you know.................' and 'why did........' conversations ever since. It is a Danish thriller with subtitles in English. We have got used to watching Scandinavian television thrillers with episodes of Wallender in the original Swedish. The only slight disadvantage with subtitles being that I can't knit at the same time, but that means they have to be worthy of total concentration. And this is. It's rare that you get to the end and want to watch the whole thing again to pick up all the clues that they laid that after weeks of watching you have forgotten. Brilliant stuff.

The knitting group

The main point of this is to thank Fly for her french lesson which worked perfectly. Thank you.

Apparently I am 'super contente' aussi.

There were 6 of us this week and a quilt making group too. Interesting things (well to me anyway):

- I met my first woman who had 9 children and was largely pregnant with her tenth. Which brought out the fact that one of the other women had 6 children and another was one of 5. We are certainly in a catholic country. And it still took the pregnant woman 18 hours to have her 9th baby! Incidentally she looked lovely. Relaxed, fit, blonde and outdoorsy.

This revelation led to a discussion about the shopping involved in catering for such large families and they were amazed that in England lots of people could get their supermarket shopping delivered via the internet.

- the woman with 6 children bought 3 kilos of sweets every week. Her reason seemed to be that her husband was a lorry driver and needed them in his cab and her children ate them when they came home from school. They also had a discussion about how many litres of long life milk they bought but I got lost in the numbers.

- the lorry driver's wife came from 'up north' and watched the local news from her region on satellite television. This was considered bizarre.

- you can buy a drink in the local supermarket that is a mix of beer and whisky which is an english thing!!! (Must have a look.)

- booze cruises were a complete revelation to some. The idea that english people came over to france on a boat for the day just to buy stuff that is cheaper in france was completely bizarre. Lorry driver's wife from the north had obviously experience of this and apparently Belgians do it too.

- the only english food that is consistently praised is 'le pudding' which is Christmas pudding.

- my conversation is improving with every visit :-)

Hairdressers

My local hairdressing experience was lovely. (Apart from having to look at my mother in the mirror for an hour which always happens when I take my glasses off now.) The coiffeuse was delightful (Fly how do I tell the lady that recommended her all that is implied by a lovely delightful woman, in french please.)


It was in Sarlat ,which on a February Thursday morning is totally empty and if not exactly shut very close to it. But the salon was buzzing. Modern, bright and every chair full of ladies in various states of wet, covered in paste, silver paper, hair. I had been recommended the owner who was older, elegant without being in any way brittle, and welcoming. Lots of time taken with chosing and discussing. Quite understood that I didn't want to look like my mother or the queen and was tired of looking like a witch. And I love it. And more to the point can almost make it look like that the next day!

A comment from Carol reminded me of a similar experience in Singapore. Well actually, the only similar bit is that I had my hair cut! A friend with very thin, very curly hair and I with my then dark wavy hair decided to brave the local (again recommended) hairdresser. We were both sat down together in one of those salons which is a converted something else and they have covered up the conversion in black paint - badly. The first surprise was that they proceeded to wash our hair while we were sat in the chairs. Just dampening it enough to apply the shampoo. To rinse it we were then required to lie down on full length plastic covered tables with our heads over a basin. Then we were sat back in the chairs and the cutting commenced. I seem to remember that that was ok it was only when it came to blowing dry that my friend was turned into an approximation of Molly Sugden - identical to an actress on Neighbours whose name escapes me and I ended up with the sort of bouffant cloud that is immediately washed out when you get home.

This all took place in tropical heat but fortunately above a very good coffee shop so I remember having fits of giggles over a restorative coffee.

Appointments

At the knitting group on Sunday I asked Chantallou who her hairdresser was. I feel the need to cut my shoulder length hair which is ok when 'up' but depressingly witch like when down. Chantallou waxed lyrical about the lady she had been going to for years who was une visagiste and she highly recommended. She obviously 'does colours' or whatever the french equivalent is. There was much miming of draping fabric over your bosom to show which colours you should chose for your wardrobe. So this morning I rang and have made an appointment for later in the week.

I have been looking at the local ladies trying to spot one that doesn't have the short back and sides dyed orange that is the local speciality and hopefully this lady from the local larger town will have some ideas that are a bit more cosmopolitan. But who knows. My french is only up to an approximation of the discussion that would take place in England. Him Outdoors suggested leaving it until we go back to England next month but experience has shown that it can either be a triumph or a disaster when you do speak the language.

I also rang England to make an eye appointment for when we go home. And it was only when I had put the phone down that I realised how very very much easier it is to do in English. I wonder if I will ever be able to have that ease of expression in French. Ho hum.

Height issues

Just a tiny rant.

Please, please, please, please if you see someone that is taller than average height - or taller than you - don't mention it.

Yet again, this weekend, I have been told how tall I am. Wow..................surprise...............I didn't know. And also questioned 'wow, 6 ft, really, are you sure, I'm 6 ft and you're much taller/shorter than me'.

Is there anything else that people feel able to comment upon that is, at worst, rude and at best just really really boring?