We were caught slightly on the hop on Saturday afternoon when new visitors for the gîte tapped on the door; our first guests since March. They’d booked on-line a couple of days before, but Colin hadn’t forwarded the notification to me. They were from Germany but Mum was French and the two curly-haired, boys spoke French and German. I quickly made up the extra bed, removed my ironing board and Elnapress which I’d been using in the apartment, whilst they went to the supermarket for groceries.
I found my French conversation was at last beginning to flow better when talking to this lady, a Parisienne and now a language teacher in Germany. Maybe I found her accent easier than that of the South.
There seem to be plenty of Vide Greniers, (sounds so much nicer than Car Boot Sales), round here in the summer months, and they are fascinating to wander round. Bargains, I’m sure, can be found but there are also many things for which you can’t believe someone would actually part with their cash.
The shady romantic setting of a nearby village park had the added attraction of a Flamenco dancing display. I loved the colourful ladies with cascading ruffles and roses in their hair. Although we’re not in Spain we’re not far from the border and the Spanish influence is evident here in various things, if you look.
Tori’s family were visiting from Australia but before they moved on to Britain we met them in the Village bar. It turned into the best night we’ve had here. We’d met Tori’s brother, Harry, some months ago before he went to Barcelona and Portugal. Her Dad, Andy, is a very confident, friendly and talkative bloke, (got to use “bloke” when describing a typical Aussie).
The charming, graceful Mary, Tori’s Grandma from Norfolk, entered the gathering with dignity, and a huge smile. I warmed to her the moment she said with a twinkle, “Oh, I love to witness a domestic”, when John told her he and I were having “a bit of a barney” as we walked down to the village. When she asked what it was about, he told her to pick a subject.
I confirmed, “Any subject would do, we’d be sure to argue about it”.
Sarah, Mary’s daughter and Tori’s Mum, arrived at the same time as Pam. Both wearing striking earrings made by Shamay. The conversation was mainly in English as Shamay and Hugo were sitting separately. But when the two ladies from the convenience store joined the party, we discovered that even if you translate words accurately from one language to another they don’t necessarily convey the same meaning.
Towards 9 pm thoughts turned to food. The bar didn’t serve food in the evening, and the good pizza restaurant was closed that night. Pam refused point-blank to get Pizzas from the other. If she hates someone she really hates them. I try to stay in her good books, don’t fancy facing that wrath! The shop ladies, although they couldn’t join us for food, were prepared to open the shop to sell us a pile of frozen pizzas, some beer and wine, which we took back to our place.
I soon had the oven on and tables laid out in the garden. It’d been a glorious hot day which turned into a long warm night. Nibbles before and fruit after, added to the meal, but the impromptu and laid-back nature of it was what I loved. Candles were lit when darkness descended, drink flowed and the conversation never stopped.
This blog is based on truth but for privacy and security many of the names have been changed and some of the story may be embellished at times for dramatic effect.