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Phillip, a reader from Australia, wrote to ask if I would continue to praise Jan's cooking after being so spoilt by my mother. Phillip, are you kidding? It's a no brainer! My mother never reads the blog and Jan reads every single word (presumably to build her case for divorce proceedings) but more importantly my mother goes home in two weeks and I'm stuck here with Jan, as my main source of nourishment, for hopefully, a long time to come.
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I take Max training this morning in order to give Jan time to prepare a pique nique. Today is the annual pique nique hosted by Jean Francis and Marie Helene. We have made some good French friends in the village, neither of us being particularly interested in mixing only with the expat crowd. When all said and done, what is the point of coming to France if all you ever do is meet the English? I have never understood that.
Boy, did we underestimate the first invite two years ago. Our idea of a picnic was a blanket on the ground, a few sandwiches and a couple of bottles of something to drink. Wrong. What we found was about 40 or so people setting up their chairs and umbrellas at make shift trestle tables, aperos (whiskey, Ricard etc.), lots of delicious food being handed around, and someone roasting a sheep over an open fire. It made our packet of crisps look pretty poor. We were very, very flattered to be the only English people invited and if my memory serves me well, the only other couple from the village. This was acceptance with a big A and we felt very privileged!
Subsequent years were just as enjoyable, with as much food and drink as anyone could manage and lots of laughs. Last year, mum was here, and I happened to mention that there had once been a Roman villa on the site. Mum, in one of those classic breathtaking moments looked around and said, "Why did they knock it down then?"
This year, JF's brother cooked paella in a pan about 5 feet in diameter. I'm not a big fan of paella, but this was superb. There were more guests from the village this year, including the mayor, who had told me privately earlier in the week that he wasn't going to go, because he gets his ear bent so much. I suggested that he went anyway, because they're good fun, and then to come and sit near us because I don't want anything at the moment. He laughed and did.
After the food and drink, the men that can still stand up, and a few that can't, (all very macho) form into teams and play boules. This goes on for a few more hours (I'm happy to be knocked out fairly early) but we leave before the end and come home to a bit of peace and sanity.
This event is one of the highlights of our year and I can't wait for next years!
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