Artists, Apricots and Bastille Day

Bastille Day
July 14th was duly celebrated in the village with a bit of flag waving and, much more importantly, an extremely agreeable evening of alfresco entertainment in front of the Bar du Pont. The centre of the village was blocked to traffic, the Bar put on a meal of lamb chops, chips, cheese and ice cream and the chairs and tables in the Place Banche Cour in front of the Bar gradually swelled with people who had simply come to drink, listen, maybe dance and generally socialise, around 300 of them packed into the tiny square.

It's one of my favourite evenings, along with the Feu de la St Jean, because all ages come. The entertainment this year was a very basic band and a surprisingly good girl singer. It's amazing what an atmosphere you can conjure up with a squeeze box, a piano, a bit of percussion, a good singer and the right tunes. The entertainment started, the statutory Provencal half-hour late, with the similarly statutory Marseillaise, and continued until after midnight. I ate, drank, chatted, wandered among the tables seeing friends and then engaged in my favourite sport of people watching. Everyone seemed relaxed and happy and the night was pleasantly warm without being too sultry. A lovely evening.

Artists In The Streets
The weekend, the third in July, is when artists both local and from various parts of France, display their paintings in the streets of the mediaeval part of the village. I didn't wander round them this year. Usually, I go to the Mairie to get myself a costune and take part in the parade through the village of some 60 of us all dressed in costumes dating from the Middle Ages through to the 18th century. This year however, Pierre Dieux, who organises the parade wanted a year off so there was no parade; plenty of visitors, though, with cars parked all round the village.

Previous years walking through the old village in procession have taught me that unfortunately there is seldom much work of any originality among the paintings displayed. Whilst nothing descends to the extreme banality of the classic large-eyed boy/girl with a tear in one-eye, a very large proportion consist of “typical” Provence scenes (fields of lavender/sunflowers, dotted with the odd cabin roofed with semi-circular tiles). The prices posted for these works show more imagination than the paintings themselves, a triumph of hope over expectation. This, despite he fact that there are three prizes of various sorts on offer. I find it all rather depressing and would much rather gaze into the studio window next door to admire the work of my artist neighbour, Florence Gosset.

Unfortunately too, the entertainment on offer in the evening, in the 14th of July square, behind the Mairie, was similarly banal. Posters proclaimed high-kicking girls in exotic feathered costumes, bare-breasted too. It's not my preferred form of entertainment but a good show of the sort can be enjoyable. Two girls alone, though, struggle to provide the same elan that a chorus line can (-can). The crooners, male and female, were just that and the songs uninspired. One singer did get her tits out (appeared in a transparent bra) but the effect was sleazy, almost obscene, in that there appeared no reason for it. The idea, presumably, was to titillate (excuse the pun) but the effect (on me) was almost the opposite.

Nonetheless, since the entertainment was free it is hard to quibble too much and I quite enjoyed myself sitting watching people as much as the stage. And most people seemed to be enjoying themselves. The sky helped, turning at one stage to a deep velvet blue. Really, the skies in Provence have to be seen to be believed. However, I decided that an hour of the entertainment was enough and left before the grand finale(?).

Almost Clochemerle
I commented previously on the beautiful stone wall built to hide the wheelie bins for our street. Ah, but there was a problem, almost a Clochemerle moment. The workmen who built the wall moved the bins originally; they had to in order to start work. But whose job was it to move them back behind the new wall? The workmen had long gone and it wasn't the job of the binmen. The matter probably had to be referred to the commune for arbitration. However, my neighbour Jean-Marc, simply took the job on himself, since the bins were then parked in front of his house, and moved the bins the 20 yards to their original position. It was brave of him: there could have been a binman strike, a dispute over commune power usurped and heaven knows what but all is calm in the street this morning so presumably the matter is resolved.

Apricots Galore
The apricots here have to be tasted to be believed. Some large as peaches, some red and gold in colour, they are a delight. And there seems to be a glut this year. At the depot by the boules court, small lorries packed with cases of them have been arriving by the dozen to unload and huge pantechnicons blocking the road to take them away. In the markets they are now below a euro a kilo, a very small price for a piece of gastronomic heaven. However, I have already made around 4 kilos of jam and friend Jo has amassed some 42 jars of it so the only thing left to do is eat them while they are still around. Next up are figs!