This weekend has been the village fête; a far cry from the very sedate, genteel events I remember in England as a child.

It started last week with a volleyball tournament every evening of the week; the final was held on Friday, the first night of the fête proper. Knowing how much rowdy drunkenness will occur, the commitee and their helpers take precautions such as lining the walls of the bar with melamine faced chipboard, removing the doors and scattering the floor with sawdust. It’s a weekend of eating and drinking to excess, while shouting over loud music, going on till 5 or 6 o’clock each morning.

On Saturday morning there was breakfast served at 8o’clock, followed by a walk, a horse ride or a fishing competition for anyone who was interested. Then lunch was served under the shade of the plane trees for about 60 people. Later that evening there was another sit-down meal in the salle des fêtes, or burger, magret de canard, mussels or duck hearts and chips in the bar, followed by a disco. The main focus of the fête, though, is the Sunday lunch, attended by hundreds of people. Mushroom soup, a seafood tart, roast lamb with dauphinoise potatoes, nougat ice cream, coffee and armagnac (and copious quantities of red or rosé wine, of course). Aperitifs were served from midday and we finished eating just after 5pm. It’s a wonderful chance to meet up with people you don’t often see, as well as, for us, to meet new faces.

After lunch there was the quilles tournament; a bit like skittles, the aim of the game is to knock down 5 of the 6 quilles with another piece of wood, but leave one standing. The whole car park is given over to this game for the afternoon and it’s great to see all ages playing, from small children, allowed to stand only half the normal distance from the quilles, up to their grandparents.

Tomorrow morning is the big clean up; but when we finish, there’ll be lunch provided for the twenty or so people who usually turn up to help.

We were able to attend the fête by car, as we finally got it back last Friday, almost three weeks after it broke down. Once again we’ve been amazed by the generous nature of people round here; as soon as they knew we needed to go to the airport and had no car, two friends immediately offered to take us and refused even to accept  anything for petrol. I like to think that one day we’ll be in a position to repay their kindness.