Getting to know the neighbours

We try hard to get to know our French neighbours, though since we are only there 3 or 4 times a year it can be difficult.  Sometimes if we are on a very short visit we may not see them at all.  They all work and have very busy lives but there are occasions for successful get-togethers.

One was our ruby wedding party 3 years ago.  We had lots of family staying and we invited the neighbours so we had quite a houseful.  Alas, our idea of spending the evening in the garden watching the sun go down whilst  sipping Pimms was short-lived because of rain but nevertheless we filled the living room and kitchen and got down to serious eating and drinking.  We sadly fell into national camps since most of the family doesn't speak French but the Pimms was certainly a hit.  What a pity we can't take bottles of it when we travel by plane.

Last year we were there in June, on a date when people are encouraged to oranised neighbourhood parties, a get-to-know-you idea, rather like the Big Lunches Eric Pickles keeps going on about.

It started in the early evening with several folk playing boules whilst clutching glasses and cans.  Later more folk arrived and we transferred to one of the gardens.  More people arrived, some with barbeques and fuel.  More alcohol and plenty of nibbles.  We were introduced all round; some folk we already knew others were new friends.  It transpired that the garden we were using was chosen because it was possible to seat 20 people round tables in the garage!  An excellent use of a garage I  must say.

By now it was 9pm and the menfolk decided it was time to light up the barbeques.  I was starving by this time and not a little woozy; still the wine and beer and pastis continued to flow and conversation became ever more lively.  People commiserated about the difficulties of gardening long-distance and, much booze later, 2 of the men offered to cut the grass when we were away for long periods.We remembered the first summer when we arrived to find the grass 4 feet tall  and weeds above the grandchildren's heads.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth we immediately thanked them and promised bottles of Scotch as suitable rewards. If they later regretted their rash offer it would be too late.

Eventually we were all seated and the real eating began.  By 10.30pm I was flagging.  The barbeque was great, accompanied by good French bread and loads of salads.  Then came the puddings.  Everyone seemed to have brought cherry clafoutis; cherries were very abundant that year, athough I had chickened out and bought a meringuey toffeey dessert.  Delicious!

During the meal there was much singing, ever more raucous and I think it got rather rude (mercifully my French isn't that coloquial so I can't say for sure).  By 11pm I was too tired to think so I snuck off home and got ready for bed.  My husband came home much, much later, having had an excellent time and cemented new friendships.  One of our neighbours was worried about me because I had left early but I find speaking in a foreign language and having to concentrate so I can carry on a conversation is really rather exhausting.