Back to reality indeed, the last few days have flown by in a whirl of arrivals and departures, dinners and canapés, cleaning and laundry.
Amy left on Sunday afternoon so that she would be back in time to get up to Lancaster University for her graduation ceremony which took place on Wednesday. Christian left on Tuesday because that was the cheapest flight and Debrah yesterday after the Bastille Day fireworks because she had to go back to the office in London and various guests came and went each day.
All of which meant that Debrah and I had no time just to ourselves over the ten days that she was here and we won't see each other again until 1st August when I next go back to London - no matter that it was all unavoidable, it was still slightly frustrating.
At least this year we got to see two firework displays. On Monday evening we went to Lagrasse for a little soiree with Michael and Nicole and a large part of the village all crammed onto their lovely roof terrace overlooking the old bridge over the River Orbeiu. Lagrasse hosts it's Bastille Day fireworks on the Monday night so as not to clash with the Carcassonne spectacular the following evening - and the terrace has a prime view because it is literally just 20m away from the bridge from which the fireworks are launched.
The 'pompiers' were in attendance to ensure that the surrounding countryside didn't catch fire but that was just a token attempt at health and safety. Our entire terrace of people was showered with the falling sparks as we were immediately under the exploding fireworks - excellent stuff but a bit too close and loud for some of the children who burst into tears at the sound of the first cannonade of explosions.
On Tuesday night we did the whole thing again from the relative safety of Patrick's terrace after hosting a wine tasting and a supper at 42rvh first. It was a fabulous display again and all those watching for the first time were totally blown away by it, although one or two churlish old timers were complaining about it 'not being as good as last year'. It's a fantastic 30 minute barrage of colour and light and sound - why do people have to find fault with something wonderful like a firework display?
Debrah did a sterling evening's work with guests. She provided the tapas with the wine tasting followed by a paella and the fig tarts that completed the pre-firework supper. At Patricks she rescued one guest who had been cornered by Bob, spoke to the other guests at length, was told she was "looking particularly magnificent tonight" by one of Patrick's Irish mates and was then berated by a French woman, who implied she was a bad wife for leaving me here alone! - said woman then proceeded to flirt outrageously with me and pretty much everyone else - thus confirming Debrah's views about their morals. She did well to contain herself or there would have been more fireworks than originally planned for the evening.
It's telling that their assumption is that I am the one being neglected - not that Debrah is being neglected by me here trying to maximise the summer season income before I go back to London to look after my wonderful wife. It won't stop her worrying but she doesn't need to worry at all.
Finally, today I am being hampered by my latest non-serious but slightly annoying injury. At the end of last week I went over on my ankle and then I did it again on Tuesday night. It's the same ankle that I badly strained whilst playing football way back when at University and every few years or so I seem to replicate it by being a bit clumsy. The result is a bit of pain and fair bit of swelling - an ice pack and foot up is the proscribed remedy but fat chance of that with breakfasts, shopping, dinners, cleaning and ironing to do - so I shall probably ignore it for now in true bloke fashion.
Besides, I would really like to go out cycling tomorrow.
Showing posts with label fireworks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fireworks. Show all posts
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Tuesday, 15 July 2008
Bastille Day
It was Bastille Day yesterday, which of course means a French national holiday, trading in the streets, pomp and ceremony at the 'Monument des Morts', the second largest firework display in France (after Paris) and a thumping DJ late into the night. Something for everyone I guess.
The day itself was relatively quiet - in fact it seemed to be quieter than a usual Sunday, which was a bit strange. There was a fairly low key farmers market, where we bought a huge sausage sandwich as breakfast and three bottles of 'Carthagene', a local aperitif - but it was a bit early in the morning for wine tasting (even for me!) so we said we would come back but we never did.
So we wandered down the main shopping street and bought shoes. Well, Sandra didn't buy any because they didn't have her size in the ones she liked and I spent €14 on some summer knockabouts and Debrah bought three pairs - plus ca change.
After a lovely dinner on Sunday evening, which both sets of guests seemed to thoroughly enjoy, we had to plan a pre-firework supper. It was meant to be a barbecue down at Patrick's house before viewing the fireworks from his terrace - but he seemed too pre-occupied with the bar build and a little freaked about having to provide food for our two vegetarian guests, despite me assuring him that we would have all that taken of. So we decided to eat at home first and then wander on down there about an hour before the kick-off.
To spice things up, we did a wine tasting - compare and contrast three reds from different wine regions within the area - which was a lot of fun. I cracked my usual joke about 25 years of research before I realised I couldn't drink Bordeaux reds because the Cabernet Sauvignon grape gives me indigestion and everybody laughed except Debrah, who stifled a yawn.
That's not fair really, because Debrah has been joining in everything despite feeling really grotty with a horrible summer cold that she bought with her from The UK last Saturday. It's probably not a summer cold because I hear it is still winter in the UK!
I didn't get to see the pomp and ceremony at the statue to the dead but I know it happened - some speeches, a few medals, a lot of bowing and handshakes, an enormous amount of kissing and a band all trying to play in time and in tune - even the same tune - but failing.
The fireworks were as spectacular as they always are and my guests thoroughly appreciated the private viewing platform rather than slumming it in the street with the half million visitors that annually attend the event. I have seen it four times now and it didn't have the same impact as before despite being every bit as fabulous - I don't think you can replace the first time that you see it because it just blows your mind - every first timer yesterday said it was the best firework display they had ever seen (including Hong Kong handover, Millenium etc)
None of us stayed long after the event and I don't think any of us lingered in the square where the DJ was in full swing as we passed through on the way home. We are just far enough away not to have been kept awake by it (Chris said the windows were rattling in their frames, in his apartment overlooking the square, until after 2am) which is just as well as I had to be up at 6.30am this morning to give guests a lift to the station for an early train.
After a bit of fun and festivity at the weekend, it was back to room chnages and washing and cleaning today, with a new set of Irish arriving mid-afternoon. Debrah and Sandra have swanned off to the coast and then the mountains to see Nick and Chris down at Argeles and Ceret - lucky devils.
Oh, to be so laissez-faire now and again.
The day itself was relatively quiet - in fact it seemed to be quieter than a usual Sunday, which was a bit strange. There was a fairly low key farmers market, where we bought a huge sausage sandwich as breakfast and three bottles of 'Carthagene', a local aperitif - but it was a bit early in the morning for wine tasting (even for me!) so we said we would come back but we never did.
So we wandered down the main shopping street and bought shoes. Well, Sandra didn't buy any because they didn't have her size in the ones she liked and I spent €14 on some summer knockabouts and Debrah bought three pairs - plus ca change.
After a lovely dinner on Sunday evening, which both sets of guests seemed to thoroughly enjoy, we had to plan a pre-firework supper. It was meant to be a barbecue down at Patrick's house before viewing the fireworks from his terrace - but he seemed too pre-occupied with the bar build and a little freaked about having to provide food for our two vegetarian guests, despite me assuring him that we would have all that taken of. So we decided to eat at home first and then wander on down there about an hour before the kick-off.
To spice things up, we did a wine tasting - compare and contrast three reds from different wine regions within the area - which was a lot of fun. I cracked my usual joke about 25 years of research before I realised I couldn't drink Bordeaux reds because the Cabernet Sauvignon grape gives me indigestion and everybody laughed except Debrah, who stifled a yawn.
That's not fair really, because Debrah has been joining in everything despite feeling really grotty with a horrible summer cold that she bought with her from The UK last Saturday. It's probably not a summer cold because I hear it is still winter in the UK!
I didn't get to see the pomp and ceremony at the statue to the dead but I know it happened - some speeches, a few medals, a lot of bowing and handshakes, an enormous amount of kissing and a band all trying to play in time and in tune - even the same tune - but failing.
The fireworks were as spectacular as they always are and my guests thoroughly appreciated the private viewing platform rather than slumming it in the street with the half million visitors that annually attend the event. I have seen it four times now and it didn't have the same impact as before despite being every bit as fabulous - I don't think you can replace the first time that you see it because it just blows your mind - every first timer yesterday said it was the best firework display they had ever seen (including Hong Kong handover, Millenium etc)
None of us stayed long after the event and I don't think any of us lingered in the square where the DJ was in full swing as we passed through on the way home. We are just far enough away not to have been kept awake by it (Chris said the windows were rattling in their frames, in his apartment overlooking the square, until after 2am) which is just as well as I had to be up at 6.30am this morning to give guests a lift to the station for an early train.
After a bit of fun and festivity at the weekend, it was back to room chnages and washing and cleaning today, with a new set of Irish arriving mid-afternoon. Debrah and Sandra have swanned off to the coast and then the mountains to see Nick and Chris down at Argeles and Ceret - lucky devils.
Oh, to be so laissez-faire now and again.
Wednesday, 26 December 2007
An Odd Christmas
We were so busy trying to finish all the jobs that needed doing in the studio that we missed all the carol concerts this year. I thought we weren't going to get a rib of beef, we had left it so late to enquire, but the butcher did us proud with an absolutely fantastic four rib, five kilo, hunk of cow that we asked for on Saturday and collected two days later on Christmas Eve. The last market day before Christmas was cold and drizzly, which is never fun and with Debrah just getting over her flu and having toothache and stomach ache to cope with also - well, nothing was really going to plan. There has been a strange atmosphere pervading the whole week.
Last year we missed the fireworks in the square, watching them from the windows over the street. This year we decided that we would go down to the square for the 'spectacle', which was due to start at seven in the evening, and was to be followed immediately by the fireworks. We very nearly missed them again - Christian and I went on ahead but were so underwhelmed by the stage show that we returned home to find Debrah, who had promised to follow on but hadn't as yet. Naturally, the fireworks started as we sat talking at home and so we all had to rush down the street to the square to catch the last ten minutes.
They were being launched from the top of the building on the east side of the square but the strong wind was affecting the trajectory, such that the fireworks were blowing out over the square, and particularly the corner of the square where we had just arrived. Looking virtually straight up at fireworks that were exploding no more than 100 feet above us, with both the noise and the shower of sparks, was quite an experience - one which I suspect would have fallen foul of the more recent autocratic health and safety regime sweeping across the UK.
The beef was fabulous but to be honest Christmas Day was a bit strange too. We all came together to eat for a couple of hours at four in the afternoon, but before and after Christian and Chris disappeared into their rooms and Debrah and I spent Christmas together - which was fabulous but a little odd considering the 'hiding' non-participants. It all seemed a bit surreal. In addition, Debrah's mum seems to have gone missing somewhere in Berlin - it's very odd that she didn't phone and hasn't been in touch at all since she left for Germany seven days ago.
We have decided that next year we will just have paying guests.
Last year we missed the fireworks in the square, watching them from the windows over the street. This year we decided that we would go down to the square for the 'spectacle', which was due to start at seven in the evening, and was to be followed immediately by the fireworks. We very nearly missed them again - Christian and I went on ahead but were so underwhelmed by the stage show that we returned home to find Debrah, who had promised to follow on but hadn't as yet. Naturally, the fireworks started as we sat talking at home and so we all had to rush down the street to the square to catch the last ten minutes.
They were being launched from the top of the building on the east side of the square but the strong wind was affecting the trajectory, such that the fireworks were blowing out over the square, and particularly the corner of the square where we had just arrived. Looking virtually straight up at fireworks that were exploding no more than 100 feet above us, with both the noise and the shower of sparks, was quite an experience - one which I suspect would have fallen foul of the more recent autocratic health and safety regime sweeping across the UK.
The beef was fabulous but to be honest Christmas Day was a bit strange too. We all came together to eat for a couple of hours at four in the afternoon, but before and after Christian and Chris disappeared into their rooms and Debrah and I spent Christmas together - which was fabulous but a little odd considering the 'hiding' non-participants. It all seemed a bit surreal. In addition, Debrah's mum seems to have gone missing somewhere in Berlin - it's very odd that she didn't phone and hasn't been in touch at all since she left for Germany seven days ago.
We have decided that next year we will just have paying guests.
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Startling starlings
The first we knew about it was a strange noise passing by outside, sometimes loud, sometimes faint. It was definitely coming from a vehicle of some sort and felt like one of those odd movies where a car keeps appearing or crossing at a different junction just out of sight or just behind you - which in the grid of streets that make up the bastide town is very plausible. It sounded like a very bad impersonation of Donald Duck being throttled.
The next morning, Chris was awoken before seven by the sound of explosions at random intervals. He thought to himself, and I quote, 'What the fuck are those mad French bastards up to now?' Quite.
I told you about the extremely spectacular but slightly scary flights of thousands of starlings at dusk - well, there is apparently a more unpleasant side to the evening show of aeronautical prowess. Shit. Lots and lots of bird shit. Also noise. Walk anywhere near the squares where they congregate in the trees and the noise of chattering and cheeping birds is deafening - must be a nightmare to live right next to it.
There is no mistaking that there is a touch of the Alfred Hitchcock about the whole thing and 'Le Mairie' has decided to do something about it. A 'fauconnier' has been hired.
Once upon a time, a falconer would have turned up with a falcon to scare the shit out of a mass of starlings - not that the town needs any more shit to come out of them. These days he turns up with a new Renault Clio, a loudspeaker and a recording of a falcon played on a CD. He drives around the town at dawn and dusk, from one nesting place to another, playing his strange falcon / strangled duck tune and every now and again he sets off a big blast type banger, which is supposed to scare the starlings, but actually gets everybody in town wide awake from whatever dream or nightmare they were in at 6.30am or makes them spill their pre-dinner pastis at 6.00pm. Neither does much for the nerves - god help the war veterans.
There is a time and place for modern technology and I suppose we should embrace the new world, but I bet everyone I know would rather see a team of falcons let loose above the skies of Carcassonne in an orgy of culling after which they would turn up on the menus of the towns restaurants, which is probably what used to happen several centuries ago and was, no doubt, regarded as a great delicacy. Our sensibilities are far too refined these days to consider killing the birds, never mind eating them, and there is probably some directive that says you can't turn up with a real live falcon because it would be cruel to let it loose and behave in a totally natural way.
Instead some fat French bureaucrat drives around in his, government provided, car all day, playing his stupid tune and letting off fireworks every now and again. It's probably the closest France has got to celebrating Guy Fawkes night - one event in British history that they remain totally in ignorance of - as opposed to all the events that they either deny (defeats) or twist into glorious resistance (pleas for help).
And what will this new humane method of startling the starlings achieve - it will make them go somewhere else where they can't afford to pay for the fireworks and yet another member of the civil service - and then they too will have a shit problem and an evening display of mass flying power. Well, maybe.
So far, two days into the operation, the starling numbers look undiminished and the aerial displays continue. I bet the 'fauconnier' has negotiated a daily rate with no guarantees of success. No need to set a 6.30 morning alarm for a while then.
The next morning, Chris was awoken before seven by the sound of explosions at random intervals. He thought to himself, and I quote, 'What the fuck are those mad French bastards up to now?' Quite.
I told you about the extremely spectacular but slightly scary flights of thousands of starlings at dusk - well, there is apparently a more unpleasant side to the evening show of aeronautical prowess. Shit. Lots and lots of bird shit. Also noise. Walk anywhere near the squares where they congregate in the trees and the noise of chattering and cheeping birds is deafening - must be a nightmare to live right next to it.
There is no mistaking that there is a touch of the Alfred Hitchcock about the whole thing and 'Le Mairie' has decided to do something about it. A 'fauconnier' has been hired.
Once upon a time, a falconer would have turned up with a falcon to scare the shit out of a mass of starlings - not that the town needs any more shit to come out of them. These days he turns up with a new Renault Clio, a loudspeaker and a recording of a falcon played on a CD. He drives around the town at dawn and dusk, from one nesting place to another, playing his strange falcon / strangled duck tune and every now and again he sets off a big blast type banger, which is supposed to scare the starlings, but actually gets everybody in town wide awake from whatever dream or nightmare they were in at 6.30am or makes them spill their pre-dinner pastis at 6.00pm. Neither does much for the nerves - god help the war veterans.
There is a time and place for modern technology and I suppose we should embrace the new world, but I bet everyone I know would rather see a team of falcons let loose above the skies of Carcassonne in an orgy of culling after which they would turn up on the menus of the towns restaurants, which is probably what used to happen several centuries ago and was, no doubt, regarded as a great delicacy. Our sensibilities are far too refined these days to consider killing the birds, never mind eating them, and there is probably some directive that says you can't turn up with a real live falcon because it would be cruel to let it loose and behave in a totally natural way.
Instead some fat French bureaucrat drives around in his, government provided, car all day, playing his stupid tune and letting off fireworks every now and again. It's probably the closest France has got to celebrating Guy Fawkes night - one event in British history that they remain totally in ignorance of - as opposed to all the events that they either deny (defeats) or twist into glorious resistance (pleas for help).
And what will this new humane method of startling the starlings achieve - it will make them go somewhere else where they can't afford to pay for the fireworks and yet another member of the civil service - and then they too will have a shit problem and an evening display of mass flying power. Well, maybe.
So far, two days into the operation, the starling numbers look undiminished and the aerial displays continue. I bet the 'fauconnier' has negotiated a daily rate with no guarantees of success. No need to set a 6.30 morning alarm for a while then.
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