Petanque

We had the village fete over the weekend. In an unprecedented development no hot red meat was served. There were rumblings that the natives might rebel when faced with mountainous salads instead but the 100-odd guests were complimentary. In the evening the very locals hoover up the remains in front of the salle de fetes, which is usually the most pleasant part of the day. Most people were very relaxed except for one person, drunk, wandering around stirring up dissention. I can get pissed with the best of them but I am grateful that I am not one of those unfortunate folk who become aggressive when they consume too much drink.

There’s normally petanque going on into the wee small hours, but it was just too hot and it didn’t happen. Trying to sleep presents a dilemma. Leave the windows open to try to catch a breeze when the outside temperature drops below 25 and you risk mosquitoes. A carefully placed fan can prevent them being able to settle and bite but you have to keep your extremities within the cone of the draught, which is not always easy.

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