430 people to feed and entertain. They do this every year, these Frenchies, and most villages have their version too! We found people who live in the next commune (who’s meal we are going to next week) at this meal. We will see them again next week, they said.

We, of course, were there very early. 8am, but the place was already busy. Top picture, the aperitif was prepared by decanting a bottle of fizzy wine into a jug with a cup of cassis. The result was poured back into the bottle, stoppered, and refrigerated (big van powered by tractor electricity). At about 11am, after a barbecue breakfast, we had an hour off for a snooze.

How can I describe the event?

A tractor provides the power. We are, after all, in the middle of a wooded area surrounded by fields. The field of stubble next door is the car park, and for some, the road too.

People arrive more or less late. Some have booked and paid. Some book and pay on the ‘door’. And some just turn up and pay on the day. In my experience, the cheques are never cashed until after the event anyway.

The disco is already playing music, but it is just a few of the smaller children on the dance floor at this stage.

Everyone else is finding a place near their friends and catching up on the latest news (ie anything less than a week old). People buy drinks at the ‘buvette’. Some people bring their dog, a common and accepted practice in France but the dog must behave itself.

At last, the aperitif is served. This is followed by the half melons we prepared yesterday, filled with pineau, unless they ask for the pineau in the glass. French bread (pain) is provided.

After a sensible space of time, ham is served with butter. It is effectively raw but you can take it up to the English barbecue to cook it if you want. Oh, an English barbecue is where you ruin your food by over cooking it if you are English - they are slowly getting used to our ways!

Then the main course. Steak, blue in the centre, white bean stew, and salad. The salad was prepared in an old baby bath - clever these French non? I didn’t picture the beans, they look like runny white Heinz beans and are not photogenic! Getting this all onto people’s plates, with the steak only just off the barbecue (so that it is hot but not over cooked) is where the planning was targeted.

Next cheese. Goats or brie, one piece each. Then coffee and sugar, black unless you bring your own milk. And finally cognac or cassis. They are not allowed to sell strong drink but you can provide it, so they do.

       

The dancing, which takes place to fill the spaces between courses, now starts in earnest. The French, it seems, love to dance. When they have had enough to get a little freer, they can get silly too.

Here are some people being transported over the dance floor, or onto it when they are too heavy. Most of the team get to rest at this point.

And this particular day, it suddenly started raining. At first just a shower whilst the team ate their meal. Then a heavier downpour that had most scurrying for shelter by the bar or kitchen tents, or under umbrellas. Some, however, stayed on the dance floor and got wet!

   

   

  June’s defence.         A call to be manly.          Dancers.

And there was lots of clearing up although we were told ‘demain’ so in the end we sorted the bottles and the worst of it and returned home during a dry spell. I am told the party continued 2½ hours after the official time despite the rain.