of sewing and planting...

Before I start this post proper I just want to say something about sewing. Sewing by hand is not something I do for pleasure, but if the necessity arises for tears in clothes to be repaired or buttons replaced, I don't object to sitting down with needle and thread. And as an act of love (which probably won't be repeated all that often) I don't mind spending a few hours, preferably with a gin and tonic or glass of cider nearby, sewing patches in my husband's jeans. Plus, it's worth it to be spared the sight of him marching down the street with the innards of his pockets hanging out the sides of his strides in what I can only describe as a testicular fashion.

But once sewing becomes mechanised the potential for complication and frustration is greatly magnified and frankly, I can't be doing with it. I once spent an entire week - a week of leave from work - making two pairs of curtains. It's a week of my life I will never get back and I have vowed not to throw away so much precious time in that way again. After his own experience at the sewing machine, Theo has gained some insight into my attitude towards that particular domestic activity. But his mosquito net-curtain for Sheena will, I'm sure, prove to be a very useful addition to her facilities come the hotter weather.

Speaking of weather, it's been disappointingly British in Quercy over the last week - unsettled and it has to be said, rather chilly. But we're still enjoying our absorption into Mum and Jean's vacances routine of multi-course meals (admittedly, that doesn't only happen during the holidays), generous aperitifs and a lot of card games.

We also had the honour of being included in the Ste. Croix spring lunch, to which the entire village came and only VIP outsiders - which sort of included us - were invited. On this occasion it was also "the planting of the Mai", a ceremony used partly to signify the induction of the new village council, whose elected officials now include both Mum and Jean.

In true French style (of which I highly approve) the fete started with aperos and nibbles all round before the Mai - a very tall piece of sprouting bamboo - was duly planted, mainly by Councillor Jean, who got his best trousers covered in mud and quick-drying cement in the process. A short speech was made by the lady mayor of Ste, Croix, who said she and her fellow councillors would work for the pleasure of the local people. A sentiment applauded with no small amount of lechery by the mayor of neighbouring Montcuq, who'd come to add his official presence to the gravity of the occasion. Jean, no respecter of authority, made sure M. Montcuq got some well-deserved heckling, much to the approval of most of the onlookers.
Then it was time for the lunch, a proper, sit-down affair, which Theo and I were able to share by leaving aside the smoked salmon of the salad starter and the poultry and sausage of the delicious cous cous main course. Portions were generous and after the ice-cream and coffee that followed we all felt absolutely stuffed. Ste. Croix being more of a hamlet in size than a village, there were about forty people there and Theo was absolutely right when he observed that it looked like a scene from something like the Midsomer Murders, not so much because of the type of activity underway, but because of the cast of characters. The glamorous lady mayor, the local busybody, the disapproving middle-aged woman, the black guy, the woman in the wheelchair... Unlike The Midsomer Murders there was no trail of bloody bodies, but judging from some of the stories told to us by my elected councillor mum, the place is a hot bed of affaires, break-ups and personal dramas aplenty. One final observation - unlike the mayors in England, who generally hang about wearing ridiculous capes and outrageous amounts of bling, the lady mayor of Ste. Croix organised the meal, made the aperos and served out the food. And all she got to denote her status was a modest, tricolore sash.