The firemen play petanque.

A sleepy summer Saturday afternoon and time for Wilfs second walk of the day. World Cup fever may be sweeping the globe but here the local townsfolk were out enjoying a beer and playing petanque in the early evening sunshine. A reminder of the cultural divide that separates north and south . People around here are more than happy to watch the French team play (any excuse for a party, a conga and a drink) but football is viewed as a northern sport - the sort of thing that is suitable for Parisians but not for red blooded farmers.

The firemen, or sapeur-pompiers , were out at the top end of the petanque field washing the fire tenders , playing petanque and being generally busy . A Saturday afternoon, sunny day ritual. Groups of local toddlers were scrambling over the fire engines watched by beaming fathers and fretful mothers. Every so often one of the little ones would be allowed to ring the bell or sound the klaxon - real laughter inducing ,family centred, joyful chaos. So different from health and safety dominated Britain.

Now and then a loud cheer and laughter would echo round the square and interrupt the petanque players concentration. The young firemen, being young firemen,were keen to enjoy themselves. Woe betide any solitary 20 something female who wandered past. They were soon sweet talked into joining one of the firemen in the cradle and then hoisted twenty metres into the air . Their ascent was accompanied by the sounds of merriment from the petanque field below. France!

We sauntered back home happy after a beer for me and a bowl of water ( and a hair tousle from the postman) for Wilf.