A very French evening.

A very French evening. By seven o'clock the little village church was full to the rafters . Some people had reserved , others hadn't , while yet others had fallen through Madame mayors unique memory based reservation system. All was taken in good grace.To free up space for the late arrivals the village five and six year olds were shepherded forwards to be settled down , cross legged and squirming, on the floor at the front by the altar. Literally a full house. The old farmers dog sat patiently waiting for his master at the door of the church while to the delight of the attendees the church bat made occasional gymnastic pirouettes into the nave from its roost in the organ loft to ascertain what was disturbing its tranquility.

This was the first time the church had been used for anything other than a funeral in thirty years. The Haydn and Mozart were appreciated , the more esoteric Dittersdorf and Eler less so , but every piece was greeted by thunderous applause. Undoubtedly the favoured piece was the finale -Figaro's Aria from The Barber of Seville - which had the village folks feet tapping and fingers drumming.

For the post concert refreshments the permanently squabbling village committees had excelled themselves. The tables in the village hall were weighted down with Vol au vents ( floral village ) and Foie Gras blinis ( beautiful byeways). The mayor asked where Wilf was and he was duly walked across the village green from the rickety old farmhouse by Madame Bay to share in the excitement. He wandered contentedly around having his hair tousled and his chin tickled to the sound of ' Bonjour Veelfie". His face had that look on it which seemed to say ' and all of this just for me ? '.

Tonight France play Uruguay in the World Cup. Pictures of the village festivities ( a wide screen television is being set up on the village green) and the ingredients fpr one of Madame Bay's high cholestorol celebratory recipes tomorrow. Max's blog in South Africa has all the details.