Wet Sunday

It's raining. Again!

Also, had a couple of late nights, so lack the energy to do much more than wander round the house listlessly and snack on the last bit of pecan and chocolate brownie, a box of chocolates (brought as a gift and opened over dinner last night), a couple of pieces of toast and the cold remnants of last night's chicken, plum and leek casserole (sharing this with the dogs).

Although the thermometer on the veranda says 15ºC, inside the house feels colder. But to light the kitchen range and heat the house means putting on wellington boots and a jacket and trudging to the wood store at the back of the house with the wheel barrow and then crouching in the cold and wet to split up some wood that Tod has just cut. That feels much too active and purposeful. So back to the chocolates.

We had Eric and Phoebe and the kids round last night. It was a sort of anniversary dinner. We first met them a year ago when we were buying the house. They were looking after it for the owners and they showed us round. Last year the sun was shining and the irises in the garden were in full bloom. This year the garden is sodden and the irises, much chewed by tiny snails, are still struggling to open.

Last night we gossiped, ate and drank too much and after supper played Mexican train dominoes. In theory the game was for the benefit of the children, but it was the adults who got excited and wanted to go on playing long after bedtime.

Friday night we were late too. We went with friends to a dinner cabaret in a little theatre in Monclar. The title "Mes Nuits à Montmartre" and the poster convinced the men amongst us that this was not to be missed.


With only squeezing space between the tables and a pocket handkerchief for a stage, in the deep red gloom, we were royally entertained and fed. Starting at the beginning of the twentieth century and coming right to the present, songs were weaved between banter, dance and dinner. All the cast were rake thin and by the end of four hours of high energy entertainment and dozens of high speed costume changes it was possible to understand why.

We struggled to understand the dialogue - just catching the odd word here and there and looking bemused while the mainly French audience roared at the jokes. But the sheer exuberance of the cast as they filled the stage and spilled over into the auditorium, left us breathless and applauding for more. Two can-can dances kept the men in the audience happy and me wondering when was that moment I stopped being able to do the splits - about fifty years ago, I think.

Links:
Mexican train domino rules
Monclar
The theatre company