Yesterday, 8th May was a bank holiday in France. For me it was a day of:
Pastis with icy water from a thermos
Paella in a metre wide pan, served in a garage
A birthday cake, the size of a mini billiards table
Six hours solid eating, true French style
Jokes about blondes (I’m one)
Jokes about the English (ditto)
Translation of French swear words for the benefit of my father (he disowned me)
A heated discussion about the new President
More time spent organising teams for a game of boules, than actually playing
Arguing about who won
Chess at midnight
Sunshine and Mistral
Laughter and friendship
A day to be remembered.
That sounds like a perfect day.
Sounds like a poem to me. Wish I’d been there.
Sounds like my sort of day..
My kids used to swear in French because they knew I wouldn’t understand! And, of course, because they didn’t know any English ones..
Pastis and Mistral those symbols speak the south to me.