Sunday, 22 July 2012
Oof, my head.
Reporting back from the annual village fete at a tiny village above another slightly less tiny village near Limoux. Bourigeole with it's population of ? certainly less than seventy, always manages to hold a fete of great geniality. There were over two hundred and fifty folk squashed into the little 'place' by the church: rows of tables, white paper cloths, bring your own plates etc. The formula never changes, I must have been going there for eight years now. It doesn't as a rule rain, the disco man 'Arizona' is always set up, his wood cut-out cactus and speakers a stark contrast to the wooded slopes behind, and there are the faces I only see once a year. The black village dog looks a little older and the plants round the back near the loo are a little taller. We sit down after the indecisive shuffling about who sits where and the 'banadas' strikes up. For those who don't know, Bandas is a group of mainly brass players, far removed from the Grimethorpe colliery band. Loud, raucous, with a relentless thump thump beat, they steer the crowd through the familiar repertoire, which must include the infamous. 'la boiteuse'. This is a song which recounts the various meanderings of an elderly woman with a limp, who when on entering the market at say, Lezingnan, proceeds to show her, er . . .nether regions to everyone, which are deemed to be most attractive?? This was translation given to me by someone who was very drunk at our carnival sorti, but it has been verified to be thus . . .