Christmas, New Year and VODKA JELLY!
So, I didn’t make it to Tekno Island in the run-up to Christmas. Bit of a bummer, but due to the illnesses and hangover heads of others, and the fact that I’m no longer twenty and the responsibility of Christmas dinner fell on my shoulders this year, a quieter, closer venue made more sense. So, where did we end up on the last Saturday before Christmas — almost the next biggest party night of the year other than New Year’s Eve itself? I could just imagine the ripple of excitement back in the UK as party-goers donned tinsel and mistletoe and headed out the door for a blast of matey merriment before family festivities became the priority of the week.
Not so within the walls of the salle-des-fetes — or zinc box, as it is more fondly called — in Chanteix. Not a strand of tinsel in sight.
When I first walked in, I was suitably impressed with the set up — a mini concert hall, with all the necessary gear, stage, et. A nice size, not too big so once it filled up it would be cosy, intimate. Unfortunately it didn’t fill up. In fact, it was a bizarre contrary.
There seemed quite a crowd for the first performers who, according to the flyer, appeared not to be a formal band as such but a collection of musicians collaborating for the night. That might explain the wide array of music tastes in their set, which went from what I consider traditional-style French songs to heavy guitar rock. For a warm up band they were good, but by the end, the crowd were still standing in the safety zone towards the back of the hall by the bar, a crescent fringing around the dreaded open terrain of the empty dance floor. Early days, I thought. There’s another two music acts after this, more mulled wine to drink, it’ll be fine.
Not so.
Once the first band were off, the crowd seemed to diminish. Groupies? Lol. As close as, it would seem (except they seemed a majority of early-middle-aged men). I assumed they’d all gone for a fag.
So it was a shame to find that they didn’t return and when the second band Sledgers came on they were playing to half the amount of people as had started the evening. The fact that this band are a group of young musicians and their gleaming lack of confidence made up for the lack of Christmas baubles in the hall didn’t do anything to relax the coat hanger shoulders of the audience. On a technical level, their guitar skills were incredible. It’s been a long time since I’d heard a band playing like that, but after a while it did feel a little like a Metallica tribute band (not that I’m all that familiar with Metallica, but there was an –esque to it). I’m sure once these guys grow their confidence and become more experienced performers it will seem a little less like watching them in their bedroom at home and more like a thrilling gig not to be missed. I’d certainly go and see them again if this was the case. But performance is almost as important as musical ability, of you want the crowd to come back for more.
Needless to say, it did make me wonder where the logic was in putting the more experienced group on first and letting the less experienced lads with only five songs to perform slap bang in the middle. By the time the two Dj’s came to spin their contribution of bombastic commercial yak into a tepid-at-best crowd, they were fighting a losing battle. There was no way to turn up the good vibes thermostat by that point, and the crowd (that includes me) were too old for the tunes. They were supposed to play until two in the morning and it was unlikely anyone new would be turning up before then. I felt their pain. Even more so because they were put up on the stage side by side for everyone to gawp at. I tried to have a little dance (you know me, rarely phased by an empty space) but it wasn’t really my kind of music and I couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm.
It just goes to show that organisers need to have experience in these things too. If you want to have banging tunes you need a hedonistic atmosphere to carry it off, and it’s down to the organisers to sort out in what order the performances will best achieve that. Otherwise, they not only let down the paying punters, it’s unfair to the artists themselves. But then, I guess in my younger years I was spoilt, living next to London with any music genre just a short train ride away.
Regardless, this is a venue worth keeping an ear out for, judging by all the posters on the wall of past events. They have an annual festival in August which takes place over several days, I believe. Definitely a date for the diary, and sounds kiddie friendly too. Might just be the family holiday this year…
So, what of the rest of Christmas and New Year? Well, Christmas Day is usually a quiet affair for us when we are here so I always try and organise a jolly up round at ours on Christmas Eve (traditional, you know). Thing is, over here you always feel pressured to put on some kind of foody thang. You can’t just have a good old piss-up with the French — everything revolves around food. I’ve kind of come around to their way of thinking though — food and drink is a much better mix than lager, followed by wine, followed by (what idiot suggested this?) SHOTS, on an empty stomach. So before you know it, you’re menu planning (even for nibbles), and the usual haring around when you’re expecting guests, and acting like a real housewife looking up how to make table decorations on the internet. Plurgh! Pluh, pluh, pluh! (‘scuse me while I spit that one on the floor.) I’m meeellltiiing..! Kirsty Alsop I am not.
It was a nice little drinks party. The British contingent came first, and by the time the French crowd had arrived the food, and the vin chaud (mulled wine) was mostly gone. But there was still the Port, and the sloe gin someone kindly gave us (thank you muchly), and they were all going off to have their main Christmas meal that evening anyway, as the majority of France do.
And Christmas day was largely spent eating, watching the box and playing with the kid’s new train set. Perfect.
I have to be honest, by the time New Year’s Eve arrived, and the temperature had dropped at night well into the minuses, I had to drag myself out the door this year. But out we did go, out into the hills, into the dark, into the c-o-ld. Brrr. The closer we got to our destination, the whiter the terrain became until I seriously began to doubt we would make it back home after. Not only were we driving around in the PITCH black along unfamiliar ‘roads’ (read: tracks), it was steadily getting colder as we rose in altitude. I must be getting old because I had a moment of empathy with my mother’s dislike of driving in the dark (which I steamrollered the other night by deliberately accepting an invite out in some other bucolic driving surfaces — by myself! — just to prove the points that I am NOT my mother, and I still have the youthful vigour of someone who hasn’t yet realised they are not invincible. Oh, and because I liked the people doing the inviting, let’s not forget).
Once we’d arrived, the party was in full swing. I was heartened to see disco lights and hear the booming bass — we’d been told to bring grub (see what I mean?!) so I had assumed this would be a quiet, civil affair, the types we've had in the past. When I travelled around Asia many years ago I would chant to myself every morning never assume anything, and yet I can’t seem to remember that mantra in all the years I’ve lived over here. I never know what to expect. But quiet and civil with these guys should never have been it. These friends are our hard-core party friends, the ones without kids, the ones who love loud music and to dance. The ones who definitely appreciated the raspberry Bacardi jellies I’d made and brought along with me.
Aside from some of the damp squib choices of music like Los Del Rio 'Macarena' (yes, I’m a bit of a snob like that, and it could have been worse — I could have dropped one with a psychopathic agoraphobic intent on a night in with yours truly), we had a lot of fun with some good friends, of whom I thank for their gracious hospitality.
Now, though, I’ve got to have a little calm on the socialising front. Winter is supposed to be the quiet season reserved for writing, and we haven’t stopped, even though we expected to after the madness of summer. Even so, the revision of Deadly was going quite well until the Christmas period. I’ve almost passed the three-quarter mark and the end (before beta readers) is almost in sight (skip-hop-jump).
Keep on chuggin’…
Vodka Jellies
Ingredients:
Vodka or Bacardi
1 small packet of fruit jelly
Hot water
Cold water (optional, depending on how strong you want your jellies to be)
Frozen raspberries
Disposable shot cups and spoons.
What next…
Set out your shot cups on a tray — roughly 25 should do it for one small pack of jelly.
Pour a dash of alcohol in each (size of the dash is up to you) and add a raspberry (or strawberry/other fruit, if you prefer). DO NOT USE fresh pineapple or kiwi (check the pack instructions) as this will stop the jelly from setting.
Dilute the jelly with the hot water according to the packet instructions.
OPTIONAL (if you have opted for small dashes of alcohol): add HALF the amount of cold water as per the packet instructions, and stir.
Fill up the shot cups with the jelly. Cover with cling film and put in the fridge to set.
You should find that the fruit absorbs most of the booze (like the tequila worm).
Enjoy, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
