Swinging with the Septuagenarians on St Paddy’s Day (well, the 14th March)
No, we’re not talking keys in bowls here people, but the kick off concert of the season. Yes, it all starts here again, finally.
A little jaunt down to Blanquefort sur Briolance while on a family visit in the county of the Lot presented the opportunity to get out to an Irish jig and blues night. With my Aunt and Uncle, of all people. Why is that surprising? Well, I never knew my aunt was a secret raver. Hehehehe…*rubs hands in plotting style* and it lends credence to my dreams of being a future graver (that's a granny, who's a raver).
The venue, Auberge des Moulins, was appropriately decked out for the event with Irish flags and enough people wearing daft hats to set the mood. It is a cosy restaurant and bar in the heart of the village. As is the usual way here, they offered a set menu at a reasonable price. Another usual thing, which I still cannot get my head around after all these years, is that everyone sat eating while the band played. Except for my aunt (good on you!), who is not yet in the septuagenerians club, I must add.
Yes, I make no bones about it, I find it frustrating that the opportunity to dance is often denied us over here because of this cultural thing called ‘eating’ as the social focus of an event. I like eating, believe me. But I also like to dance, which isn’t possible when rows of tables and chairs fill up the space between me and the band. Irksome, to say the least. Eating and dancing really should be kept separate. Not only can it be a messy affair, you get terrible indigestion.
Still, there was a decent bit of shimmying going on at the back by the time the desserts were filtering through from the kitchen. The band, a trio called Toutes Directions (ha-ha), mixed it up with some traditional Irish ditties, Celtic songs and classic blues, and attracted quite a crowd. A retired expat crowd, mostly. Seems it’s an annual event they all attend.
I spotted a handful of French people (that’s not to say there weren’t more, I just didn’t meet them), and even less of a younger crowd. I spoke to one young lad outside while smoking, but the appearance of a hawk-eyed older lady who practically scowled at me, and then later a young blonde girl, syphoning him off away from my proximity without so much as a ‘bon soirée’, left me with a familiar feeling that just doesn’t sit right: if you talk to someone of the opposite sex, you are out to pull them. And yet, that was the absolute furthest from the truth you could get. I would have welcomed his girlfriend to come and strike up a conversation too, because generally I am an inclusive kind of person. And who knows, maybe I’d have made some friends to go see when I visit my family.
Still, can’t complain on the whole. The music was good, the crowd fun, and I got a right little touch towards the end of the evening.
When you’re skinny, people throw you free food!
That’s a joke. But I was famished — too-much-beer famished — and I asked the owner if he could rustle something up from the kitchen for me. Fear cast a shadow over his features at the thought of asking his wife to get back in there after finishing a twelve hour stint.
‘Just bread will do,’ I said. Anything.
Five minutes later the good lady presented me with a chicken salad sandwich. Re-sult. And at no cost! Okay, it was part of the evening’s meal deal that someone had passed on so it had already been paid for. Still, unlike the care hire chap who took two hours to get me and my young kids from the M25 when his car broke down on me and he turned up with a second car for me to take with no petrol in it — a silly oversight that means he has lost my confidence and any future custom — the sandwich was a small gesture that went a long way. They could have just lobbed a crust at my head and I would have been grateful!
So, yes. The weather is turning, the clocks go forward this month, and the gigs are coming around one more. Ain’t it great?
Next gig:
Friday 20th March, Cafe du Commerce, Treignac.
