Le lion est mort ce soir

Do you remember when holidays lasted forever? Long summer evenings that seemed to touch eternity, and come September, school ties and pencil sharpeners were a brusquely alien addition to an otherwise barefoot existence.

Alas, now old and wise, this is no longer the case. Try as I might, days and dates are not as easily forgotten, and the end of the holidays always seems to sidle up to me like an unwanted street vendor. Yet, I must admit that this year, with a full fifteen days for the spring holidays, it was, and seemed like, a fairly sizeable break. However, in this case, it was this ‘sizeability’ that had slightly worried me throughout, as the first day back to school (la rentrée, as it is known) was also the day of the whole school show for Ferdinand Buisson.

That was some seriously good forward planning. With every class having spent just under seven months preparing a programme of songs for performance, it seemed like madness to schedule the concert the day after a two-week holiday. But, this is France. And what’s more, this is rural South-West France. So really, anything goes.

Thus, the whole of Tuesday was spent at Le Centre Culturel de Sarlat – a modern, multi-function concert hall, complete with professional lighting, a complex maze of backstage corridors and really big squishy chairs. In fairness, despite fears that words would be forgotten, there really was no cause for concern. The children were fantastic. (Relatively) well-behaved in the all-day rehearsals, they then pulled out all the stops for the real deal. Each wearing a bright t-shirt and many sporting extraordinary hairdos, they all performed brilliantly - showing an enthusiasm and energy that was most definitely absent from Thursday morning ‘music’ classes.

Any nerves that the kids might have had were quickly dispelled. Not only was there an uncommonly noisy audience – waves, shouts and constant flash photography were but a minor distraction – but also Sylvie, the musical director (if it can be called that), was seriously chilled out. Introducing each song with quips and stories, she immediately set the children, the teachers (myself included) and the audience at ease. Furthermore, she was completely unperturbed by errors – if something went wrong, she would just stop and start again. Pas de soucis.

In fact, hats off to Sylvie. Left in the lurch on Tuesday morning by her fellow musicians, she was assured by the Valerie (the headmistress of F. Buis) that it was fine as there was an English assistant who was ‘really good at the piano’. They’ve never heard me play! For all they know, I could have the gift of the gab but about as much skill as a wallaby wearing boxing mitts when it comes to piano playing.

Thankfully, we pulled it off. I was about as chuffed to be asked as I was apprehensive about playing; after all, it has been about three months since I’ve touched a piano key. Somehow, with half a day’s practice, Sylvie, the children of Ferdinand Buisson Primary School, all the teachers (as conductors) and I managed to bash our way through our programme of songs, and made it out the other end in one piece. In fact, with two encores, I think they may even have liked it...

Afternoon rehearsals with Sylvie on the keyboard

My bunch of flowers... not going to lie, I'm so proud!

Although far from perfect, the warts-and-all performance was probably the reason why the concert was such a success. I, for one, had the time of my life. Never again will I have the opportunity to accompany a whole primary school, plus family, friends and relatives, in a raucous rendition of ‘Le lion est mort ce soir’... franchement, aujourd'hui il me semble que la vie est plus que parfait! 

Joyeuse Pâques

Easter is such a funny one. I know it is the most important festival in the Christian calendar, and is taken relatively seriously in the non-practicing ‘Christian’ west i.e. Clinton Cards, but I always feel that there is an enormous amount of disparity in the way that people celebrate, or even mark Easter. Obviously there is nothing wrong with a healthy dose of difference – on the contrary, it is quite nice to notice the various ways, if at all, by which Easter is celebrate. I always get super excited – a little over the top, but is most likely due to a catholic upbringing and constant reminders that although there were no presents, this was more important than Christmas. For others, however, it is little more than another Sunday. Bless Cel, but as I bid him a Happy Easter when calling after Easter Mass today, I was greeted with a bemused ‘Oh yeah. It’s Easter today. I totally forgot’.

Certain Easter Sundays have always stuck out in my mind. Easter 2007, I was with the children of the Calvary Zion Orphanage in Mombasa at a full-day church service. Firmly situated in the ‘Easter-is-the-most-important-day-of-the-year-and-we-are-going-to-definitely-take-that-to-heart’, I felt awestruck at just how much this celebration meant to the people there. We had songs, shouts, chants, tears (few of which were from the children) and even people speaking in tongues. Although it was quite full-on for my first Sunday on the continent, I am extremely grateful to have had that opportunity, and to have first-hand experience. Last Easter, spent at home with (almost) the whole family, plus a few added extras in the shape of my three favourite boy-cousins, I have no recollection of, as I was a little too preoccupied drowning in a dissertation-shaped hell-hole. Extremely bad Catholic there Imogen.

This Easter, however, has proven to be one to remember. Despite being weighed down with trepidation, being the only member of the family absent from the table at 109 Trinity Road and having reluctantly bid goodbye to Celyn after what seemed like the quickest three days in my life, there was absolutely nothing to worry about. Gingerly heading to the Cathedral (which has shamefully been avoided in the past few months so as not to cross paths with the ex-landlords!), I was treated to the most fantastic Easter mass. With standing room only, four baptisms and extremely enthusiastic singing from almost all the congregation, the priest’s already obviously good mood seemed to get better and better as the liturgy progressed.

Pulling into La Ferme after church, I caught sight of a couple of brightly coloured flashes hiding in the grass. As I looked twice, I saw that they were rapidly disappearing as five-year old Gabrielle (Ludo’s cousin) eagerly gathered up all the Easter eggs she could find – the hunt being a treat for her attendance at church that morning! For Easter lunch we were seven: the Pérusin family (Daniel and Nadine, Lucie, Ludo) plus Lucie’s boyfriend, Greg, plus the two hangers-on (Jason and me). Following aperitifs on the terrace, we were treated to asparagus, roast lamb and haricots blancs, and topped off by strawberries and Chantilly (both light and full-fat!). As if this wasn’t enough, as we sat down at the table, we were all instructed to close our eyes, which proved to be surprisingly hard for all the tricheurs! As an Easter gift, Nadine had bought each of chocolate eggs or ducks or various other ‘relevant’ surprises as made by Mr Kinder. It was such a nice gesture, and although completely unnecessary, I am so grateful to Nadine for having thought of us away from our families – especially as I have been experiencing some serious mal du pays since returning to Sarlat. However, I think this brief bout of homesickness has been well and truly vanquished – not going to lie, but it might have something to do with having just gone for a swim in the outdoor pool in the late afternoon sun...

Pee Ess.

I do have a confession to make, in that I have a hellalotta catching up to do on this ol’ Grumpy Scot. Having recently soothed my itchy feet with a remarkably illogical journey through France, to Spain and finally shooting through England and Wales, there are a fair few tales to tell. Although perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, watch this space..!