I went to a sweet fete this morning in a gorgeous and rather tiny village called Poil. Poil means 'fur' . Unfortunately I was in rather a slumber as I headed there early and forgot my camera. I maybe able to include some images of it as George remembered his .
Visually there was much to see, a great iron stove set up in the town square smoking with a long wonky chimney poking to the sky. A man in his shorts, looking after the stove was throwing logs in. He said it was for potatoes presumably he would be cooking them. I turned round to see a table with 3 great potatoes placed like they were very important. These potatoes were the record sized potatoes and names were written on the potatoes in marker pen, indicating those that grew them. I think as people arrive they would bring more potatoes for the competition.( I just looked up the word 'Treuffe' guess what it's a potatoe! )
There were lots of tables under a tree set up for an evening meal. The tables had bright blue cloths and the chairs were very nice french cafe chairs all metal and blue, from the 50's I imagine. I would like to have gone but I am vegetarian so a bit of a waste of 9 euros for me. I offered to go anyway because it looked so lovely but George has put his back out trying to hoist logs onto the saw mill, so next year.
There was dancing and accordians playing french jolly tunes and a bar serving small glasses of wine. At 10.30am, lovely cold white local wine Aligote perhaps, normally 1 euro a glass. |
You did do well Jane... pretty ladderwork...
ReplyDeleteI am so envious of your beautiful linen collection. Congratulations.
ReplyDeleteI have enjoyed reading your blogs...Green with envy mind at all the gorgeous French vintage finds, particularly the textiles. I look forward to seeing more. x
ReplyDeleteYes, I have been lucky to find these beautiful things. Our brocanting is on hold till the next season. Roll on springtime.
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