Méchoui

birthday boules

We’ve been away for more than six months but nothing much has changed here during that period.  Monsieur Escalier has planted a new plantation of chestnut trees.  Monique has got a new car and a live-in lover.  Her son Vincent has started work at the post office.  Philippe (Monique’s brother)  still has the same car he was driving when we bought our house in 1999.  It was antiquated even then.  He will be 60 years old this summer and has invited us to a méchoui to celebrate the occasion. I have some trepidation about this invitation as we previously went to a similar event for his fiftieth birthday.  

In France a méchoui is a whole lamb spit-roasted above an open fire.  Ten years ago we all trooped (my daughters were here with their partners) next door to have pre-lunch drinks and admire the lamb being turned on some mechanical Heath Robinson spit contraption. At midday we sat down at a long table with about fifty other guests and enjoyed a magnificent meal accompanied by copious amounts of wine and pastis.  This was then followed by a game of boules.  Early evening the table was re-set for supper.  By 11.00 p.m. my eyes were glazed and I had completely given up trying to follow any conversation. There was still no sign of the party coming to an end.  We made our apologies and staggered back home.  I just don’t think I’ve got the stamina to survive another party like that.