Le Comte and I (but especially le Comte) have been working very hard this week to get the Theatre Garden ready for the approaching Musical Something. There is much to do, but as le Comte says, a deadline is essential otherwise things just drag on. Don’t they just.
So, to meet said deadline, le Comte has done what he once swore he would never do – he has resorted to crepie.
Crepie is a delightful, artex-like substance that covers the interiors of half les maisons de la France. It comes ready-mixed in large tubs for a very small number of euros. Two types are on sale: collable and decollable – that is, a kind you can get off again and a kind that is stuck for ever. It is recommended to stick it forever. Why wouldn’t you, after all? And even better, if you get the ‘stone’ colour, you don’t even have to paint it.
The popularity of crepie this side of la Manche is partly due to the impossibility of getting French plaster on to walls without a specialised team of artisans. French plaster is of an old-fashioned persuasion and has to be mixed in a teacup and very carefully applied with a small spoon. It goes off (I am told) in a matter of seconds. Consequently, the French don’t use it anymore. But instead of importing plaster from dear old Angleterre, they invented crepie.
Le Comte has struggled manfully with many teacups of French plaster, but as the project continues the more inclined he is to cut corners. He told me only yesterday that several large slices have been removed from the Theatre Garden in the interests of speed. That is to say; plaster has been forsaken and crepie introduced.
One by-product of crepie, however, which le Comte is very pleased about, is the useful plastic containers it comes in. We now have cellars full of them just waiting for their moment to arrive.
Le Comte wishes me to add here that crepie is only being used in the Theatre Garden (aka naff 1960s extension) and he wouldn’t dream of spreading it over his beautiful 19th century Chateau. In Coldspot itself, only teacups of plaster will do.
This week being Ascension, a day of some note in the Christian calendar, la Feria has come to la Grande Ville. La Feria is a festival of Spanish descent involving bull-fighting, bull-running, bull-eating and bull-tormenting generally. Paella is traditionally the most popular dish and all food is accompanied by huge quantities of Sangria. Festivals of this kind are held all over le Midi throughout the summer from Nimes to Carcassonne. Drive through the Carmargue and you will see the fields where the black bulls and white horses graze, raised to illustrate the skill and machismo of the toreadors and horseback riders.
Everyone has to be seen to go to la Feria. If you haven’t spent at least one evening perambulating packed streets full of flamenco dancers and paella tents, avoiding drunken revellers and being deafened by the music throbbing from multiple speakers you really aren’t anyone – are you?
Apart from horse racing along the river bed (without any sissy hats on, of course,) a favourite entertainment is the encierro. This is a large cage with a bull inside it. The bull’s horns are bandaged to limit his potency. The cage has bars wide enough for a man to slip through easily, but not a large animal. There is a commentator on a tall podium with a birds’ eye view egging on the crowd.
Typical scenario: man dashes into cage, waves irritatingly at bull, bull charges, man rushes out of cage.
You can imagine how much fun this is, especially after a few jugs of sangria. The bull, without the benefit of alcohol, appears less amused.
Except this year when the bull got the upper hand.
New scenario: very drunk man stumbles into cage; prods bull; bull charges; drunk man falls over hitting head; bull attacks; drunk man dies.
So will the encierro take place next year? I would like to bet on it, although they might put up another sign warning how dangerous it can be. It’s the southern temperament, you see. You simply can’t let prudence get in the way of machismo, after all.
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