Whooping it up

Spoilt for choice today. We went to the Festival de Musique in Fabrezan this evening, with some friends. We started the evening in the Tira-tap, excellent as always, with Maria plying us with endless plates of food till we had to tell her to stop because we couldn't eat any more. Then she announced she'd made a cake that was "a complete mess", presenting a magnificent creation of cream, sponge fingers, peaches and raspberries. "It's a bavaroise, but I had to freeze it because I didn't put any gelatine in it and it was collapsing," she explained. "That's OK," said D, "just call it a semifreddo." It was delicious anyway.

Afterwards we blundered up the hill to Notre Dame de la Consolation in the dark. We just caught the end of Bekar, a kind of Yiddish/rock band that S and I really enjoyed. D and U were not of the same opinion, so they didn't approve of our wild applause and encouragement to play some more. The set was enlivened by a young lad of about six called Sam who leapt onto the stage and played air guitar. Very well, it has to be said; he attracted an adoring group of six-year-old girls.

These three ladies, les Soeurs Trombone, were the entracte entertainment. I'm not sure what their song and dance routine was all about, but it was very photogenic. The second band of the evening was Ifriqians: "funk Afro-Maghreb". They were good too, and got a lot of people dancing. Including the indefatigable Sam, who got back on the stage and did some more funky guitar playing and dancing. He's clearly destined for a career in show business. They were still going at 1:30 am, with the addition of a couple of African drummers, but we were tired, so we headed off home.

Backblipped due to late night ...