Beneath an unsuspected sun, moments of reflection

You may well feel that this humdrum pic serves no useful purpose, apart from to celebrate a bright, sunny blue sky in February, still sometimes an astonishing state of affairs for anyone raised within the dim, dank shores of Ongleterry. Actually it makes a very important point; it shows nothing happening in Fa.

Nothing happens most days, save brief outbursts of traffic pandemonium at school time, and the enjoyable exchange of minor local intelligence and mellowed philosophy with Dave the Underdog at our well-beloved Cafédefa.

Thus I find myself with a quiet moment to reflect that I have lived nine full years in France and in Fa. How time has passed, at once infinitesimally slow and simultaneously with the speed of a demented tornado. Can it be nine years already?

It seems a very long time since I lived in England and I don't think that I could readily do so again. Just because you feel English in France, doesn't mean that you still do in England . . . at least not in the way you used to. Really there's no going back.

Somehow I've survived, still the right way up, despite a few ups and downs along the way. Mainly this is due to the many good friends about me, so I pause to make thoughtful if silent tribute.

I suspect that the calm will not last. There is a warning in the limpid pools of the languid Faby, practically stationary beneath the deliberate concrete of Le Pont de Fa. If it doesn't start bunging it down soon and hard, we're going to have a full-scale drought this summer.

Then there's a first class row brewing over the future of the dinosauric Fêtes de Fa; a four-day binge of booze, noise and various bands that we have seen too many times before, which inflicts itself upon us every August.

I don't wish to take sides myself. I like a good bop with the rest of them but the people who run these fêtes (largely holiday residents, though most of them claim an ancient ancestry in the village) seem determined to run the event whilst totally ignoring the views of those of us who actually live here. I can't help thinking that it's all going to end in tears sooner or later, but if you like a good scrap, then watch this space . . .

Still, at least we've got the End of the World to look forward to next year. Look on the bright side, it may not happen. Of course, it's a bit of a bore if you really want to be in on the big event and nothing does happen.

I've got a couple of updates in mind for the set-list. I always meant to include That'll Be The Day by Buddy Holly and The Crickets, whilst my old mate and one-time fellow garage band member Glenn proposes The End of the World As We Know It by REM.

Must admit that I'm really not an REM fan and it actually would be the end of the world if Les Malfonctionnaires had to play their songs, even if one of them would make a very nice car hire advert. Think about it . . .