Just when I stopped opening doors ….
It’s holiday season. On Saturday, my US friends and relations celebrated ‘Independence Day’ (July 4th) and in France les grands vacances are upon us. The next two months will see most French people taking time off and we will also celebrate le 14th juillet (‘Bastille Day’ but it is never referred to as such by the French) and le 15th août (Assumption Day) both of which are major holidays. In the village of Marcoles, a teeny weeny but perfectly and beautifully formed medieval gem (and officially ‘une petite cité de caractère’) 15th August is celebrated with a festival of street theatre, music, dance and that particular brand of delightful eccentricity that is unmistakeably French. It is called Lez’Artes dans la Rue (the mascot is a lizard and the title is a clever pun). I absolutely adore it.
We visited for the first time two years ago and were treated, amongst other delights to a troop of medieval musicians with a fantastically barking mad front man, a band fronted by a girl in fishnets and doc martins perched on the roof of a miniature car as it toured the village and oompahpahing deliciously on a souzaphone. And this chap. To say I was not quite ready for him is a probable understatement …. this was in no small measure due to the fact that shortly after this picture was taken he produced a large and fully inflated balloon from the trouser area he is so emphatically framing. His pant region. The balloon was sausage shaped, proudly cocked and bright pink. So there you have it. Standing in front of those wonderful medieval arched doors, he opened his door, one might say …. The crowd went wild. And crowd it was – the village is literally over-run for the occasion.
PS: You will know that the title is from ‘Send in the Clowns’ that wonderful song from Sondheim’s ‘A Little Night Music’ … making my entrance with my usual flair and indecently late, I must recommend that you take a look at the other offerings for the WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge entitled Door – there are some crackers.
And also – tragically, I shan’t be able to attend this year. But I do have a vaguely acceptable reason … my eldest daughter will be marrying her love a week later in England’s West Country and I rather hope her need of me is greater than that of Marcoles on this occasion …
