The last of the wheat harvested. Fields of stubbly gold stretching to the horizon. Give it another week and the green sunflower shoots will be in full bloom.
In the market place the Tunisian woven bag sellers reappear. This year the Tunisian ladies have acquired a large red umbrella to shelter under. Bob is steered well away from the enticing display of shopping bags.
Another fun filled Saturday night. Three ladies in yellow stockings, yellow shoes, yellow dresses and yellow berets (Les Kanarys) perform a variety of 1940's songs on the the Salle des Fetes stage. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy meets France profonde. They are accompanied on the organ by an unsmiling man wearing a yellow feather boa over his black patent leather jacket. He has a look to him that says 'I'd rather be anywhere else than here'. This is a sentiment I can sympathize with. The 'Kanarys' click their fingers,croon,smile and twirl.
On the gravel in front of the church, the Village Fleuri Committee have set up a barbecue. The committee Chairman deals with his anger management issues by throwing the faux filets onto the fire and then retrieving them with the aid of an over sized pair of iron fire tongs. Every so often a pillar of sparks fly into the air and he swears loudly. The Gordon Ramsey of the barbecue world. A resplendent Madame Bay is there in layers of white chiffon. A poster girl for net curtains. She tells us that for the 'Grand Bal Disco' a machine has been hired that blows foam over the revelers. We leave before it's switched on. The sight of foam covered waltzing octogenarians will have to wait for another year.