Big numbers

Numbers in French always bring me out in a cold sweat. It's the whole "four twenty ten seven" thing*. I mean what would be the problem with neufante sept? Anyway, today's school fundraising loto (bingo) has helped a little. After the baking marathon was over, iced and delivered to school (well, to the convent where the dining hall is anyway), we could get our glad rags on and head up to the party en famille. This was our first mistake. Had we forgone the glad rags (as everyone else had) we would have arrived earlier than our normal polite 5 minutes late. And we would have got a seat without having to persuade some folk to budge up a bit so we could have the adjacent ends of two tables. Mr B lucked out and had Katherine to help him with the numbers. Meanwhile, I translated for Conor in the early kids' rounds - until it became clear that he knows the numbers in French better than in English and I was only confusing him. Neither of the kids won anything, but I managed a line in one of the early grown up rounds. Obviously calling out was a nervous moment, as there was no guarantee that my numbers were right... but all was well and the oven glove and teatowel set was mine!

That early victory turned out to be our last. Despite this very close call with the 'carton plein' (ie all the numbers on one card) for the grand prize of a TV. The next number called was 35 - which almost gave me and Katherine a heart attack given we only needed 36.

Everyone else was using brightly coloured transparent counters (like tiddly winks) but we didn't get the memo and instead had brought all our loose change. Hence our bizarre collection of UK, euro and old French coins. (And at one point before I'd mined the bottom of my handbag and we had run out of coins, bits of torn up sweet wrapper.) Next year we will be more organised.

Sadly, there was unpleasantness to mar this otherwise fun community event. The family I was sharing a table with was made up of a mum, a gran, an aunty/friend and two kids - a girl of about eight and a boy of about four/five. Now the loto lasts about four hours, and there is nothing provided for kids to do, apart from eat cake. So you wouldn't expect perfect behaviour. My kids went and played outside, and I had back up distractions for Conor. I'm not trying to make out I'm a perfect parent or anything, but the thrashings her kids took - in front of everyone - any time they acted up a bit were appalling to see. If I had been in Britain and this happened, there is no way I could have stopped myself saying something. I am amazed no-one French stepped in. The boy's reaction to this treatment made me think it was a common occurrence. I'm still pretty ashamed I did nothing.

The girl escaped the worst by crawling under the table and playing (quietly) there. I moved to give her more room - and so she could get further away from her mum who kicked her every time she made a noise. And I couldn't help but see when the girl crawled under the table - with her trousers having slid down a little - that wiping had been less than comprehensive for several days in a row...

I kept willing that family to win something just to put the mum in a better mood. They won nothing, and left in a fury.


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