Le coq est mort

All was very quiet around our neighbourhood this morning...

After the excesses of last night (though I had sensibly stayed off the whisky so was fine) it was perfect timing for the carnival in Lavaur. I'm not sure I'm quite up on what it all means, but it seems that a giant coq is paraded through town, followed by scantily clad schoolgirls (the local baton-twirlers) and the whole population in masks and fancy dress. Then there's a load of stuff about Monsieur Carnaval, before more parading to a disused carpark, where the coq is burnt.

In a situation that would make health and safety types gasp, the fire (a huge stack of packing crates) was soaked with about 40 litres of petrol and then children were encouraged to go right up to it and poke 'coq' flags into the pile. The fence keeping us back from the fire was about six feet away from it - so of course when it went up there was a huge stampede backwards away from the heat and flying sparks!

Earlier I had told off some of the neighbours' kids for going in a bit of the grounds where they are not allowed. I asked Katherine about it all and she said the trouble-maker is a friend of one of our neighbours, and that he was setting off firecrackers and had a lighter - not an ideal combination in the tinder dry vegetation down that end of the grounds: "Whenever A has a friend over they all go crazy, but this is off the scale." Delivered dead-pan with her arms folded across her chest, it was suddenly easy to see the grown up she will become.

Later, a quiet half hour in front of a program about the earth had Conor fast asleep. It's been a busy weekend already.