Bastille day ....

.... begins at 8am jumping out of your skin as a cannon goes off. 3 times. Each year I think, "Remember the cannon.". And each year I forget. Midday it goes off again and Kit and I shreak and then at 8 (boom, boom, boom) we head for Le Chat Noir (the caff) for dinner and drinks.
At about 10.30pm the mayor hands out pointy sticks with a paper lantern on the end containing a candle with a naked flame to all the children of the village. (Yes, health and safety is alive and well and happily ignored here in France.) Then the band plays, the joyeuse minettes of Roujan dance their dance (all men, all in wigs and skirts, never had a rehearsal in 25 years) and mums and dads, babies, kids, grandpas and aunts process through the village and end up beside the salle Polyvalente.
At 11 the last booms of Bastille Day soar into the sky in a truly magnificent firework display. 23km gusts of wind get half the audience skittering away from rocket fall-out but no-one is hurt and the ooohs and aaahs are entirely appreciative.
Vive la France!