Nina Attal

After a hectic week in the classroom, we were all in need of a little down-time. For James, Naomi and Minda, that meant travelling across France to visit their respective partners; for the singletons left in Montluçon it meant a concert. On her morning jogs, Anna had spotted a little venue on the outskirts of the town where a gig was being held tonight. Naturally, we decided to investigate.

Le Guingois was true to the French tradition of suprisingly busy venues in deceptively quiet locations - this unassuming white building was surrounded by fields of cows at the end of a suburban street. Inside, however, we found a little, dimly-lit bar and stage area populated by chic French fifty-somethings with crinkled faces and tight jeans. It was like being in Serge Gainsbourg's basement. And it was great.

We gathered around the stage with our glasses of wine as Nina Attal, a slight girl no older than me, took to the microphone along with her band of hipster scruffs. She played two hours of original soul-infused funk music, with lyrics entirely in English (presumably for an extra dash of mystique). Her party-piece was to wander into the crowd whilst performing a long, relaxed guitar solo and mill about amongst the bemused but entranced onlookers, as shown above.

Although her constant English grew somewhat tedious - lyrics are one thing, but exclamations like "Now I'm gonna tell you a storé!" in a contrived American accent are quite another - the show was an energetic, fun affair and Nina's talent was clear to see. After she retreated backstage for the evening, we headed to the town centre for a nightcap at Le Prestige, which was followed by a frantic - and ultimately fruitless - search for a kebab. A hungry end to a jazzy night. Tant pis.