AGM Pétanque

On sunny days, around lunchtime, I anticipate the ping of my phone and the message from Joél Pétanque, Allée des soupirs, 14h30


He sends the message to me because he knows that Nico has a strained and distant relationship with his phone.

All plans Nico made in the morning as he gets up evaporate, he eats his lunch quickly and is off. 

He played all afternoon and invited the eclectic teams back to the moulin for an apéro and a round of pallets Breton.  

Bernard brought a good bottle of white Maccabéu from his bar (which I tend to boycot because I thought I didn't like him), Joel brought two bottles of Champagne from Chantal's art nouveau place, Béatrice and Roland turned up with tulips and little chocolate eggs from Diant.  

Nico made a good effort to get them interested in throwing small cast iron discs onto a board set a couple of metres away, but the light had almost faded by the time Joel had put his cows to bed, Garcia said he'd rather stick to balls, Isabelle, who is Bretonne, said the game reminded her of her father (who she clearly didn't like), poured herself another glass of wine and settled defiantly back in her chair.

Joel asked if we had any beer.  I gave him the last can of Guinness and cringed when he put ice cubes into it.

I cleared up in the moonlight and reviewed my animosity of Garcia.  He's a decent kind of chap and he makes a good mulled wine at Christmas.