Quel Jour

Things that happened today:

• was caught wasting a lesson surfing Youtube for the best videos
• gave a box of Celebrations to the staff room, un bon point
• my loo broke
• my flat flooded
• my loo got fixed
• my flat stayed flooded
• I spent even more money on food to bring home for Christmas

C'est la vie!

Always follow your nose (the sound of cars)

So after the disappointment of the match being cancelled, I now had a free afternoon. Annoyingly, it was too late for me to go and play golf, which would’ve been my first choice seeing as the sun was shining. Anyway, I decided to go for a run. As I headed out of town, I realised that I hadn’t been in this particular direction before and had no idea where to go. I’ve always thought I have a good sense of direction, so I picked out a house on top of a hill to use as a point of reference and ploughed on. After a while, I had a sense that I was heading away from my P.O.R. but kept going, trusting that I would meet the main road that I was planning too. Eventually I had to slow to a brisk walk, not because I was struggling, but because I was trying to gauge where to go, not that I had much choice as I was now on a country lane and had come too far to turn back. Every now and then a car would pass me with confused looks on the faces. To explain, it’s the 16^th of December and I’m out running in shorts. Firstly, no one runs in France and secondly, no one wears shorts in December, in fact, as soon as schools restart in September winter is declared and everyone goes around in coats and scarves without fail. As I tread on, I notice my P.O.R. has gone out of sight and I’m seriously considering turning back. However, I had time to kill and wanted to prove to myself that I could continue to trust my sense of direction. Five minutes later, and the lane started to turn back in the direction of Fumel and I could now hear a lot more noise from cars, meaning the main road that I was hoping to join was near. Onwards I trudged and eventually met up with the D710, 5km from Fumel. Bitter-sweet to say the least. Anyway, I started jogging again and with great effort, managed to make it back to Fumel. I'm pretty sure that this magnificent hawk was following me the whole way, which creeped me out a little, but was good company. I also passed on my way, a scrapyard/workshop full of old Volkswagens, with a few nice looking camper vans. Apparently there's a dealer in town who will do one up on request, using only VW parts from the various wrecks in the back garden. Might have to look into that. 

Winston Churchill said that golf is a good walk spoiled. I didn't get to play golf, but I certainly ruined a good walk.

Here is my route roughly. Ignore the squiggly bits in the centre of town. I went anti-clockwise.

Tying myself in knots

The wait for the debut continues

So the final match before the winter break was cancelled, meaning I didn’t get the chance to make my debut. Whether I was in the squad or not we’ll never know but I’m heading back to England for Christmas now, a day before Toulon come to play Agen. Wilko will have to wait. 

Villeneuve Christmas Market

I had been told about the Saturday market at Villeneuve by numerous people and so thought that I should check it out, especially seeing as all the Christmassy stuff was out this weekend. The pedestrian zone around the main square in Villeneuve is idyllic, cafes and boutiques a plenty. The theme of the day for us was obviously dégustation, something that I’m developing a penchant for, so we meandered through the various stalls trying each and every local delicacy that was available; Foie gras, terrine, saucisson and finally Eau de Vie. NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED. Is what each bottle should clearly state. The stall vendor had a wry smile on his face as he handed me a shot of the clear liquid. Just a sniff is enough to make yours eyes water, but being in the presence of a few female friends I knew this was somewhat of a man challenge, so I knocked it back and waited for the result. I tried to describe it to my friends and what I came up with was a flavoured vodka/absinthe mixture, with a lasting taste and buzz. So obviously I bought a bottle. Midnight Mass may be interesting this year after I introduce this as a family tradition chez moi. I was told it’s usually taken after dessert and cheese, before coffee. Or, if you’re having a particularly large meal with numerous courses, at the halfway stage as a bit of a pick me up. Being in the Lot et Garonne, I opted for the Eau de Vie des Pruneaux, rather than the bog standard 45% stuff.  As we wandered the market somewhat aimlessly after that pit-stop, we entered the clothes market, prompting a sweeping declaration from myself that I could never buy clothes from a market like this, off the rail. Of course what I did next was buy a tweed jacket at a steal of €10. Our next goal was to buy ingredients for our extremely French lunch/dinner: Bœuf bourguignon, preceded by a selection of typical French hors d’oeuvres. We opted for a saucisson du canard (duck sausage), terrine campagnarde (a sort of paté spread), olives, cheese and of course bread. Thoughts?

Hors-d'oeuvre

The meal of course was accompanied by a Bordeaux wine that we picked up for next to nothing and that turned out to be not too bad.  After an extremely enjoyable and productive but rather expensive two days, I returned to Fumel for some much needed rest before my long awaited “professional” football debut the next day, providing I ever hear from the captain. Seeing as I decided to go to the Agen match on Friday night, I missed practice, but seeing as they have 4 suspended players (three red cards last weekend, don’t ask) I thought they’d probably need me, especially because even without suspensions the squad is thin, to say the least. To quote every sportsman that’s ever been on a tour, “It was a nightmare couple of days waiting for the phone to ring.” For me will the rest of the interview read, “But when I eventually got the call, I was over the moon.” Or, “When the call didn’t come, it was heart-breaking, but I’ll pick myself up, get back in training and hope to impress the coaches with my performances.” I’d make a great professional sportsman.

Allez Agen, Allez Agen…

Les Agenais ont gagné!!! Finally, I’ve seen Agen win, and it was completely out of the blue. The visit to the stadium, not the victory, that was a bit of procession. Just how Agen managed to lose the reverse fixture against Bucharest the week before I will never know. This time, at home, they were comfortable 39-9 winners in the driving rain. But I’ll backtrack a few hours. Seeing as it was to be my last weekend in France before returning home for good old Noël, I thought I’d better head to Agen to buy a few cadeaux to take home (the selection in Fumel was somewhat limited). So after a fairly successful shopping trip by my standards (meaning I actually bought something) I treated myself to a Crêpe Bonbon in the Crêperie on Place des Laitiers, opposite Café de la Bourse. Not exactly a traditional crepe, and slightly sickly, but it plugged a hole.

Crêpe Bonbon 

Anyway, whilst in a shop, which for certain reasons I cannot name, we noticed a poster for an Agen match that afternoon, with tickets only €10. Our thought process was fairly simple. It would be our last opportunity to get to see them for a while, they’d probably beat Bucharest, we were gutted to miss the visit of the Galacticos of Toulon (two days after I leave) and we had absolutely nothing else to do this particular Friday night, tragic I know. So after killing some time with an extremely enjoyable dégustation of some produits régionaux, we headed to Stade Alfred Armandie in the drizzle, steered ourselves past the touts and into the sheltered stand, which for tonight was general admittance, meaning we could choose wherever we wanted to sit, which obviously was bang on half way a few rows back. The first half was, to be blunt, dire. One try for Agen and a few penalties apiece, 13-6. After a half-time portion of chips, we retook our seats and watched as SU Agen tore Bucharest apart with some fantastic running rugby, given the torrid conditions. The second half had everything we could’ve wanted from 40 minutes of rugby; yellow cards, dodgy refereeing decisions, handbags and plenty of crunching tackles. All in all, 100% worth the €10 and the 20 minute walk in the rain. 

No takers for the uncovered stand

All that remained was a fairly eventful return to Fumel, via Villeneuve to drop off my friend. As we sat at traffic lights in central Agen, we noticed that the lights had turned green but the car in front of us wasn’t budging, and judging by the drivers frantic hand signals, he’d broken down and we should go round him. Easier said than done. Cars were whizzing past us, the car behind was nestled on my rear bumper so couldn’t see I was in reverse and indicating, so wasn’t budging. Masses of hooting ensued, as expected. The driver in distress eventually got out of his car, via the passenger door and approached my window to explain he’d broken down and I should go round. Obviously we offered to push him to one side so he could get to safety and we could get home. His reaction was a mixture of shock and delight, as if never I a million years was he expecting sympathy or help. So leaving my car running, hazard lights on, unlocked, we got out into the pouring rain and shoved him off the road until we saw a thumbs up protrude from the window. Racing back to the car feeling fairly good about ourselves, we realised that in the meantime everyone else hade tried to get round us, only to be foiled by the lights, and now there was an absolute kerfuffle to get everything back to normal. Eventually we got out of Agen and on the road. If you’ve seen Withnail & I, my journey home resembled the pair’s experiences driving at night in the countryside, driving rain, windscreen wipers that weren’t fully functioning and therefore limited visibility. I was crouched over the wheel as if I was trying to lick the dashboard. The combination of fog, rain, fatigue and French drivers was not ideal. Somehow we made it home safe and sound. Twas a successful day for numerous reasons; the shopping, the crepe and the rugby. Next up, the Villeneuve Christmas market.

A career in (Semi) Pro Football beckons

For the last month or so, I’ve been training twice a week with the local football side. When they asked me if I wanted to play matches as well, I jumped at the opportunity, after watching a couple of games, I fancied my chances. The process of registering with the FFF (FA equivalent) should be rather simple, but I’ve come to realise that in France, anything involving paperwork never is simple, and even less so in the smaller towns. After declaring my interest to register, it took weeks for someone to track down the papers to give me, and when they were given to me, they were somewhat muddied for one reason or another. Anyway, the form is a fairly standard registration form, which includes one section that needs to be completed by a doctor. So after tracking down a GP in town, I booked an appointment to have a medical, quite what it would entail was beyond me. In my head I was expecting the old “Cough please” or “Bend over please”. The reality was nothing like that. I think in my head, the fact that I even needed a medical meant it must be highly official. Here’s what happened. I enter and we exchange pleasantries, it so happens that the GP played a rugby match against my hometown team back in England, small world. He asks me to take off my shirt and lie on the bench, when he proceeded to listen to my heart beat and measure my pulse. Then comes the weird bit. He tells me to get up and I’m preparing to drop my kegs. Instead, he demonstrates a squat, and tells me to do 30 of them. After puffing my way through the 30 squats, he asks me to get back on the bench and “breathe normally”. I tried. After listening to my heart for a few more minutes, he shrugged, told me I was a bit unfit and returned to his desk. And that was that. 5 minutes, 30 squats and €23, which I can claim back. Anyway, I’m now a registered football player with Fumel-Libos Football Club and hoping to make my debut this weekend in the last game before the winter break. Stay tuned for tales of greatness.

Me and my first football "contract"