A couple of nights ago I went to the Caunes Jazz Club.My last visit was to see an incredibly talented flautist Jeroen Pek and amazing bass player Lilian Bencini. I am not a jazz aficionado, I find it quite difficult and don’t always enjoy the battle to access the music. However, these two were brilliant, and although I didn’t understand the technicalities of what was going on, I loved it.
This offering was decidedly lightweight in comparison, perhaps perfect for a pleasant summer’s evening…..but not for me. I knew quite quickly that I would probably not stay too long.
|instead of being in le caveau, under the abbey, in the summer, the jazz club is held out side, in a lovely covered garden, wine flowing freely.|
I sat down, with a glass of red wine and struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to me.On hearing that I had a home in Hebden Bridge, she asked me if I knew her friend Susan. It came as a shock to her that the population of our little Yorkshire town means it is unlikely I would know Susan……and that I didn’t.
She and her husband had just bought a house in the Black Mountains, presumably as an investment, as they do not intend to live in it. It was difficult to work out where they lived, as they mentioned houses in Turkey, Florida and San Paolo.Did I make assumptions about her based on her cut glass accent ? or was it the condescending look she gave me when I responded to her questions about how I managed to fill my time ( gardening, reading, swimming, enjoying the village, entertaining family and friends, meeting new people……). Apparently she thought the English only moved to France to further their hobbies, like writing or painting.
There were other gems that struck me as horribly clichéd Brit ex pat speak.For the first time I recognised the…….” I would not choose to exchange views with this person in other circumstances. It is purely that she is English and we can converse in the same language that is prolonging this exchange.”
So, I left the jazz club, determined that I would feel confident enough, next time, to position myself next to French speakers, and not find myself tied up with people with whom I have nothing in common, except the English language.
This is probably the first negative experience I have had whilst being alone in Caunes….but I enjoyed the wine, I enjoyed the walk back to the house, and I enjoyed sitting back on my terrace, another glass of wine in my hand, listening to the crickets and watching the swifts and bats swoop. I probably wont start the novel tomorrow…..
|the terrace, from which I will probably not write a novel or paint a masterpiece.|