The French are particularly fond of having annual dinners to celebrate, well to celebrate just about anything. In the village of Rasteau, in Vaucluse, the lady who acted as agent for the house we were renting told us we should go along to the school, on the night we arrived, as they were having a dinner to celebrate the end of term.
We did this and made friends with people there, Marie Jose and Jean, who afterwards came to visit us in Ireland.
When we moved into Thezan we were careful not to miss any of these dinners.
Shortly after we arrived this summer the dinner for Bastille day was announced, this we duly attended in the Place de Mairie, and we enjoyed it, set up a nodding acquaintance with some of the locals but, mainly because we brought our two daughters with us, we didn’t do any major ice breaking.
Shortly after that they the ‘Allo ‘Allo lady announced the annual dinner for the hunters but, as these have a reputation for aggressive lawlessness we decided to skip this.

(Perhaps at this moment I should digress and explain who the ‘Allo ‘Allo lady is.
Every so often, not every day, but sometimes several times in one day, the peace of the village is shattered by the announcements made over a loudspeaker system which is mounted on the top of the clock tower quite near our house. These announcements are usually to publicise up and coming social events, but are equally as likely to be about a missing cat or even about a badly parked car that needs shifting. These are usually announced by a lady, but then on occasions-her day off?- they can be delivered by a man.
They are inevitably prefaced by the announcer saying ‘Allo ‘Allo in a loud voice, thereby making one wonder if the dreadful Franglais series, based on the goings-on of the French resistance during WW2, was as badly researched as we imagined.)

After the Hunters Dinner, which ended up in loud singing of hunting songs into the small hours, we missed a cook out in the Petit Jardin (The small village park) because it was full by the time we applied for tickets, but managed to secure tickets for the wine growers dinner which was held last night.
We went down to this determined to start introducing ourselves to the Thezanais and to this end determined to stand around looking awkward until someone took pity on us and started to adopt us.
Our plan worked to perfection.
There was a particularly vivacious lady, who obviously knew everyone, who took pity on us and introduced us first to a charming older couple, he was the retired village school master and delighted to compare notes with Sile on our various education systems, and particularly on the amount of holidays in Ireland.
Madame, it turned out sat on the council of the village-a very powerful body here in rural France- and she in turn introduced to a very interesting couple.
Monsieur, it appeared, was a distinguished medical doctor, originally from Thezan, now living in Bordeaux, who was a candidate for the mayor of Thezan at the next elections of mayor in the Spring. This job of Mayor is not a nominal post as it is in Ireland. Here the job carries not just prestige but also real power. The village mayor, for example, is also the final arbiter on such potentially controversial matters as planning permission.
To meet this man, socially, was a bit of a coup, even more so should he be elected in due course.
He also told us that he, and all Catholics of his age in the village, were extremely familiar with the Presbytere, as they all would have received their Christian Doctrine classes in the room which we now know as the office.This was a surprise to us good irish Catholics, to whom Christian Doctrine was very much part of the daily curriculum in schools. We forget, of course, that here in France Catholicism is not the state religion as it is in Ireland.
I spent the dinner sitting next to his very charming wife, a woman of great patience who went to great lengths to understand my French. She in turn introduced me to her son, whom I took to be a student,(and told him so) but who turned out to be the financial controller of Louis Vitton in Clermont Ferrand.
They also introduced us to a lady, a veritable ball of vivacity, hair died several colours which is very a la mode here, who turned out to be the ‘Allo ‘Allo Lady herself !
(I think it pleased her that I kissed her hand and said I was honoured to meet her!)
We were then taken under the wing of a distinguished couple who have a house, with a pool, here in the village. We have no idea what they do/did but they turned out to be great fans of Ireland and holiday there all the time.
The food we ate, for a measly €15 per head, was superb.
It was advertised as being Porcelette on Brochette.
This, I decided could either be little pieces of Pork cooked on skewers or a barbecued sucking pig.
As soon as we arrived the head of the local wine growers association made an announcement and summoned us all to the back of the building. Sile understood him to tell us it would be for the cutting of the cake. Once we got there all was revealed.
There was the wonderful sight of a whole young pig, browned to a turn and crisp, turning on a mechanical spit over embers.
The flavour, when we got to eat it was magnificent, smokey, tender and with wonderful crisp crackling, quite the best pork I have eaten.
The meal was served, again in typical French style, in the fermenting room of the wine coop where the large doors were opened to the elements and we were dwarfed, very suitably, by immense stainless steel fermenting vats.
This was reassuring .
It seemed unlikely that we would run out of wine.
When the party finally broke up and we headed home there was much hand shaking, even some kissing and we headed home in great form, convinced that we had now broken into Thezan society.