Close your eyes, close your eyes,
I'll be yours, baby tonight ....
(R.A. Zimmerman)
At mid-April, the gentleman on my picture invited a bunch of acquaintances to attend a birthday-party, his sixtieth birthday-party.
Thus, we met a couple of peculiar Frenchies: he was confined to a wheelchair, after tumbling off a roof, and put up with it thanks to a lot of witty remarks on the world around him, most of them very provocative. She was less funny and quite rigid in her views.
All the other invitees were expats, but for Christine, who is a mix of Campanian blood and genetic material from the Cévennes: Flanders, Australia, England, Saxony, Sweden, these were the origins of the lot of us. Vivid discussions ensued, Christine siding mostly with our faction, probably under the influence of a 12 year-long coexistence with the author of these lines. By and large, opinions were divided into two disproportionate blocks: the French couple thinking France an absolute raw-model and the benchmark by which all other systems must be assessed, and the rest of us, finding the very same France a lovely place to spend some holiday, but the most bureaucratic and unpractical state to have to deal with. And me, poor one, I happen to both live here and spend my free-time as well!
It made for a wonderful evening: great food, fun, friendship, intellectual stimulation and ... booze.
Herman, the jubilee, is a connoisseur of fizz. He generously poured champagne in our many glasses, having chosen several cuvées of an outstanding Hautvillers producer, not far from Epernay, from whom he purchases the goods straight at the winery. And here comes my killer.
Two years ago, I attended the "open-doors tasting" of my agent in Ostend. I was introduced to a likeable young lady, with a pretty smile and good humour. After some small talk and a quick look at my hands, she inquired whether I was an "agri" too. "Wableeeef?" was my reaction, rendering my puzzle till she explained that her boy-friend - a good-looking and congenial chappy accompanying her - belonged to the tractor-driving and vineyard-keeping team at daddy's. He was an agri himself. Actually, she was the daughter of the Gobillard family, the brand which Herman so favours, a middle-sized high quality business of around .... one million bottles a year! She was intrigued to hear I, for one, was indeed the agri at my own farm, but also the assistant-accounter, the cleaner, the wine-maker, the PR person, the sales representative, the lawyer, and the bell-boy as well ... She - almost - quoted J.M. Barry's Wendy: "But that must be an awfully big adventure"?
Yes, love, it definitely is!
On my picture, you realize how much prone the atmosphere was to subtle feelings, those of peace and well-being, yes even love in its purest shape. The landlord and charming Anna were so much at unisson, far away from this world of ours, eyes all closed and happiness oozing from their skin, oblivious of "l'Europe et ses anciens parapets" ... (courtesy of Arthur Rimbaud).
I would like to thank Herman and Anna again for this memorable evening,
for the cosy and friendly mood they are so good at creating.
Long live Herman, the leak's King, "in de gloria", and long live the fizz from Hautvillers.
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