There’s dancing in the square tonight, in front of the Marie (town hall). The musicians are playing the Breton pipes (a version of bagpipes), fiddles, accordians and other traditional instruments and the whole town is dancing. There are circle dances and square dances and lovely twirling tunes for couples. Everyone is there, from the smallest children to grandparents and great-grandparents hand in hand. Fathers and daughters, brothers and sisters and friends. And those who aren’t dancing are drinking mugs of cider and clapping to the tunes. It’s wonderful, or would be except I’m all alone and I would give pretty much anything if someone I love were here to dance with me.

Tonight is the local Fest Noz. They’re held all over Brittany at this time of year. They are what is left of the traditional harvest festivals. A reward for hard labour. And a good way to celebrate too.

I slip around the corner to the bar to make my reflection. A lot of the men are slipping in here too. Because France is playing football and it’s on the telly. And men are pretty much the same wherever you go.


Three morals in this story:

1. Everyone loves a good party.
2. It takes two to tango, and even more than that to reel.
3. The best of times are sometimes the hardest of times, when you are on your own.

Yours with creativity and imagination,

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