Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
'I don't know how much food to buy!' I said, completely flummoxed by the clear breach of
- double irony here - party invite etiquette.
'Daddy, just buy enough,' Maurice said, with a very Gallic shrug.
It would have helped enormously if the kids had arrived in dribs and drabs, giving us some
time to acclimatise to the situation, allowing us to dip our toes gently into calm waters before
they become choppy. Here, though, surely by fluke as I doubt seriously whether they could
actually organise themselves to that extent, everyone arrived at the same time. Everyone. It
was like a sudden invasion - one minute there was quiet and a bit of nervous anticipation and
the next minute there were a dozen French six-year-old boys running and screaming about
the place. To start with they were very demure and respectful, full of 'Bonjour Monsieur' and
the obligatory kiss on the cheek greeting. But the second the formal niceties were over they
threw their hats in the air and went absolutely crazy. I like French kids, I like their manners
and respect, but there isn't in my opinion any nation in the world that has noisier children.
They scream incessantly and it is impossible to determine whether they are enjoying them-
selves or in abject agony, the noise levels are the same, the intonation identical and it's a total
assault on your ears.
Suddenly, we had fifteen kids charging about the place, including our three, who I'm happy
to report weren't doing any of the screaming (Thérence was actually, but he'll learn). The four
adults - me, Natalie and her parents, who we had roped in for crowd control - looked at each
other nervously. We had planned some games, but this unruly mob didn't look like they'd
stay still long enough for any kind of diversion, especially one involving 'rules'. As we stood
looking at each other, deciding what our first move should be they all raced by, all scream-
ing 'Trampoline! Trampoline!' And we all looked at each other, all wondering the same thing,
'can we >make that last three hours?'
It's a big trampoline, but it really isn't big enough to accommodate fifteen kids. The netting
around the side was all that was keeping them in as they crashed noisily off each other, the
whole surreal image could best be described as a dwarf riot in a cage-fighting ring. You know
when you shake a bottle of Coke and inside you can see the bubbles at the top bouncing vi-
olently off each other? It was like that and it's a small wonder there wasn't a serious injury
as twenty minutes later, their appetite for physical assault and anarchy unsatisfied, the kids
tumbled out looking for the next opportunity to hurt themselves.
'Football! Football!' they screamed and went charging off again.
Now, there are rules with football, but I wasn't going to be naive enough to try and enforce
them and from my vantage point as reluctant goalkeeper I could see that it was a brutal affair.
They all followed each other like a swarm of locusts, and like locusts they showed no mercy
or respect to anything that stood in their path - flower beds, the orchard, the dogs - they all
took something of a pounding. Even Junior, surely a fan of mindless violence if ever there
was one, took one look at the proceedings and went back into his stable. It was like a cross
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