Following yonder star....

St Théophile

*So, last night we went to a little church in the middle of nowhere to sing carols in French and English.

We went with friends who offered to drive. They have a new toy. It's one of those virtual ladies who tells you which route to take in a rather bossy voice. Unfortunately she was temporarily switched off because they set her from their house and turned her on again when we left ours.

This caused the lady to go into a sulk. She just refused to speak to our driver again. The lights were on and the directions were shown on the screen, but she did not want to say 'In three hundred yards, turn right' to him at all. Eventually though she must have thawed out because one we hit Dordgneshire she started chatting again and, in revenge, led our driver down a series of very narrow, twisty, turny roads until he was worried that we would end up in a farmyard where he might come face to face with a farmer and his gun.

Luckily (?) though, she took us to the coldest church in the history of the world. Now, we've been in some cold churches in our time and no-one really expects to find a warm one now do they? But this particular little church took the crown. In fact I sat there thinking about the article I heard of the radio just a few days ago about the snow village .

The service began. There were no hymn books, no printed sheets, but the words were displayed on an overhead projector. The service was led by one of the chaplaincy of Aquitaine and a French padre. The readings were alternately in French and English, and so were the carols, sometimes we sang the carols in both languages.

There were about 50 hardy, frost-bitten souls in the church and we made a good noise. Except when the carol completely defeated us or the organist played the wrong tune, or the chorus twice. It was quite a challenge fitting in the French words to one of the verses of 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing' but we all sang out loud.

The few children of the congregation dressed in the obligatory dressing gowns and tea towels to perform their little Nativity tableau. Joseph had his hands full with a lantern and staff and when Mary asked him to pass the baby to her, he grabbed the poor (fortunately plastic) mite by the middle and thrust him into her hands. As a show of good measure and affection he then patted the little thing on the head (quite hard!).

The three Kings wandered down the aisle with their gifts, tinsel turbans on their heads, one of them dancing a little jig to 'We Three Kings' and we were surprised by two of the oldest shepherds we've seen for many a year dressed equally in their dressing gowns and tea towel headgear. We decided that they wanted to relive the Nativity plays of their youth.

After the service, we all piled into the Salle des Fêtes for some well-earned, warming mulled wine and a slice of stollen cake (no, not STOLEN, Mr Anonymous commenter).

We thoroughly enjoyed our evening. The mixed French and English group at the little church were friendly and welcoming. We may well visit again.

In the warm weather - but we may still need to wear thermal underwear.

* PS: don't you just hate people who start a conversation with the word 'So...'?