|Music festival season has blown around in the Gers, beginning with the Mirande Country Music shindig that we saw last year. One of our local expat friends has a farm nearby and has been rather poorly lately so we dropped in to see him and then continued on into town for chien chaud et frites. Being a week day it wasn’t very busy, but fewer crowds meant that I could get Munson into the shade more often. |
The town centre was chock with the usual stalls selling cowboy-‘n’-cowgal-chic and loupiana while the centre bandstand were running through what sounded like a Bob Seeger song as a handful of people danced before them with all too serious intent. I found a quiet shady doorstep on a side-street to munch on my saucisson, oignons and chips, but Munson still drew his audience – thankfully only one by one so we could talk and not have multiple camera-wielders try to pull his attention this way and that. I find I can speak to the French visitors and stall-holders with greater ease than with many locals as their accent is clearer to me.
We spotted a three month-old patou which brought back a wave of sorrow about losing Legend. I could sense something was going through Munson’s mind when he nuzzled it, preparing for play.
Between the central square and the line of stalls and displays lining the street outside the town stadium there wasn’t much variation from last year. There’s much more going on inside the stadium area but that demands a fee for entry and is out of bounds to Munson anyway.