Today was a snail fair at nearby Betête. Chris, Rors, Benj and I hopped on our bikes and set off to investigate.
It has to be said it was a bit thin on snails. There was actually just one snail stall with only a few live snails on it but lots of pots of processed fellow snails.
We treated Chris to a jar of terrine d’escargots as a belated Father’s Day present. That’s one thing he won’t have to worry about the rest of us eating. It’s a continual source of contention in this household how quickly things get consumed by people they’re not intended for. We all have our favourite noms and nibbles that we try to hide in the back of the fridge or cupboard to stop undeserving fellow Daggs from eating but always without success. Apart from my bar of whole nut dark chocolate that the rest of the family have learned to leave well alone the hard way. But I digress. Back to the fair.
There were the usual stalls. The stroopwafel guy was there. I don’t think he ever goes home because every single fair or special occasion we go to, he’s there. Stroopwafels are awesomely delicious syrupy Dutch biscuits. We were introduced to them by the Fortaniers who stayed at out gîte a few times. Do try some if ever you get the chance. There was artisanal bread, clothes and crafts stalls too. There were some chickens as well. They were very pretty chickens too. Some looked like they were Silkie crosses and others had crests on their heads. But since we were on the bikes we had no humane and/or practical way of getting the birds home with us so I had to resist temptation.
Cycling back I took a photo of this sign outside the village butcher’s shop. You’ll either think it’s cute or the stuff that nightmares are made of. But it’s certainly eyecatching! Rors calls it Pigelix.
I’ll finish on a note of caution. Don’t wear crocs in long grass. I was really stupid yesterday. OK, I’m stupid most days but yesterday I was really stupid. I headed off through the llama field to check on the babies in my crocs. I usually put my wellies on but I’d been watering the polytunnel and suddenly thought I’d check on the huarizos before I went indoors, even though I wasn’t in suitable footwear. I nearly got away with it. I was almost back when suddenly my right foot felt like it was on fire and broken at the same time. I managed to lift it up and there was a huge, dark, stripey thing clinging to the underside of my big toe. I whacked it off but the pain got worse. I could see the sting still firmly attached to my foot and got some of it out but couldn’t see clearly enough to get the rest. Now I was stuck. I couldn’t put my croc back on because I still had a lump of sting sticking out of my toe. I didn’t feel like like hobbling back on one bare foot, not now I knew there were lurking nasties. And my foot was really, really hurting. Like all redheads, I’m tough, but this pain reduced me to tears. Anyway, Chris and Benj were mending the tractor not too far away so I hollered and waved my arms about until they realised something was amiss (I nearly said afoot!) and rushed to help. They took turns to carry me back to the house. My heroes. Now, normally I’m nagged for being skinny but this is one time I think they were both glad that I’m so petite! I spent the rest of the evening sprawled out on the sofa, dosed up with antihistamines which made me very sleepy so got me out of the housework. Chris got the remaining sting bit out and my foot didn’t swell up much although it still feels a bit funny today but it’s usable.
So, bee careful when you were crocs outdoors!!
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