French battering

It would be wrong to blame the French actually and this definitely wasn’t the blog I was expecting to post. One of the main reasons for coming to France this time was because my eldest uncle thought, despite being Canadian and a resident of Canada, he would celebrate his birthday near Bergerac in France.

Mum had come to my house for a few days first having never seen it. It is in a department called Ariege which is in the South of France right in the middle of the long bit that’s stuck to Spain. It’s an old school masters house and therefore what they refer to as a ‘character property’, blue shutters and tiled floors, roses in the garden and verdant countryside due to the moisture coming off the mountains. That part of the visit went well.

On the Saturday morning we set off to Bergerac and checked into the Hotel. A twin room to save on expense. We had lunch, a stroll around the town, a tiny bit of retail therapy and then we had a short rest before heading out for the evening. However, despite a lovely evening all didn’t go 100% perfectly because I didn’t sleep very well. I felt claustrophobic and I am not good sharing a room with anyone to be honest.

I arrived at breakfast very dopey and uncoordinated. They had a teapot system for tea with a machine that dispensed near enough boiling water so that you could at least get the water onto your tea bags straight away. Mission one accomplished. Mission two involved popping a bit of milk into my tea cup…..hardly difficult and achieved with ease. The next thing that happened was a conversation about how the bottom of the cups appeared to be square and the indentation in the saucer appeared to be round. I said, ‘ ah ha, not quite as it seems if you look at the bottom of the cup and tipped it up to show Mum the underneath and poured the milk all down my front. My sister let out one guffaw and seeing that I looked cross and upset tried to restrain herself. Apparently when I went upstairs she howled with laughter in an attempt to get it out her system before I came down again. I’m laughing whilst typing this because it was such a ridiculous thing to do. If you’re at all interested underneath what appeared to be a square bottom of the cup was a round small plinth that slotted onto the saucer. I had dressed already for what might be my party outfit for the day and now stood the chance of reeking of rancid milk for the duration.

We had arranged a rendezvous with my Canadian cousin Christopher and his partner Nicolette in a market in a medieval village. Issigeac I think it was called and off we went. We got parked and headed up the side of the road towards the village. There were cars heading passed us constantly so when I saw a footpath set back I set off towards it thinking, like a little row of ducklings, the family would all follow and we’d all be a lot safer. They all were. I, however, wasn’t. As I walked across the tiny bit of grass towards the path there was a monster hidden in the foliage. Unbeknown to me, lurking under the leafy grass was a circular bit of metal. It was one of those things off a plastic wheel hub only without the plastic attached. Totally invisible to the naked eye until I manage to hook my left foot in it and then on trying to free it hooked the right in as well and down I went.

So here I am. In a French hosiptial getting checked out. I have a swollen hand which I think is due to something that”s gone on in my wrist, my sternum hurts as I landed full frontal….although as someone said, at least that bit had some cushioning and my right knee is not behaving at all well.

I was seen by a doctor within 10minutes but I am now waiting for the next part of the process. This is taking a bit longer but there aren’t many here and it’s very peaceful. Tell you more later. …….it took 5 hours!

Ok the good news is there are no obvious fractures coming up on the X-ray but apparently hair line fractures are not always visible. So it’s painkillers and allow the healing to do it’s thing.

On the day itself I lay on the pavement/grass, like you do, going owe owe owe..leave me alone I need to think how I feel about this before anyone else joins in. A family trait. We don’t like fuss. A lovely french couple stopped to see what was going on but I being the only french speaker was having to intersperse my pained exclamations with french responses. They asked if I wanted them to call the ‘pompiers’ and at that point I had no wish to see a man in uniform and couldn’t mentally work out what use a hose and a ladder would be under the circumstances. Once the blood had returned to my brain I realised it was the equivalent of ringing the emergency services.

The do itself , with lots of family, many of whom I didn’t know, was a great success mostly due to the fab organisation of my youngest uncle John Molineux and the willingness of all to join in. John is a musician too and along with his solo projects and collaborations in Brittany where he resides was an accompanist for Brenda Whooton many years ago and did an album with John Renbourn, Jacqui McShee and others called ‘The enchanted Garden’. Look it up there’s some nice things in it. I played that night but having done one more singing and playing today I can safely say….IT HUUUURTS! That night the shock, lainkilllers and wine must have had a very beneficial masking effect. My gig on Friday my be seated…at least I will be and the audience.

Any way the whole injury thing reminded me of another funny one that occurred in Holland. Michel Duyvers and I were playing for a group of dancers somewhere on the outskirts of Amsterdam. Michel plays in the Dutch band Maalstroom who I was collaborating with at the time. On leaving the event he and I we’re walking down the drive which was very dark. Originally the property had gates but they had been removed. Unfortunately they hadn’t removed the little metal bit that the two gates used to come centrally to in the ground. With no light on it you couldn’t see it. My foot caught it and as I was carrying all my instruments I couldn’t put a hand out or anything and the major part of the impact was my nose which split and poured blood everywhere.

The next day we had a lunch time concert. So, whilst I felt like I’d had ten rounds with Mike Tyson (who obviously came for a rematch this Sunday last) I got up, popped a cap on to hide my face and off we went. Music has a wonderful way of stopping you thinking about how you’re actually feeling. After that we returned to Michel’s and I went back to bed. As the day progressed I developed two beautiful shinners.

The following morning I had to fly back to England to open a domestic violence conference singing…..and no I’m not bloody joking. You couldn’t make it up could you. Graham, the conference organiser, came and told me I needn’t have come dressed for the part but apart from that barely anyone spoke to me. I’m guessing they had come to their own conclusions and thought they’d better leave me in peace.

The song I sang is off my solo album ‘Female Smuggler’ and is called ‘Roses’. Words by yours truly and fab tune by my brother in law, Barry Coope.

yours sincerely injured of Neylis.