Friday 10th August

We visit the market in Cortemilia in the morning. The sense of community here is really underlined by this spectacle. The whole place is alive; every car parking space is taken, the bar is packed, friends and acquaintances catching up, no doubt business being done. I am forced to go for a haircut. Quite an experience it turns out to be. A gaggle of half a dozen people are gathered behind as I get a head massage before the main event begins. I catch the odd word as all eyes are on the ‘’Inglese’’ (English) having his haircut. Much merriment and laughter occurs, most of it over my head. All very pleasant nonetheless and made all the sweeter by having a beer to swig on from the bar opposite. This is the way to have the old wig seen to- audience and all!

The evening sees us go to a festival in a local town – Serole. €10’s got you entry, food and as much red wine as you could drink. (You can see where this one is going can’t you!?) After you’d tucked in all seated along trestle tables the main event started which involved a peculiar form of ball room dancing around a sizable room, all in time to a band. The ‘dance floor’ was in front of numerous rows of seats that were occupied by very serious and somewhat disapproving aged Italians. All the events on the floor were watched with a critical eye, occasional tuts and raised eyebrows. This was strictly come dancing meets Italian ancient custom. It felt oddly gladiatorial.

After this morning’s haircut I was keen to play a low profile (wore a hat and everything) and not attract any attention. Sadly this was hampered by having to cross the dance floor, past the baying hounds to reach the toilet. Quiver. I stood back to assess the best path through the sharked infested waters, but failed at base one. A tap on the shoulder and I was confronted by a middle aged Italian woman with perfectly coiffured hair. I recognised the words ‘’Inglese’’ and was then dragged off to the floor of death to perform for the baying masses. Following the dancing was impossible. Whilst being whirled to and fro (she was strong this one) I caught glimpses of headshaking and folded arms from the sidelines. Clearly I wasn’t a natural.

Oh the shame and I didn’t even get to visit the toilet afterall.  

One who shall remain nameless (clue - female) was epically drunk. Threw at least two pints of red wine on me and took home the most enormous amount of cake that was provided for dessert.