Bars, Basques, Lingerie and a Lucky Escape

It's been a fuzzy sort of weekend - the result of an excessive Friday night. As always, it all started out so innocently and as usual, it went on longer than strictly necessary - but it was a lot of fun, which is as much to do with the characters that inhabit this little town.

And it is a little town - the population is only about 50,000, which is an enormous contrast to London, where I have lived for nearly 30 years. This is an intimate place to live, without it being intrusive, as perhaps a small village might be. I feel I know people and they know who I am, but without them knowing everything I do. I have certainly been made to feel very welcome by my French neighbours and the French people that I have met.

Mind you, this is a very cosmopolitan town too. There are a lot of different nationalities either living here or passing through, and that's not including the millions of tourists that just visit the Cite during the summer months. In the last 48 hours I have spoken to English and French, naturally, as well as South African, American, Canadian, Irish, Belgian, Scottish, Dutch and Spanish.

Then there are the Basques and Catalans, those proud people straddling the Franco-Spanish border at either end of the Pyrenees, who insist that they are neither French nor Spanish. We have a lot them here. In fact the Catalans can be further subdivided into Catalans and Occitans, to the south and north of the border respectively. All three have their own distinct and indecipherable languages - too many X's going on for my liking. Basque scrabble would be interesting if they use a standard English game because they would only be able to make one word!

There is a great Basque bar, The Makhila, at the top of my street. As with a lot of bars here, well anywhere, it is all about the people rather than the decor. The decor is the usual French bar variety - glass fronted, cheap tables and chairs and a dreadful colour scheme. This is enlivened by bullfighting prints and posters and rugby shirts and memorabilia - rugby and bulls being their two main passions. The people that frequent the bar though are a fabulous collection of eccentrics with a single common theme - they are always having a really good time. This isn't a bar with sad lonelies staring into a glass. It's all inclusive, pleased to see you back-slapping and laughter. They also do some outstanding plates of tapas that cost next to nothing - food being their other passion (I'm not sure the old ham bone left hanging from the ceiling really added much though - other than flies!).

The other common theme of the bar is interesting hair, both the top of the head and facial variety - and the men are even worse. In fact this is moustache central - big bushy black or grey ones are favourite but Hercule Poirot waxed ends are also very much in vogue. Strangely, a large proportion of the customers with interesting moustaches also have bald heads - a sort of cross between Salvador Dali and Yul Brynner. Those without moustaches go for top of the head eccentricity with pony tails a la Karl Lagerfeld and if you thought that the 70's perm of Kevin Keegan or Stavros of Kojak fame was a thing of the past then think again - it's alive and well in Bar Makhila.

The first time I went in there was quite scary as 20 bizarre looking people turned round to inspect me and I wondered if I'd stumbled into some sort of strange theme party. Before I'd even got served the barmaid threw a glass of something at a customer three down from me at the bar - and everyone just laughed even louder. After three visits, not in particularly swift succession, I've been made to feel very welcome. The bar owner warmly shakes my hand, the barmaid warmly smiles and everyone else insists on talking to me in their thickly accented Basque French that I find impossible to understand. Apparently we talk about food and wine and rugby and everything is very very funny.

It was the combination of a bar, good wine and eccentric characters that could have got me into trouble this weekend. Luckily, my 'don't be so bloody stupid' alarm went off in time. In the melee of the conversation and laughter it appeared that I had an apartment with big windows and original features and possibly good light on a sunny day and a mad American model/actress wanabee needed some lingerie portfolio shots taken by her equally neurotic mother!!!......and these two scenarios could have come together at the prompting of my so called friends if I hadn't been suddenly totally alert to the situation and the ramifications, pulled myself together and said a very big "NO". I can't begin to think how I would have explained that and even the fact that it might have happened is probably enough to have me hung, drawn and quartered. Ouch!