Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Donkey Piss? Whaddamisstakadamakea

Look it really isn't my fault. I can only report what happens in my French world.
S and I had been on our way into town when we approached a car park which had recently been used for the African market, and which still had barriers up to prevent traffic entering ane the red and yellow striped stall awnings.
There was now a carpet of straw strewn all over the car park.
This then was the weekend of the medieval fayre.
It was now rather obvious that the stallholders and some of the peasants strolling about were dressed in leather jerkins, tights, funny hats etc .
It was just before midday ; so the village smith was using his «forge » to BBQ his sausages. A small play was in progress, in situ in the market.
We paused to watch. It went on and on and on and consisted of a shrill voiced woman shouting at a bloke who might have been a monk.
We left them to it and wandered through the market later in the afternoon. The phone box was now a resting place for assorted weaponry.




The majority of the stalls were selling medieval items such as leather jerkins, hats, weapons, leather purses etc, but there were other stalls selling modern jewellery etc too. There was even a fortune teller.
We came back on Sunday. The weather was cooler, verging on rain and the passing trade was almost zero. Gone too were the majority of the medievally costumed folk.
I thought that I ought to buy something, but what ?
Then beloz the counter of ye olde inne, I saw a poster, and thought that I would acquire a bottle of it for a joke present.
« Donkey piss » is how I read it and bought a bottle of it from the young wench behind the bar.
I have just looked at the bottle and hastily consulted my French dictionary. Looking at the label again, I had still read it wrong. It is not Donkey piss. Oh no. This inviting yellow liquid 12% Vol is « Anne’s piss ».
Looking at the picture on the label, I see that there is not a donkey in sight. A young couple are seated below a small cliff having a picnic. They clink their glasses together as a young lady above them on the cliff edge pees into their glasses.


An attached label with an English translation which reads « Anne, called « Anne of the three barrels » who was a barmaid inn keeper, had a distinctive feature to serve in her tavern some drinks that she was the only one to know the secret of. Those beverages were usually served in a flask made out of a pig’s bladder. Consumers were in the habit to rinse their throat with it and saying « Give me some Anne’s piss » (Pisse d’Anne because of a pork bladder)… Donkey piss might have been a difficult present to place, but a bottle of Anne's piss, that's a whole different kettle of poisson …. That's true class, in a glass...

2 comments:

  1. I write a Pulitzer prize winning article and that's it? The verdict is "Giggle"?

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