It was forty years ago this year that Sergeant Pepper I walked out of the Royal Veterinary College having transmogrified into a vet. It not only feels like a lifetime ago, it is a lifetime ago!
It turns out that we were a special lot. Not just in the special-needs department, but in the fact that we’ve all kinda ‘stuck’ together over the years. Long, very long, stupidly long hours studying had to be balanced out. Our solution was to party. We were good at parties. Hardly a weekend went by without one. Thus it was in this way that we must have bonded. We may have had our cliques, but we all got on with each other.
We still do.
Every year since that fateful day, we get together. We may have gone in different directions with different degrees of success (whatever that is). We have our different tastes, different loves, different health. But we still get together every year and tell our different stories.
That’s me talking to the gay looking dude...
Fast forward 40 years.
Bloody hell. 40 years! That went fast...
Seriously! Forty years! So much has changed, so much remained the same. Some have been lost along the way, but our ‘camaraderie ‘ remains. Wow, doesn’t that bring a tear to the eye?
Last year was the 40th time we had got together (we started soon after qualifying). It was there that ‘er indoors took it upon herself to volunteer us (that would be me...) to organise the next reunion. In France.
Thanks Annick.
My initial thought was that so few would come, we could hold it in our outside toilet. I was wrong. We do not have an outside toilet.
The final number was wrong too. Forty-seven souls there were. Forty-bloody-seven. That was enough to fill an entire castle!
And so we did.
The day finally arrived. The effort involved in organising such a huge event had taken its toll. Trying all that different beer. Tasting all that wine. Hard times.
The first morning it rained. Good start. By the time the six early arrivers came, the rain had thankfully stopped. We ate outside after distributing all our woolly underwear, lit the outside fire, and proceeded to imbibe. So far so good.
The next day the sun shone and the masses dribbled (and then cascaded) in. Some had flown, many had driven. Two had unfortunately fallen off their trolley and had come all the way by pushbike.
The ultimate, however, was Chris & Jenni. Chris, fighting through severe illness, chemo and a bad day at the betting office, took it upon himself to drive all the way down here himself. They were last to arrive, postponing the long-awaited start of our meal. Chris tried to blame his late arrival on his GPS device and not Jenni’s map-reading abilities, but nevertheless his arrival was tumultuous. Never in our long history has anyone been so welcomed. Or so deranged...
When the first course of the buffet arrived there was widespread suppressed concern, as the tiny plates were given out and the varied, interesting but limited food was placed on tables around us. It was clear that most there felt that this was all that they were getting, and swooped on the unfortunate fare with a rabidity not normally seen in the south of France. Then the unexpected main course. Eating slowed at this point allowing the wine to start disappearing in the same direction. Then the cheese arrived. Then the desserts...
A good night.
Thus satiated and adequately intoxicated, we stumbled off to bed ready for our early start...
With some astonishment, all of my colleagues were up and ready for breakfast at 8:30 ready to leave on the coach at 9:30. Definitely not the same bunch as forty years before. The day passed off without a hitch. We stopped off in Cahors to admire a bridge (Pont Valentré).
Then to St Cirq Lapopie, my favourite village, perched high up on the side of a gorge just like, well, a high up thing...
The weather was kind, the food delicious, the company great. Then back to the Chateau for yet more varied food, wine and entertainment from the staff. Off to bed in high spirits (literally).
The second day out was to another couple of bastides (Bruniquel & Cordes-sur-Ciel), another restaurant, another great day.
Of course, Chris had to prove himself by leading the assault up the crazily steep cobbled streets.
Thankfully, he made it to the top. But only because the betting shops were closed...
The crowds stood back in amazement...
That evening, la piéce de résistance; several courses of yet more fine food and wine, plus a band (The Fuzz) that got nearly everyone up and dancing. The years were shed.
Some of us still cannot dance.
The next day, most gathered at our place for yet another buffet & booze, then the remaining dregs (eleven of us) headed off to the Pyrénées for a weekend of wine, walking and other things that begin with ‘w’.
Finally, Sunday arrived and we waved our last goodbye, hugged our last hug, embraced our last embrace.
Oh yes, apart from those two plonkers who came back four days later because they’d forgotten their bikes...
So that was it. Despite all the stress involved in organising the week (you know, wine-tasting etc.) I enjoyed it immensely, and the company tremendously. I think we all felt closer.
It was an honour.
Thank you.
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