Easter Sunday

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I wasn't sure if I was going to go to church on Sunday - sometimes the temptation of a long ly-in and a lazy morning is just too much (even for a 'good Christian girl' like me). But seeing as it was Easter and Jesus had risen from the dead, I did think I ought to make an effort. When I arrived at church, I was slightly surprised to notice that not many people had made the same decision I had and the room rested only half full. But seeing as there weren't many youth there, I got the privilege of sitting in the youth corner - perhaps God was rewarding me for making an effort to go to church that morning (despite the bitter cold temperatures and snow showers - in April!)

Another little reward for my faithfulness came after the service when Ann (one of the French teachers from school and mother of one of my friends at youth group) invited to share their Easter meal. I was delighted at the invitation and gladly accepted - a change of scenery was exactly what I needed. And a little sarcastic voice in my head said: 'Finally! Lunch invitations from people at church!! Maybe after sharing my testimony they think I'm worth getting to know.'

It was the first time for me to go to their apartment (in the school chateau) and I was surprised at how modern and spacious it seemed (compared to the rest of the building, it seemed lovely).

After some aperatifs and very strong wine (I think it was cooking wine) which Ann practically forced on me in the typical, don't-be-afraid-to-drink-too-much French style, we sat down for the meal. We started by a starter of course, in typical French fashion, with some little toasted canapes and various sauces. The main meal consisted of a leg of lamb (which I've learnt is a typical French Easter dish) with cooked chestnuts, runner beans and duchesse potatoes. It was delicious! The cheese platter followed of course, with everyone telling me I had to taste the munster (which apparently wasn't very strong). I preferred to go for the safer, milder options but even those nearly knocked me dead and left a horrible cheesy odour on my fingers for the rest of the day. And finally dessert - a prune tart and ice cream. And just when you thought the meal was over and you could leave the table, coffee was served. Ann kindly informed me that 2.5 hours for having a French meal was nothing compared to some meal times - sometimes they can last up to 4 hours. Why is it that the French think they're the only ones who have long meal times? The British are just as capable of that too, if not more so.

When I got home later that afternoon, I stopped by at Rachel's for a chat and left on the agreement that the following day, we'd spend getting bored together. It's not very exciting being bored on your own. (But more on that in my next blog!)

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