Yesterday saw the official inauguration of the covered market. It was scheduled for 10 o'clock and the Bear and I arrived at twenty to and were deafened, before we even got inside, by the sound of instruments tuning up.

We had to push our way through the crowds and by the time we reached the 'English stall' the band was in full swing. The playing was good but it was far too loud. The band had also positioned itself right in front of the access to the loos and I had made the mistake of drinking coffee a little earlier. When they stopped for a breather I just had to go and climb over their speakers, wires and instrument cases before I wet my knickers.

All the stalls were displaying new, matching signs proclaiming their names; bright yellow paper carrier bags bearing the inscription 'Marché couvert, Charleville -Mezieres' were given  to all the stall holders and bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau were being freely distributed, but by 10.30 there was no sign of the mayor. We have come to expect everything to start late in France (which is really surprising when you think  how well the trains run on time - except when there's a strike),

Suddenly, someone called and I recognised J-Y, the Mayor's husband (and the friend who had come to see us recently). He was with his son and daughter and we all greeted each other warmly. His daughter has just become engaged so I congratulated her and she said she hoped we would go to her wedding. The Bear would be invited IF he behaved himself - 'for at least six months' she added with a twinkle.

It was nearly eleven before the Mayor herself put in an appearance, surrounded by the local press and photographers. We performed the usual four kiss greeting and she presented Elisabeth, the stall owner, with a rose and an apron in the same colour as the new signs. Then she came round the counter and requested a photo with us both.

There were no speeches but the band continued its assault on our ears until lunchtime, when the market emptied as usual.

The second celebration took place in the evening. It was a birthday party for a two year old, and, although there was no time mentioned on the invitation, we had been told to arrive about seven. As seems customary, we arrived a few minutes after that, and there were already half a dozen people there, but the only child present was the birthday girl. She unwapped her present, a Noddy book with sound effects, and solemnly handed me back the wrapping paper! Next to arrive was a family of four, and while the parents proceeded with the accepted ritual of kisses or handshakes all round,  the two boys gave everyone a peck on the cheek, whether they knew them or not.Other guests trickled in until past eight o'clock and eventually there were about thirty adults and a dozen children aged from eleven months to twelve years.

The children had free run of the house - a charming cottage in the process of renovation, with lots of staircases and rooms in all directions - and access to the playroom, complete with Wendy house.

The catering, on the other hand was definitely adult orientated. Punch was served, in plastic cups, at regular intervals; a caterer provided masses of food which was brought round by the hostess, her sister and a friend: prawns in sauce with a whole chilli, served in tiny (plastic) glasses, a tray of charcuterie and pickles, a variety of sandwiches and rolls, sliced boudin blanc (sausages) served hot, and lots of other interesting delicacies which I was too full to sample.

The older children tucked into sandwiches and drank coke while the babies were provided with 'readymeals' and yoghurt. By 10 o'clock the food and punch were still flowing, the children were all still remarkably well behaved, but we were beginning to think we ought to go home. No, our hostess insisted that we should stay for the cake, and sometime later the lights were dimmed and she emerged from the kitchen with an enormous gateau decorated with two candles, a sparkler and a foot-high sugar 2. We all sang 'Joyeux Anniversaire' and the birthday girl was persuaded, with some difficulty, to blow out the candles.

Despite the copious quantity of punch already drunk, the cake - a wonderfully light, raspberry filled concoction - was accompanied by generous servings of champagne.

It was past eleven when we finally took our leave and the party was still in full swing. Only the mothers with the two youngest children had already gone home. As I went round saying goodbye the remaining children were all happily occupied, including a group of boys playing 'striptease' with a big, 'teenage' doll.

We had had a great time but this was nothing like a party for a two-year-old that I have ever given, or attended before.