Petanque

After six months, I finally pluck up the courage to inquire about joining the Castelmoron petanque club.

Every Friday, in the village square, a group of men gather under the plane trees. When I pass, I hear the click and clack of steel balls and the banter of the players.

Heavily pruned branches, knobbly and bare in the winter, now provide a canopy of shade against the summer sun.

I go into the clubrooms and discover the president of the club is my good mate and neighbour Jean-Claude.

He is very encouraging. He understands that I have little knowledge or experience of this game.

As instructed, I arrive at the clubhouse on Friday at 14.25 hrs to register.  I pay Jean-Claude 2.50 euros and get a number.

This is a male-dominated sport. Of the 40 participants, three are women.

There are four rounds. Games are played between pairs. Teams are posted on a board hung on a tree trunk and as there is another Tony in the group, I am listed as "Hull".

Men call out the names of their partners and groups of four go off to claim an area for their game.

A swarthy chap in a singlet, shorts and a beret looks around and mutters "Hool?".

I identify myself to him and we find our opponents.

I've pretty much got no idea what's happening, so I follow my partner's instructions implicitly.

He tells me when it is my turn. He directs me to stand in a little circle drawn in the dirt and throw my boule at the petit (jack), which is about six metres away.

I quickly learn that there are two types of throw. Point is where you lob your boule to land and roll close to the jack. The second type of throw is tire, where you hurl your boule on a low trajectory to knock your opponent's boule away from the jack.

The object, of course, is to be closest to the jack.

Boules are thrown out of the back of the hand, to give back-spin. Players walk around with palms facing backwards, which gives them a strange kind of simian gait.

At the conclusion of the afternoon, after four games,  I've played in two winning teams. This was not due to anything I did, but to the skill of my partners.

I was impressed by just how good some of them were, particularly the accuracy of their tires.

Back in the clubhouse, Jean Claude is giving out little buttons to winning players. I receive two buttons. Each is worth a euro at the bar, or they can be accumulated towards a 15 euro supermarket voucher.

Hmm, I'm not sure I'll ever get to 15.