It looks like we have two teams of four

In her weekly column, Maddie Grigg trades rural Dorset for south-west France. . .

- Maddie Grigg

IT'S Wednesday evening in our French village, which can only mean one thing. Boules.

Following the success of last year, when we had a weekly game at the boulesdrome followed by a picnic, we're doing it again.

The weather hasn't been looking too promising this week, and we nearly called it off.

But as six o'clock approaches, the sun comes out and Mr Grigg and I make our way along the street, armed with a basket of food and drink and two picnic chairs.

We're the first to arrive.

"I think we're early. I think it's six-thirty," Mr Grigg says. "That's what Mr and Mrs Humperdinck told me."

Being the one who organized it, I'm pretty sure I told everyone it was six o'clock, but now he's sown doubt in my mind.

A few minutes after six, Jimi's Mum turns up with her friend, Sweet Caroline.

"Did I say six or six-thirty?" I ask them.

"Six," they say in unison. "Sorry we're late."

I smile smugly at Mr Grigg, and then two more people arrive.

It's Little Miss Whirley and Mrs Tillbrook, carrying a bistro table and chair set.