The story of one is the story of us all

I was walking distractedly on a carpet of leaves when the «Nights at the allotment» poster brought back the warm, humid smell of spring nights, which would herald the festive village atmosphere of Fridays until the end of the summer.

My mind travelled back in time and I remembered the first time, nearly ten years ago, that I saw «Nights at the allotment», more out of curiosity than anything else, became a regular at that show with a sandwich in one hand and a drink in another, Friday after Friday, I could enjoy a small chamber orchestra, a radio play or a talent contest. During «Nights at the Allotment», the child’s inner capacity for surprise and excitement came out unabashedly one Friday after other.

But I wasn´t able to remember when the place became somewhere to share details of my week with my friends, to make new friends with people from the neighbourhood, nor how, without belonging to the microcosm of the communal allotment, I began to help out with the «Nights at the allotment» by laying cables, setting up the lighting or making sandwiches on the grill, so that all the members of the audience were welcomed with the same warmth and affection which I had felt on my first visit, and which gradually made me embrace the project as if it was mine.

Ten years go a long way and offer many good things.

See you at «Nights at the allotment».