Aha, yes - they do have a habit of doing that, the French - shattering your admiration of the civilised vie en rose with a sudden display of transport wrecking petulance.

One minute your sipping cafe au lait on the pavement of a sunny boulevard, watching pouty women in little black dresses slink past you, thinking this is the life - you don't get this in Matlock - the next you're stuck for days at a channel port, whilst obstreperous fishermen blockade the harbour over how much plaice they're allowed to catch.

I once spent about 12 hours trapped on a coach because of this.

Leon Blum has always been a bit of a hero of mine.

Junoesque, mmmmmmm.

String manipulation in an Access database environment is getting very hard to concentrate on this afternoon.

Last edited by JDelage (2010-09-10 08:18:42)

Quim pro quo

Quim custodient ipsos custodes?

Now this is getting quite intellectual.  Philip Larkin used to write odd little limericks on this subject.  To do with the novels of Barbara Pym and their rather sexless ladies.

My only close encounter with a French girl was just before I married my first wife.  She refused me on the grounds that my wife-to-be was pregnant.  Shows what a shit I am, I suppose.

And that said French woman was of admirable moral fibre!