The blind opening the blind

First thing in the morning in friend`s posh new apartment, I push the switch to open the electric shutters. Imagine my horror when nothing happens. Oh God, oh God, why do they have to break when she is away and I am on my own? They have only just been installed, bloody French cowboys, I don`t even know who to call. This is going to be really expensive, why does this always happen to me, etc etc.

Then I realise they are in fact already open, as I forgot to shut them the night before, and the darkness is from outside because we are now in September.

Monkey Business

Me (harassed): I am sure it's along here, go on to the end....no?...errr...maybe it's left? Oh no, one way...oh bugger....errrrm it IS around here somewhere...honestly...let's keep looking...it can't be far..turn right...
Monkey (who, despite being a primate, still manages to drive a very big, posh, black motor): I think you are doing this on purpose just to spend more time in the car with me.

Plugging away at it..

Me: ...so anyway, that's two days now without internet, you have to understand, for me it's everything, TV, radio, telephone, email. Imagine if I had an accident! No one would know! Plus I am moving next week, worst time for it to go off. This only ever happens to me, it's not fair etc etc (continues plaintive squeaking for several minutes)
Computer expert (interrupting in a voice muffled by a large pile of boxes): I'll just put the plug back in the socket, shall I?. That'll be 49 euros, ta.

Another guest post!

"Hat"* to Laney who, after too many years in France, got his nouns and verbs mixed up while reading the headlines in the British press. Thus "Shop-a-looter" became a description, rather than an imperative.

* or "chapeau" as they say in France.

The game in Spain

Me: Do you want anything for the house? I am getting rid of loads of stuff.
Spaniard. Do you have a Playstation 3?

The return of the tax return

Imagine my surprise when, a day after putting a whopping cheque in the post for the tax office (and over a month before the due deadline), I find it back in my own postbox. I then realise I have, in fact, accidentally sent it to myself.

Wishful thinking.

The oldest swinger in town

Suave Frenchy: Do you know any swingers?
Me(spluttering): What?
SF: Swingers, you know, people who want to swap houses. My son and I could go to their house in the UK for our summer holidays and they could come here and stay in mine.
Me: I don't think you mean swingers.


(This is a serious proposition, apparently. There are others as well involving independently-minded English women, but I am not getting involved with any of that.)

Sweet banter

Me (waving bag of sugar at workman after making him a coffee): How much?
Workman (still managing to narrow his eyes, despite the glint in one of them): Oof, about 200g, I'd say....

The Grim Reaper

Me: I am aware that Death is trying to get me.
White Coat (putting stethoscope back into wallet): Since the day you were born, darling.

Its an ill wind.....

Stray: What's for dinner?
Me: I have no idea.
Stray: Why don't you try that celeriac and mushroom thing?
Me: No. Its too farty*.


*damaged brain combines FIDDLY and CLARTY into one word.