Tag Archives: french

Hell hath no fury…..

I had a couple of days where the body had just decided to give up. Even the eye lashes were hurting and I was quite frankly pathetic. I have the loveliest of friends who realised that something wasn’t quite right and I was visited with fruit, croissants and chat (and the hugs) Then There is the pal that we all have. The one that gives you a boot to the derrière and says you better be ready for 730 and you better be in heels. ( and says if you have kankles, get your trousers on, yes, a proper ray of pitch black)
Going to be honest, I was more frightened of not turning up than worrying about the pain. ( in the best possible way)
Waiting at the train station was an experience. The combination of the sunshine and the long weekend had rendered some of my fellow city dwellers somewhat red, tapsaff and fully paid up member end of the ministry of funny walks.
We wandered to the restaurant and as we sat down, the table beside us started talking about us. In French.
Nothing offensive but were commenting on the dresses and heels and the glam for a Friday night.
You see, apparently no one in the city speaks other languages. My pal decided she was going to regarder le menu and started her nonsense.
The table next to us clicked.
A bit of Bonsoir and see and eat up yer at yer aunties and they were suitably mortified.
Yes, the very fact I had my knickers on the right way and hadn’t gone siouxie sioux with the eyeliner was nothing short of a miracle.But speaking French?? Zut alors!
It did make me laugh that people just assumed that no one would understand them, never mind speak French.
I enjoyed listening to their chat about politics, Macron and of course, black pudding.
It was perhaps a safer conversation than they might have had……
They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Non.
Hell hath no fury like a French teacher mistaken for anything else.