Tuesday, 1 June 2010


My wife Krissie, out of frustration at trying to understand the subtleties of French has been known to stand up and scream- “That’s it, I’m moving to England!”

When she did this recently in the middle of a crowded supermarket the subsequent surveillance video found its way onto youtube and went viral almost instantly - possibly explaining why she caught a plane unexpectedly at the weekend and is presently absent from the domestic scene.

She sent me the following SMS from London –“Tops, sorry I forgot to cancel the car going to garage today! And foot have no. Please call them as soon as poss. Xx”

It seems that French isn’t the only problem – or do you think she means there is a pedicure issue as well?

And am I meant to phone the garage or the shoe shop?

(It’s irrelevant, but I am reminded at this junction of an excellent comic I saw on my own recent trip to London, who asked in a deadpan way–“How do you confuse a woman?” and then answered himself “Buy her chocolate shoes”. If I remember his name I’ll come back and credit him.)

Possibly coincidently the SMS arrived less than 12 hours after a man called Greg returned my teenage son after he had found him wandering around his house eating breakfast cereal at 2 am in the morning.

Greg is Loui’s girlfriend’s sort-of-step dad.

I thanked Greg, and invited him in to see the complete mess the kitchen had achieved whilst my daughter and I tackled her homework, and it turned out that he wanted “something” that was on my computer.

After he showed me how to use aspects of the computer I was unaware existed to learn about its innards, he asked if he could have a copy of the “something”, but although I said yes some form of mega-byte dependency nullified my enthusiastic response.

We agreed a usb key would solve the problem, but neither of us had one – at which point Loui stepped forward and said; “bring the computer to the barbecue”.

I looked around - no, no one else there.


Greg looked at me with a touching sympathy – “talk to Krissie”, and enigmatically, if that is possible, left.

Maybe the garage knows?

No comments: