Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Last night we went to a fancy french restaurant, expensive as hell but very friendly and unpretentious. Our francophile Irish waiter knew us all from previous visits but never all at the same time, so, presented with this group of french and english friends and colleagues he strode over to our table with the menu held close to his chest, turned to me and said:
"You're English, right?"
"yeah, i'm English"
He grinned and flipped over the menu to reveal a piece of A4 paper attached to it with a big '2-1 HA HA!' scrawled in big red letters across it.
The French erupted. Smiling, I kept my cool, remembering i don't actually give a shit and i'm just playing the role of a proper english bloke with these frenchies playing their roles. My girlfriend, it seems, forgot.
A couple of hard squeezes to the knee and my you-had-to-be-there witty comment worthy of George Bernard Wilde himself calmed things down and shut them up and that's the end of this fascinating tale, except to say i'll be avoiding that Swiss fondue hut in Ranelagh and shan't be visiting the Croat Goat and Stoat Bar and Grill anytime soon
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"You're English, right?"
"yeah, i'm English"
He grinned and flipped over the menu to reveal a piece of A4 paper attached to it with a big '2-1 HA HA!' scrawled in big red letters across it.
The French erupted. Smiling, I kept my cool, remembering i don't actually give a shit and i'm just playing the role of a proper english bloke with these frenchies playing their roles. My girlfriend, it seems, forgot.
A couple of hard squeezes to the knee and my you-had-to-be-there witty comment worthy of George Bernard Wilde himself calmed things down and shut them up and that's the end of this fascinating tale, except to say i'll be avoiding that Swiss fondue hut in Ranelagh and shan't be visiting the Croat Goat and Stoat Bar and Grill anytime soon
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