Vive La Frangleterre!

I was reminded this morning whilst listening to French radio on the Internet of a very amusing anecdote told to me by a former colleague back in 2000, to do with the many pleasures brought about by linguistic faux pas, semantics or general mispronunciations.

He was telling me that whilst working for a consulting practice in the 1990s, a couple of particularly senior French directors had paid their site in Manchester a visit to talk about the company's new strategy and what lay in it for employees.

All available staff gathered in the conference room, and my colleague told me how the French visitors really looked the part, mid-50s, olive-skinned, very suave and debonair, all hair dye, sharp suits and questionale eau de cologne. Everyone was a little in awe ... then they started to talk.

At first, it was evident that they had a very competent grip of the English language, very educated, a slightly American twang due probably to their years of dealing with the United States. Then one of them stated "If you want to 'ave ze very big success in zis companies, you will 'ave to fuck us". Deathly silence. My colleague said this French guy was a little taken aback, turning to his counterpart for support, HE then stated "Yessss, you will 'ave to fuck us very 'ard".

It was at that point my colleague piped up "I think you mean FOcus, not FUCK us".

I rest my case.

Blood Tests, Nurses from Hell & Monty Python!

We had to go to the Winshill Medical Centre again today for the next set of blood tests, this time testing for Down's Syndrome and spina bifida. The midwife told us that the last set of tests we had three weeks ago, when the first scans were done, were absolutely fine and nothing to worry about. So today Becky had to go through the whole episode again of having blood taken ...

The fear I think really started when she had a routine blood test done a few years ago at Burton's Queen's Medical Centre. The particular junior nurse tending to Becky was unnecessarily stupid (is there a necessary level of stupidity?), and taking the blood took three failed attempts to get a hit, then on the fourth go she literally whacked the needle in and proceeded to gossip with her colleagues in the room. Becky was quite poorly afterwards, breaking out in a very cold sweat, coupled with dizziness and nausea the whole day. Only one way to describe that nurse, it starts with dick and ends with head.

When I got home there was a letter from South Staffordshire Primary Care Trust (PCT) to tell us that the next scans will be on Monday, August 6th. At this scan we should be able to learn whether we're expecting a boy or a girl. It's going to be a boy, of course, I just know it is. Sans doute, as they say in the Dordogne.

So everything is - touch wood - going according to plan, and nothing currently to worry about. That's such a relief for us both. we'll just have to wait now for that next set of scans.

They're still saying December 16th for the baby's arrival ... my maternal grandfather's birthday. But I've been warned that the baby will be a Sagittarius, and so prone to tempers (see post immediately below, Becky's brother is a Sagittarius).

Personally I think that putting any credence in astrology is tantamount to talking bollocks. Your honour, I rest my case.

Monty Python's "Meaning Of Life"

And now for something (not) completely different ... I hope it won't be like this in December!

Mountain Bike Killer ...

I found something out about my brother-in-law on Saturday that really made me laugh. He's apparently got a bit of a temper on him, and being a 6-foot-odd London fireman you'd probably not mess with him, but it's the resolute way he seems to go about things that I find great.

My father-in-law told us about an incident a few months ago, when he was at my brother-in-law's house in Sidcup, building a new garden wall. Some teenage hoodlums (who'd been causing a nuisance for a long time to all of the local residents) came past on their mountain bikes, one of them holding a water-filled balloon that he promptly threw at my father-in-law, hitting him full on. He was soaked. My brother-in-law came running out of his house and after the teenagers, jumping into his car as he passed it. My father-in-law told me that he drove back a few minutes later, with one of the teenagers' mountain bikes in his car.

This is the good bit ...

He promptly borrowed a diamond-bladed cutter from a willing neighbour to saw through the bike ... apparently he cut it into little pieces (in full view, in the road) before dumping it back where he'd grabbed it off the teenager.

He's had no comeback in months, and the ne'er-do-wells haven't reappeared.

Why can't we all be so good at fighting back?