Manuel and the near diplomatic incident....

So there I was enjoying a post lunch service smospresso when the lady sitting beside me on the bench near work burst into tears. No warning, no obvious reason, just floods of uncontrollable tears and apparent anguish.

"Crikey, that's a bit rum, " was my first reaction.

"Retreat, quick", was my second.

But I didn't.

"Eh, you okay?"

Between what seemed like exaggerated and rather forced boo hoo's she said she was fine. Actually she said, "I'm fiiiiiiiiiiine bwaaaaaaaaa haaaaaaaa boooooo hoooooo!" And so on.

"Okie dokie then." Hell if she wanted to pretend she was fine then I was gonna pretend she was too. The fuck was I gonna pursue this any further so I necked my little coffee and retreaded back into the shadows and out of the sun where the mad people were.

Strange.

a smospresso....
if you don't see heaven you're doing it wrong.

That said it wasn't the strangest moment of the day, no that was definitely the conversation I entered into with a very jolly Frenchman. Strange because he spoke very little English and I speak very little French. That is to say, none. But damn it if we were going to let that mere detail get in the way of our amusement.

"So," says I to him, "have you been to Ireland before?"

"Excusez-moi?" says he to me.

"Ave you been ere bay-four?" Says I slower than before and more pronounced too. I also decided that Frenching it up a bit would help too. I also did big piano hands to indicate "here".

"Ah, non. Eets ma first time!" He was chuffed that he got what I was asking. He was chuffed, I was chuffed. So I carried on!

"Do you lack it ere?"

He shrugged his shoulders as only a Frenchman can.

I took this as another lost in translation moment rather than indifference to Belfast. Although that would be completely understandable. So I persevered by asking the same question in the same way but with added pointing and added sign language and a little louder. Because that was bound to help. D'uh.

"DO YOU..." I was pointing at him now. "...LACK EET ERE IN IRLANDAIS?"

And bugger me it worked!

"Ah, oui oui! Eet is, ow you say, beautiful, grande eestory!"

Now I could have left it that. I asked some questions. I got some answers. I established some facts and made a jolly Frenchman a little less jolly. Who could ask for more? I should have left it like I left the crying woman. But oh no, not me!

Onwards into mass confusion....

Emboldened by my previous success I followed with, "Ow long are you ere for?"

Blank stare.

"Ow many days dans Irlandais?"

Blank stare.

I paused. His jolly smile was gone and he looked as comfortable as an Arab at an airport. One more try.

"Ow long you, combien, Irlandais?" I was pointing at him. I was pointing at my watch. I was desperate to extradite myself from this car crash of a conversation.

"Ow old me?" If you thought he had been uncomfortable before you should have seen his little perplexed face at that moment.

"Merde", this is going terribly I thought and wished I could push the abort button and find myself no where near any jolly Frenchmen or French people at all.

"Non, non, non..." I struggled to rephrase the question.

"Nine days", came a response from the ether. A beautifully sweet French voice. It was the tour guide herself. A pleasant woman but neither sweet nor beautiful. She had been listening into to our diplomatic disaster of a conversation. She explained to the jolly again Frenchman what I had been asking.

We shook hands and said, "Au revoir" each glad to be shot of the other. How do I get myself into these messes? Honestly you would think I'd know better by now. But there is only one more French tour group left this "summer", summer that's a joke. Which gives me a good 6 months to brush up on my Franglais!

C'est magnifique.......no?