It’s
Official;
Les
anglais sont bougres paresseux
You can translate that
one yourselves, suffice to say the last word is lazy and the one preceding it,
which in translation would in fact follow it, sounds quite similar to the
English if you say it slowly!!
It’s some time ago now,
indeed before Christmas which will become apparent later, but I was up at a early
hour and sorting out a few things, like emptying the dishwasher and making some
bread for lunch, to go with the homemade cheese I had made the day before –
impressed or what, but I expect more likely to illicit snide comments like – “Well
you’ve got all the time in the world now you’d retired!!” But, actually it doesn’t particularly feel
like that at times, and it’s very true what people seem to always say when they
have retired, that they never know how they ever found the time to go to work.
Indeed, having just
spent the first two nights in our caravan for over two years, we realise just
how busy we have been. We even felt that
we had convinced the neighbours (a supercouple, as in superman, in their late
seventies who rarely seem to pause for breath, except when they are shouting at
each other, they’re both a little hard of hearing.), with all the initial work
in the garden and subsequent house renovation that we were at least trying to
keep up with the Joneses!! Madam had
even stopped pointedly quipping, so often, about le petit pause’s or coffee
breaks we would have sitting outside in the sunshine between coats of paint or
rolls of insulation (although these were as much a case of coming down for air
as having a break, but that’s a story told elsewhere!).
Well, there I was flour
in my hands when there came a knock on the door, and there was Madam carrying
what in this season of goodwill to all men, could only be a Christmas card,
complete with English stamp. Now as the
French don’t particularly send Christmas cards, I assumed that it must be a
card for us that had been mistakenly put into their letter box and she was giving
to its rightful recipient. But no, their
followed a fast piece of one-sided dialogue, which almost had me flummoxed at
this hour, but the envelope was clearly marked for our neighbours and somewhere
in her rapid delivery was mention of a Nancy and Tony. Getting rid of the flour from my hands and
giving myself time to process the conversation, I realised that the card had
come from an English couple who had for many years lived in one of the houses
in our hamlet, just behind our house, but who had a couple of year’s previously
moved back to the UK. What I was
actually being asked to do was to “translate” the address on the back of the
card, written in a very small spidery hand and with an English style address,
which like all things English, Madam doesn’t understand and that probably goes
for us too!!
With the aid of a
magnifying glass that she had kindly thought to bring, I was able to write the
address of their new house in deepest Norfolk, with some quite odd sounding
names, and we the passed the time of day about whether I had known Tony and
Nancy and how she was wanting to sent a reply.
I then thought I better
explain the flour, which I think I failed to mention above was actually in a Tupperware
container, not spread over a board and up to my elbows as I manually kneaded
the dough. I was in fact adding the
ingredients to the tin before popping it into the machine which would then do
the rest. Initially, Madam was suitably
impressed by the fact I told her I was making bread, until I showed her that
really a machine was doing all the hard work, at which point she began to look
decidedly luddite in her appearance, the look heightened as she turned around
and noticed the half emptied dishwasher.
Collecting herself just
in time, she cheerily thanked me for my help and went on her way. I was only grateful she hadn’t asked after
Linda, who I would normally have called to help with the translation should I
have needed it. If she had realised she
was still in bed that would have been even more evidence of us being bougres
paresseux!!!
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