Re: What's your funniest forum moment?

[Rose]

Dear all - I read a comment by Chancer earlier that made me laugh out-loud... and it reminded me of a post once made by Nectarine that had me crying with laugher.

I've spent the last half an hour happily ploughing through some of our old threads... was it me or did we have more silly moments a few years ago?  Or maybe I don't spend as much time around here so miss the good ones :)  Anyway... I found the post and thought that I would refresh your memories and share... and was wondering if anyone else had any funny forum moments that they too would like to share... or is it just me [:$]

so here's mine...  this was Nectarine's reply to a post about bathroom stories...

my embarrassing bathroom story.  About 30 years ago we were touring

France by motorcycle and one night just couldn't find any accommodation

but saw a cafe advertising a room, so we took it.  It was somewhere just

west of Paris, but cannot remember where as we always rode on the

smaller roads and favoured finding 'family' hotels or b&bs in small

villages.  Anyway, we were taken down a hallway and the bedroom was

really just a converted air-raid shelter, extremely basic, with a door

off it to a shower room and then a door off of that to the loo.  We were

tired and hungry and just wanted a shower, having ridden all day, so I

jumped into the shower and cleaned myself off.  Then, stark naked, I

went into the toilet and sat down to, er, contemplate the day's

motorcycling.  But there was another door off of this toilet so,

being nosey, I opened it.  As I pushed it outwards and it fell away from

my hands I saw myself looking into the surprised faces of all the

elderly gentlemen in the cafe ..... 

After a few seconds (which felt like hours, no-one spoke!) one of the men got up and shut it for me. 

Going into the cafe, half an hour later, for my supper was a most embarrassing experience ......

[:D]  [:D]  [:D]

Now it's your turn...

[Russethouse]

 I wish I could find Hoddy's bidet on wheels story... however I had a recent 'misfortune' that might make some of you smile :

 I went to the New Theatre in Oxford with my daughter and I have to admit that as Jamie Oliver's restaurant was next door and there was no queue ( you cannot book in JO's restaurants, for the record I wouldn't eat there again)  we ate there and I had two glasses of wine.

 We went to take our seats and spying a door marked 'Ladies'  with only a short queue I thought I'd take advantage and my daughter followed. As I opened the door my daughter spoke to me and I turned round to reply to her thus missing the fact that there was a step up, I tripped and plummeted toward a closed toilet door, I thought I was going to hit it with a great  thwack, nightmare ! To my horror the door flew open and I landed at the feet of a lady sat there with her underwear round her ankles, minding her own business !![:$][:$]

 With what I thought was great aplomb she stood up, silently adjusted her dress, and just stepped over me [:$]

 Luckily I wasn't badly hurt as my daughter was laughing so hard she could hardly stand up, leave alone help me - (there was a moment when I thought I had broken a shoulder and a rib) the moral of the story  is always lock the door !

[Rose]

that is quite funny RH [:D] [:D] (hope you're ok)

[Hoddy]

Did I ever tell you about the time I was locked in one of the few ladies lavatories in a boy’s prison ?

A pupils I was responsible for was subjected to Willie Whitelaw’s “short, sharp shock” in the early 80s.

He was close to taking his exams and I didn’t want him to lose his best opportunity of getting out of the mess he’d got himself into and so I went round my colleagues as quickly as I could to collect work so that he could keep up with his coursework and, on the first available free afternoon, went to see him.

The prison was quite a distance from home and I was shocked by its appearance with a high barbed wire fence. I lost count of how many doors were unlocked ahead of us and locked behind us as I was escorted to the education block. When I eventually got there I wasn’t allowed to talk to my pupil directly and had to explain each piece of work I’d taken to his prison education teacher. He asked me if I would like to talk to the boy and I of course said that I would but hoped that they had a ladies I could use before then.

The teacher took me to the ladies, which had bars on the window, and then obviously retired to a discreet distance because when I had finished what I needed to do and found myself unable to get out of the lavatory I could not make him hear. After calling out quite loudly a number of times, I took the nail file from my handbag and started to unscrew the screws on the thing that the bolt fits into. I was doing quite well until I realised that it went underneath the architrave and so there was no point in what I was doing. So I put the screws back in and started on the bolt. The task wasn’t made any easier by multiple layers of paint and the fact that I was by giggling uncontrollable.

Suddenly there was a noise outside so I called out and a woman’s voice replied, “You’re all right duck, I’m not in a hurry.” I told her that I couldn’t open the door and she said she’d fetch someone. I put the screws back in and waited. Next a man arrived and called out, “Are you decent ?” I resisted the temptation to give a silly answer. He told me to stand back as he was going to climb over the top of the cubicle. I stood as far back as I could, he crawled over the top of the door shattering the cheap plastic lamp shade as he did so and covering me in the bits. He then tried to open the door and couldn’t. Luckily, he’d brought a money wrench with him and knocked the bolt off with it. I came out to be greeted with a round of applause by what seemed to be the entire education staff of the prison.

Thankfully none of my other pupils were ever sent there.

[Rose]

I thought you were going to say you were both stuck in there! [:D]

[Gardian]

No question.

Four years ago, there was the long-running saga of Pierre Yves which you can find by searching under Taxe de Sejour. (sorry, unsure how to paste the link)

It was started by 'Riff-Raff Element', ably supported by Cassis, SW17 and others.  Sad as it may seem, I cut and pasted the whole thing, deleted the superfluous bits and printed the whole thing out. Still gives me a good laugh from time to time.

[just john]

http://www.completefrance.com/cs/forums/814751/ShowPost.aspx

Here you go!, I haven't read this before so give me a little time[:)]

[cooperlola]

Well Rose, I reckon your thread may well terminate rather quickly.  That is priceless and I reckon it's going to be pretty hard to beat.  Hysterical.

[mint]

[quote user="just john "]

http://www.completefrance.com/cs/forums/814751/ShowPost.aspx

Here you go!, I haven't read this before so give me a little time[:)]

[/quote]

Oh, no!  I was new to the Forum in those days............how dared I to have contributed?

But, I do remember some of it now.  Ah, we were young and untried and just laughed and mucked about.  Now we hardly hear from Cassis and where on earth is Riff Raff?

[Rose]

thanks guardian... I've read it from start to finish... only sorry there wasn't a second series :) [:D]

What happened to all those folks?  (the writers I mean not the characters)... although [Www]

[mint]

Well, Rose, for my sins, I am still here![:'(]

[Rose]

So Sweets... do we get a sequel [:D]

[mint]

Well, Rose, if you want a sequel, a sequel you shall have.

But, mind, if nobody else picks up the thread, then we will have to lay it to rest, OK?

Pierre-Yves swelters in the tropical heat.  He can feel the sweat dripping down inside his collar.  P-Y is not a happy man. 

Here he is in the outpost of Empire (the French empire, silly, not dear old INDIAH!) and all the news he gets from home is ominous.

Who is this Nicolas Sarkozy who is now le chef?  Sarkozy, that doesn't sound French!

But Madame Carla Bruni-Sarkozy is a different matter altogether.  Like every male older than 12, he approves of Madame Carla.  Why, she after all is just like his own dear Colette:  the same chestnut hair out of a bottle and the same high ..........er.......cheekbones, yes, that's it, cheekbones!

And what is this entente to do with joint defence with the infidel rosbifs?  Why would his Hexagone, la Belle no less, want to have any truck with rosbifs? Et, M Cameron...........qui est-ce?  He shrugs a Gallic shrug.

Isn't it enough that there are THOUSANDS of them in his own beloved Vendée?  Where will it all end?

Oh, if only his exile were over and he could return to the country of Liberté, Equalité, Fraternité!  France FOREVER!  (or whatever expression the French would use....)  

[Rose]

[quote user="sweet 17"]

Here he is in the outpost of Empire (the French empire, silly, not dear old INDIAH!) and all the news he gets from home is ominous.

[/quote]

Sweets... well done!  I hate to interupt the flow but just wanted to say very plesaed you clarified this as I did wonder if we'd moved onto the set of Star Wars [:$]

[TWINKLE]

Hi Rose!

You got me thinking of the Christmas Story a few of us wrote a few years ago - it involved members of the forum we don't see much of anymore.  It still makes me giggle today.

http://www.completefrance.com/cs/forums/815536/ShowPost.aspx

[Gardian]

Pierre-Yves turned in for the night, hoping against hope, as he did every night, that something of interest would turn up via La Poste the following morning. The normal fare of his daily letter from the now reconciled Colette, hardly filled him with enthusiasm. 

The morning broke and after completing his toilette, he dressed in his best jeans and made his way to the office. At the crack of midday, the mail arrived.  Amongst the usual mer-de, including Colette's daily missive, was an official-looking letter, with a Paris postmark. Pierre-Yves could barely contain his excitement: would this be his salvation?   

 

[just john]

Before he could open the mail, the phone rang and sweltering in the tropical heat, quietly cursing the flies Pierre-Yves feels the sweat still dripping down inside his collar.  P-Y picked up the phone, to hear a familiar voice, he had not expected to hear from his family for a while (following the unfortunate incident), so to hear the familar voice telling him that his family had been contacted with the information that he was not forgotten had caused his heart to leap into his mouth and render him speechless, the voice went on ''circumstances mean that a military plane was already dispatched to collect him and he must prepare for his return to - PARIS!, where once again he would be required to fufil an important role, no longer a mere fonctionaire, albeit anonymous, this position would be at the highest level'' . His heart almost burst through his jacket, as the voice continued ''to liaise between senior Military figures of the French and English Governments . . . .'' ''there will be no need to contact Mme Pompodore de Frou Frou since she has already been despatched to a new address in Avenue George V to await her husband''. The sound of the click as the call ended was drowned by the sound of a Military plane landing.

 

[Gardian]

"Mon Dieu", he said out loud. I can't possibly leave without arranging for all the vital property checks to be done - electricity, termites, asbestos, fosse septique.

All this to say nothing of the removal of any incriminatory evidence relating to the episode last week with the new Albanian maid.

But would there be enough time?  Footsteps could be heard down the corridor and approaching his office. A knock on the door.

"Entrez" said P-Y ....................  

[Christine Animal]

He was without further delay taken to the plane before he had a chance to say «　ça me décoiffe cette histoire à dormir debout　». No sooner was he taken to his seat than he saw this extraordinary overweight person heading down the aisle. Yes, it was a bulging Brit and he thought of Sweet 17 and how lucky she was to have missed this uncomfortable situation.

Now was this plumpy Brit heading for Paris to pose with one of the donkeys in the Tuileries for the new Brits abroad photogenic episodum? Was he going to get roped into partaking in this bland and sorrowful escapade? He had to get to the nearest embassy on arrival for security.

 

[Chancer]

Moderators.

Would it be possible in the interests of continuity to merge these new instalments with the original thread or perhaps make a part 2 thread?

I thoroughly enjoyed reading the previous stories, it reminded me of  the writings of Tom Sharp when he was at the top of his game, if it were a  book I would not have slept untill I had read every page of it.

I take my hat off to those who wrote the original and those that have taken up the mantle this time, the fact that there appeared to be no collaboration made it all the more impressive.

Great work, long may it continue [:D]

 

[just john]

This plump Brit bent over in front of him and the fuselage went dark, before she could speak P-Y's gaze was drawn to her ample cleavage, mesmorized until a uniformed steward thrust a tray of hors d'oeuvres onto his lap, he noticed that they were julienned except for the radish which were extraordinarily plump, - the plump Brit spoke, ''Ya, catch up apres lunch, OK?', - then the steward spoke, with an east european accent, and P-Y looked up to see a smirking familiar face . . . .

[mint]

Oh no, the pesky Albanian wench has been able to follow him!  How has she got the money and, more importantly, the CONNECTION to have boarded the flight?

He wriggled in his seat, trying to get as far away from her as he physically could.  Not for him the distinction of being a member of the mile high club or whatever it's called!

His thoughts are now only with his own dear Colette.  Within hours he will be reunited with her and his two sons.  He does not expect the clearance through Immigration at Charles de Gaulle would be anything other than a formality.

What is his new post in Paris going to be?  He hopes it does not involve speaking the langue of les rosbifs.  True, he has an elementary knowledge of the infidels' language but he is aware that his pronunciation of things like "how now brown cow" is less than perfect.

As for going into the lions' den or 10 Downing Street, he is a mite apprehensive...............

Meanwhile, how can he avoid the Albanian?  Perhaps, all she is interested in is securing a place in France rather than a more personal interest in him PER SE...............ah, nothing like a bit of Latin.  He does understand that and don't they say that there is a lot of Latin in Albanian?

He cannot now remember how he communicated with her previously.  The immediate problem is that she is now here, oh so much in the flesh, sitting next to him.  How is he going to deal with this terrible situation?  C'est incontournable mais..........(er, hem, excusez moi, but I know this French word from reading the label on a jar of jam and it says that loving the jam is "incontournable" or something like that)

[Gardian]

................. tant pis, better just to lay back and think of La Belle France, rather than the creature beside him. To be sure, Colette could be difficult at times (from what he could remember), but this femme fatale represented his worst nightmare come true. What had he been thinking of?  Whatever the opposite of charisma was, she had it.

Just then, he became aware of a uniformed man approaching him. "Good day to you sir", said the uniform. Pierre-Yves was unsure, but had an inkling that he was being addressed in Anglais.

"Comment?" said P -Y instinctively.  

"Oh, err excusez-moi, monsieur. Je suis le pilote de ce avion. Mon nom est Horrocks.  Group Captain Norman Horrocks, a votre service."

Le Rosbif's excruciating use of the French langue made P-Y shudder, but he managed to establish that the pilot's presence on board this fine French-manufactured Dassault of the Armee de l'Air was because of his attachment from the ARAYEFF, or something like that. Maybe he'd misheard and that it was that cheapo Irish airline that brings hundreds of foreigners in to his beloved Vendee every day of the year?

Anyway, they'd soon be in Paris and Horrocks said that it had been his pleasure to convey Monsieur and his charming lady back to the bosom of La Belle France. Oh, quel horreur, thought P-Y, what if Colette turned up at the airport to meet him? Ten minutes later, the attachez ceintures sign came on and the Albanian wench began the unequal struggle with the restraint mechanism. The moment of truth was nigh!  

[mint]

Meanwhile, in Gay Paree (did they call it that before "gay" means what it does today?), Colette is walking along the Boulevard Haussmann, deciding which shops to visit.

She needs new underwear:  what don't you understand about why French women wear lacey numbers just so they can peel them off?  You can be pretty sure that Colette is not looking for the sort of knickers I personally favour but we won't go into all that yet again.

Then she needs accessoires: belts, scarves, handbags, shoes, jewellery.

But first, she really must ring Maman to give her the good news.  Much as Colette adores Maman, Maman has been less than kind in later years about P-Y.

Then, there are the children.  They hardly remember their father.  What will she tell them about Papa?

There is, of course, the photograph in the silver frame of Papa but that was taken more than a few years ago.  In it, Pierre-Yves is smiling the fixed smile of someone having their photograph taken.  It was done in a shop in the Vendée where they arrange you just so; comb your hair and spend forever fiddling about with the lights.

But, it has generally been acknowledged to be a good likeness.  They have made the best of P-Y's thinning hair and his silken moustache is suitably waxed and twirled.  P-Y's face wears an expression of forced jolity. 

For a moment, Colette lets out a huge sigh.  Her memory flashes back to the sunny face and cheerful smile of Jon, le rosbif whose bar went into I suppose you could call it LIQUIDATION during the terrible time of la grande chute de livre.  All the talk amongst the anglais was about the dreadful exchange rate (parity, no less) and large numbers of them packed up to go back to the Land of les Rosbifs.

When Jon left, Colette felt that something- je ne sais quoi- had gone out of her life forever.

She wakes herself out of her reverie.  Her mobile is ringing, the ring tone is, of course, the Marseillaise.

"Allo, allo..........."  Colette calls into the phone.    

[just john]

In Line with his alter ego Napoleon,  Pierre-Yves told himself to remain regal and aloof.
Despite being strapped to his seat, he attempted to draw himself to his full height; his head barely reaching the middle of the head restraint. He would not betray his superiority and certainly not deign to hurry to leave the aircraft yet he must be ahead of everyone else.

With a mixture of faintly perceptible condescension and affection, he thought "Apropos les anglais, il doit élaborer un plan astucieux!
Ah zut, zut et zut.....................! Had he not been strapped into his seat He would have been bouncing off the ceiling as the two Rafale multi-role jets from the ALA criss crossed over the Dassault and Group Captain Norman Horrocks approached, ''a votre service  P-Y, just to say we are approaching Paris and I have your wife on air if you'd care to have a few words in a mo, But first just to let you know that we are about to tail PM Sarky's flight to RAF Lossiemouth! just near Faslane, so the fighters are our escort, you'll get a full brief when we land but I understand when you are based there with us your lot could be the saviour of our new joint base! he said with a grin!

''Qu'est-ce . . , mais le piston'', his chest collapsing and P-Y's voice trailing to a whisper . . . .