Re: What's your funniest forum moment?

[Chancer]

Have the Poles morphed into Albanians and changed sex?

[britgirl]

'Darling, c'est moi, Jon.' Colette's knees trembled. She remembered the twinkling blue eyes, etc etc.............[:$][:$]

'I know how we can be together, for ever'

Colette's heart raced.

'All you have to do darling is to transfer a teensy weensy bit of cash to a bank account in the U.K  I'll transfer it back to you, when the time is right  and with the exchange rate as it is , we'll be able to live off the proceeds. There's no way it can fail. Trust me darling. You know I............

Colette shook the mobile in disgust. How dare it stop working. so much to think of, so much to do.

The phone rang again. With trembling fingers Colette answered it...............

 

 

 

[Rose]

[quote user="Chancer"]Have the Poles morphed into Albanians and changed sex?[/quote]

ssshhh [:D] but I thought that... also wasn't the big lady beside him British and the flight attendant Albanian?  [Www]

Loving the story though... can't wait for the next installement [kiss] [kiss]

[just john]

The big English lady was walking down the aisle toward P-Y, the attendant approached him from the rear[Www], he was a Polish sailor who served the radish as a reminder . . . (RTFM) where the hell the Albanian came from will no doubt  be in the next Instalment from Gardian. Keep up bebete![8-|]

[Christine Animal]

Now the plumpy Brit one (noone said she was English) came up to him with a chicken under her arm (they always have to look a little eccentric), got hold of him with the other arm saying "viens mon petit poulet" (having lived in Paris for several years, she spoke some French) and dragged him speechless out of the plane.

Now what was Colette going to think seeing them together through the scanner thingy on the way out?   [:-))]

 

[mint]

[quote user="Chancer"]Have the Poles morphed into Albanians and changed sex?[/quote]

No, no, Stupid Boy (apologies Capt Mainwaring and Pike), the Poles are back in the Vendée and their residential status in France is still illegal.  Pay attention, Chance!

The large Brit is a Welsh lady who sounds and looks like that large Welsh lady from the holiday camp:  yes, yes, that Ruth Madoc.  She is all smouldering dark eyes and dyed dark hair.

"Now then, we don't want any problems, do we?" she winked at him.

P-Y was aghast.....WINKED, she WINKED!  Alors, c'est insupportable because no one, No ONE winks at P-Y de Frou Frou.

As for the Albanian, she is still perched on the seat beside him with her canapés.  The canapés are on a tray and are cantilevered as though without support of any kind!

What can he do with the Piranha from Tyranha?  Oh, la, la, c'est moche!

His brain goes into overdrive........

[Gardian]

............. but being the fonctionnaire that he is, quickly settles on a decisive course of action.

Do nothing.

The aircraft is gently nursed by Horrocks to it's parking slot and the engines are quietly quietened. Ruth has already started to gather her baggage, but the Albanian remains inert.

Fortunately for P-Y, the rest of the cabin crew (except for Stanislaw the Radish, who appears to have done a runner) are already coming round exhorting everyone to clear away all their rubbish and put it in their pockets / handbags. Within minutes, the cabin is empty and P-Y has only to shuffle down the steps to await the welcome of his beloved Colette. As he walks to the terminal, his heart is in his mouth. Will she be there? 

[Gardian]

Three months have passed.

It had seemed like a lifetime for Pierre-Yves. The events on arrival at that military airfield close to Paris had came back to haunt him every night in his dreams. Ruth, the dusky woman from the Pays de Galles: Salmonescia (for that was her name), the bulky Albanian: and Stanislaw, the radish-wielding Pole.

Heuresement, Group Capitain Horrocks had been able to smooth things over with the military authorities and Colette had seemingly suspected nothing: the 3 itinerants had been spirited away by the Gendarmerie, no doubt to meet their just fate. None of them ever to return (oh yes they probably will !!!!!) 

However, there was no doubting that P-Y was beginning to feel pretty happy with life for the first time in years. The bad dreams were fading. He and Colette were now installed in comfortable quarters at the HQ of his new work location: Clermont Ferrand.

Now, to some, this might not have seemed the most obvious place for a Franco-Rosbif naval liaison group. Why worry? The fact that the sea was at the other end of the hexagone, mattered nothing. The fact that his Anglais fonctionnaire opposite number had to spend days getting to him, and vice versa, meant nothing. The main thing was the task in hand: what to call the aircraft carrier that France and les Anglais would share?

[just john]

Colette clapped her hands with joy and ran to the toilet to check her new panties, the call had confirmed her lover was waiting for her in his little Pied a terre in Grand Bretagne where she was to visit for the first time, it sounded lovely - just outside of London on the estuary near an enormous bridge at a place near Dartford. She could not wait to pack her new lingerie and few bottles for their reunion.With P-Y's frequent trips back and forth to Lossiemouth her opportunities for her own liaisons with her lover has increased beyond her wildest dreams, despite her friends believing english lovers were all wooly bananas, Jon had proved to be a match for any of her previous beau's; despite his penchant for Chateau Margaux and seemingly endless need for waiting on hand foot and finger, plus a few other things she could not dwell on outside of le baisodrome, thank goodness for the violet cremes he'd brought her from Fortnum and Masons, in summation she felt she had truly trouve la perle!

Besides she was really concerned about the about the amount of time she had to find diversions since his frequent trips occupied so much time, she was also deeply paranoid that whenever they went together to official soirees there was always a Polish waiter smirking and catching his eye and some strange Albanian maid leaving the toilets just before he did. She was however secretly proud to be driving around Paris in his Range Rover on diplomatic plates with the added benefit that she could park anywhere she pleased. Oh Joy her new lunchtime girlfriends were so jealous!

Should she care if P-Y always seemed to be exhausted and compiling endless lists, who on earth would want 5,000 biro's anyway, it was un casse-tete chinois?

[Gardian]

Lossiemouth is a very strange part of Angleterre, P-Y mused to himself.

 

He had been concerned from the first time he realised that a trip across La Manche would indeed be necessary. The worry of it all: cold, rain, brouillard and crucially …………. the food!

 

Now, every true Frenchman (or Frenchwoman for that matter) knows that les Anglais haven’t got a clue about food: the raw ingredients, the method, the timing. Even the time of day to eat it is lost on them – everyone knows full well that it is sacrilege to contemplate lunch much after 12.00. P-Y had heard so many worrying stories that his first visit filled him with dread.

 

Come the day, he bade farewell to his loving and faithful Colette and set off for the airport. No longer a privileged flight with the military: this time it was two cheapo flights full of Anglais.

 

Forget the work: the food was everything he had been given to fear. Ecosse, which every Frenchman knows, is a department of Angleterre, had strange eating habits. He always asked for his meat saignant, but on arrival that evening they served a strange dish called ‘Aggees’, which was cooked to hell and tasted like chopped up debroussage. No wine with the meal.  No fromage.

 

But now came a meeting with his opposite number to discuss the naming of the aircraft carrier. He had, what he felt, was an excellent shortlist of possible names: Le Terrible, L’Audacieux, L’Incorrigible, Le Quatorze Juillet. If the Anglais accepted one of his proposals, they could simply use that name with their own accent. Impeccable.

 

How would the meeting go?       

[Cendrillon]

Ah, naming the carrier, given that we are now in the month of gloom and darkness P-Y thinks "11 novembre" would be a suitable choice, perhaps French spelling on one side of the carrier and English spelling on the other[I]. After all both countries were fighting on the same side during that war and the name would be very appropriate.

Still he is worried about this liaison avec les anglais does no one remember Mers-el-Kebir?[blink]

[mint]

Yes, Cindy, that is a brainwave.............

[Cendrillon]

The debate to name the aircraft carrier takes all afternoon though there is a small break for tea and shortbread this being what they eat en ecosse. The two countries are now debating will they have novembre on the babord and November on the tribord? If such a debate takes all afternoon what will happen when there are real military decisions to be taken?

Also P-Y is confused, why are these anglais wearing poppy flowers on their suits? Are they gay?

Later it is explained to him and now P-J understands but he will still wear his bleuet with pride on 11 novembre and for that day only.

[just john]

Jude Cornwell was starting to yawn at the exploratory discussion of the banal preliminaries of new 50-year Anglo-French treaty, in line with his briefing, PR were looking to announce the name for the new carrier but time was not of the essence today, after all, if France agrees to share the UK carrier, with our name, we'll share the french planes (their plane is already named)
but nothing can be agreed up front; so . . . today is just a bit of fun.

P-Y remembered his briefing, but his mind was on the fact that his pension had had a close shave, just how long was it before he could decently collect it?. Bien sur he realised his position involved making sacrifices for his country, not to the mention the need to toe the line or else . . .  Anyway he was reminded he was here to present some starting point, vis a vis, names, and not to forget he was specifically not here to agree anything, merely to present and uphold France's honour in the spirit of entente cordial whilst not actually moving forward, Response, by his superior, would deflect Royaume-Uni proposal's after a feel for their willingness to offer the spare carrier so that France may quietly retire the horrendous C-de-G!

That this Englishman with his brylcreemed hair could ever have risen to the same level of administration in France was incroyable!
 Permit me to introduce the UK options said Jude, brandishing a list of carrier names; Richelieu - Bi Centaur - Troutbridge -  May 8th, 
Pierre-Yves squirmed in his slightly less than immaculate tailored trousers (a superior contrast, he noted to the blue serge sat in front of him, was that stitching on the crease!) First class on the flight over was a curtain and not any better seating.
 He was bound to relay them to his superior but he did not feel at ease, though neither could he say why. 'Pont Truit?'' he queried
''Hmm - a personal favourite of mine'' replied JC.
In any case Mr Supercocorico himself, P-Y could not concentrate, the message he had just received from Collette did not make sense, ''Got to Ashford, Waiting for you to collect me''

Jon had had second thoughts about introducing Collette to Dartford so soon, he called her to tell her to jump off at Ashford and he would collect her, they could find a little hotel on the coast. She was equally delighted. Only maintenant, elle pouvait mordre les doigts for being so stupid, she had sent the text to P-Y by mistake. . .

 

[Cendrillon]

Colette need not have worried because J-Y was still in Lossiemouth and that as we well know is a long train journey from Ashford. [:)]

In the event, though Colette was disappointed, Jon had not been able to divert  his wife to her mother's home in Wales and away from the Dartford apartment, so he did the next best thing and made a quick get-away to Ashford.

When Colette and Jon finally met Jon's news was a bit of a surprise! He has decided to return to France and will set-up as a jobbing builder in Brittany. No need to declare his earnings to le fisc as he will be working au-noir and of course, as we all know that makes it O.K. He can also bring over his mate's U.K. registered lorry, no need to change the number plates either. "Easy-peasy" said Jon.

Colette is thrilled as she and J-Y have a residence secondaire near Carnac and she will be able to visit Jon when she likes under the pretext of sorting the house ready for Summer lettings.[I]

Meanwhile up in Scotland P-Y is boarding the night sleeper.....[blink]

To be continued

[just john]

Is that the one bound for Austria[:D]

 

[Gardian]

The sleeper train was a nightmare (so to speak) for P-Y.  

He boarded it at Aberdeen and never slept a wink until it arrived at Le Croix du Roi at some unearthly time in the morning. He emerged in to the emerging daylight, wondering where on earth ‘Ashford’ would be. He decided to ask an official: always the best course of action. 

“Ashford Greater London, or Ashford Kent mate?” said the official. 

“It must be Londres – tout a fait Londres”, said P-Y. 

“Well, get yourself over to - if you’ll forgive me for mentioning it - Waterloo station. They’ll sort you out there” said the official. 

P-Y was in a daze, but eventually found a taxi to take him to some station named after an event which no Frenchman ever wishes to acknowledge. The taxi driver talked all the way about Mme Sarkozy and her ‘qualities’. So banal these Anglais.

Now for a train to Ashforr - need to buy a ticket to Ashforr. How hard can that be?

 

(Is it too soon to wheel Salmonescia back in again???!!![6]) 

[Cendrillon]

Meanwhile, Jon and Colette are in Brighton, enjoying the delights of the South Coast .............and more![;-)][:$]

[just john]

Colette had moments when she was able to close her eyes and allow thoughts to roam free, even during some of her activities with Jon, she began to think of P-Y. Of course she was P-Y's wife first, they were a couple weren't they?, they would aller planter choux; she knew he thought about his retirement being his salvation ;and she was sure that he expected her to consider her appearance and be attractive wouldn't he?, whereas Jon, well he was fit and attractive and an entertaining lover but . .  her mind suddenly snapped back. Cinq lettres! P-Y would kill her! she remembered the text. What was she doing in Angleterre! she must get out of here and contact P-Y en cinq sec!
She must get to Ashford before P-Y, pushing Jon off, she said 'I must go! now! you must get me to Ashford before P-Y gets there! or he will kill us both! picking up her phone she checked her messages, thank god, none, she began to text frantically . . .

quand vous arrivez . . . mon cherie . . .

Difficult to contain within the stage, but thanks to Brian Rix[:)]

 

[Cendrillon]

oh la la

Jon drives Colette to Ashford just in time to see P-Y's train pull in. Thankfully P-Y has spent a lot of time lost in London around Waterloo station.

He is surprised to see Colette descend from a quatre, quatre but maybe that is what taxis are like in the country. The taxi departs at breakneck speed and Colette walks towards her long lost husband.

[Gardian]

Salmonescia adjusted her ……. (well, you know) and began the process of microwaving the 1^st class meals on the 18.24 Eurostar from London to Paris.

It was a rotten job, but the best she could get. At least Stanislaw wasn’t around any more after the embarrassing problems at that military airport outside Paris. It had taken ages to be freed and only then after the kind Englishman Horrocks had intervened. She had been only too happy to repay his gentillesse.

Anyway, the train glid (or is it glided?) to a gentle halt at the station where nobody ever got on or off. Ashford Internazionale.

She became aware of two passengers boarding the train. Cyrille the steward minced down the carriage to the couple who were seating themselves and shortly returned.

“Une viande et un poisson”.

Salmonescia busied herself with the arduous task and within 45 seconds, the meals were ready for service. ‘Strips of Duck Filet drenched in a Sauce Myrtille’ + ‘Braised Monkfish Loin drizzled with a White Wine Jus’.

Since Cyrille was consumed with attending to the gentleman at seat 44, she decided that she herself would deliver tonight’s pieces de resistance. They seemed like nice people after all: she took the trays in hand and, with some difficulty, manoeuvred her bulk from the galley down the gangway towards the expectant couple   ……………    

[Cendrillon]

omd (that's got to be French for omg) thinks P-Y, I know who this is and as Salmonescia approaches he quickly hides behind his copy of The Times. Yes, he is trying hard to integrate. Colette his prodigal wife is now safely beside him and he doesn't want to upset the apple cart.

Pauvre petite Colette how difficult it must have been for her on her shopping spree in London and fancy her getting lost and ending up at Ashforr'

[just john]

Pierre-Yves le Pompodore de Frou-Frou clicked his tongue with barely suppressed fury. Fortunately dinner  had been served and cleared (not in the French manner he noted) So close to such a major embarrasing revelation because of Collette's desire to return home together after her shopping trip. She was bored she said, so had just taken off on the spur of the moment, was he not pleased?
Flashes of inspiration since his days at the “Interesting Ideas for Thwarting Naughty Non-French Types” department of the Foreign Ministry had been few, mais what on earth was Collette doing in London!? Is not Paris the most exclusive and fashionable shopping tout le Monde? Quietly fuming he was determined to find the most diplomatic course to tackle Collette. What had she purchased in London? Was not their fortune suddenly reversed to the sublime, was Collette not satisfied?  Was she not installed in the most glorious apartment in the most excellent address?. He shuddered at the thought of his previous secret immode vicelard existence; and flared his elegant nostrils, those sultry tunnels lined with the silkiest of hairs that had made so many women swoon and so many mean seethe with envy, looking across at his petite chou he cannot help but notice that, after the gin and tonics (or is it gins and tonic?), Collete is snoring rhythmically (but still daintily) and musically to the beat of the Marsellaise.

Peut-être un week-end? together they could pop off to Isle de re, Reacquaint themselves? Oui, the future the looked bright after all, '' Collette, Collette mon petite, can you hear me. . .

Collette woke with a start, clearly semi-conscious, where was she? . . .

 

[just john]

Salmonescia cleared the table behind Pierre-Yves le Pompodore de Frou-Frou; she knew who he was and that he had hid his face whenever she approached, she also heard him speak, neatly stacking the tray she listened to him telling Collette about his plan to go to Isle de Re. She also heard Collette say that ''its not going to happen anymore Jon'' 

P-Y choked ''Jean?''

 

[Gardian]

Quinze jours, or put another way, two weeks + 1 day, had passed.

The tiring and vexant trip to Angleterre had slipped in to P-Y’s memory, although flashes of it kept returning.

Ecosse, Aggeess, Ashforr. Finally, that close shave with the Piranha from Tiranha. He was confident at least that she hadn’t spotted him behind his copy of The Times. Colette’s demeanour was a matter of concern though: her incoherent babbling and mentions of English names, clearly pointed to early signs of instability and some of the things that one doesn’t mention. A concern of course, but best not discussed and left to sort itself out.

The crucial question of the naming of the aircraft carrier was proceeding satisfactorily. The Pont de Truit would, once the final approval was received, be a fine name for a shared warship. The 1^st of its name, but no less magnifique for that. La Reine Elizabeth would be proud to pronounce that name as, with whoever happened to be Le President, she jointly let go of the Champagne.

P-Y was now beginning to address himself to the operational matter of cuisine for his new enfant.

It had been agreed that, at any one time, half the crew would be Francais and half Anglais. It was becoming apparent that ‘the other half’ would require such ghastly things as Baked Beans, Curry and Tea in vast quantities. Nothing as civilised as Tete de Veau, Pieds et Paquets or Cassoulet.

He needed a holiday and Colette needed one too. Where to go? Should he stick with his original thinking and return to the Vendee? The Ile de Re would be nice at this time of the year. He might even take the opportunity to look up some of his old pals ……………