Monday, July 16, 2007

café au lit

Sunday morning. ‘Do you mind if I…’ he says, doing something French with a cigarette. ‘Well’, I hesitate, ‘I’m not sure if that’s allowed’. ‘Because of the smoking ban you would stop me having a little post coital gauloise?’ he asks. ‘No, but because you haven’t actually done anything coital’, I say. ‘You French are all mouth and no trousers’, I add. ‘Well, you English women', He retorts, 'you do not understand the ways of lurve, and shaving your armpits is enough to put any french man off, so I don't even know why you helped me out of the water and back onto the boat last night Rilly'. ‘Because if you had drowned I would have had to have slept with your twin brother to keep this tenuous and already perilously stretched and basically uneventful story going, and that might have seemed contrived’, I explain. He shrugs his shoulders. ‘And anyway’, I continue, ‘It just doesn’t seem right to do it in black and white’. ‘Colour doesn’t really suit French women’, he explains. ‘but I think it was the subtitles that really put me off, trying to read them the wrong way round like that’, I sigh. ‘Yes, sorry about that’, he shrugs. ‘And another thing’, I continue, ‘please give the tutoiement a rest darling; we’ve only just been introduced’. ‘But we are speaking in English now’, he protests. Well, you jolly well look to me like you're being familiar, I think to myself, but don't say anything.

‘Well, anyway’, he says changing the subject, ‘I hope you have had a nice holiday’. I sigh. ‘Things were rather getting on top of me’, I explain. ‘Although not your husband, evidently’, he replies. 'What about your children, are they not on holiday now too?' he asks. 'They'll be fine' I assure him, 'at home they can walk to the beach on their own'. 'You live near the coast?' 'About thirty five miles', I inform him. ‘Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and put the kettle on?’ I suggest. He gets out of bed and goes to make the coffee. Soon I will be going back to The North. I sigh, again. I can’t remember if I mentioned it but it’s grim up north and I will have to leave behind my brief dream of becoming the next Petite Anglaise as well. I realise I just have to make the most of my last morning on the shores of the Mediterranean so I reach for the radio and begin fumbling on the dial for Desert Island Discs and hoping he's got some english tea in.

10 comments:

EmmaK said...

I don't get it Rilly, if this is fiction why not put in the occasional overblown and corny sex scene with a French hunk. I would relish it. See how many cliches you can use or something?

rilly super said...

if what is fiction, darling?

mutterings and meanderings said...

The French may be good at many things, but not making a decent cup of tea!

Drunk Mummy said...

Oh Rilly - it sounds like a bit of a Gallic (or phallic?) disaster. Maybe you would be better off with the cigarette?

Iota said...

You're so right. What is life without a good cup of English tea?

rilly super said...

oh M&M, you're so right. If only everywhere could be like Islington..

drunkmummy, you are right as well, and yet disappointment and nothing really happening always seem so romantic when they happen to other people...

Iota, sigh, at least I will soon be home, well, in the the north, which isn't home at all of course, sob...

The thinker said...

Oh dear Rilly - I never expected to have to say this but for once you disappoint - I'm not sure I admire your taste in men - couldn't you have found us a nice tastey hunk of a man to admire as we check out your links? Failing that Sawyer from Lost always does it for me ...
I'm also pondering to the allusion re the ban on smoking in the workplace - surely you're not?!! But if so will you be declaring your 'earnings' on return to the old UK?

rilly super said...

oh thinker, sadly he turned out to be more Boudu than Belmondo, sigh. I'm afraid that in a true life, warts and all account such as this things are often not perfect. I do hope you can bear with me through the dark times though. You know what they say, 'the sun'll come out tomorrow', although of course up north this is never quite guaranteed, sigh..

Motheratlarge said...

Hope your chap at least had some tea in the cupboard to make up for disappointments in other departments.

Marianne said...

I'm riveted by the French thing he was doing with the cigarette, Rilly. Must try spraining my ankle again next time I'm in France and see if I can get to the bottom of it.

I do know what you mean about disappointment and nothing much happening though. Why doesn't he phone ...? Why do I do this to myself? Will I never learn? Will you all be there for me to pick me up if it all goes pear shaped?