Home – yes home and re-toothed. Another fabulous Breakfast at Brittany’s aboard Le Normandie. The restaurant staff are just a delight of friendliness and efficiency. The trip began badly with hundreds of kids running wild on the ferry. Seemingly several coach loads of them were on their way to see historic battlefields in Normandy in order to civilise and pacify them. Let’s hope it works. Looks like a mountain to climb. At least their keepers didn’t seem bothered if I can judge by their absence. A wonderfully politically incorrect broadcast was pushed out by the ship’s staff.
“Children who are travelling in groups. Go now to your cabins and stay there until you come out for breakfast!” A further broadcast asked the would be pacifist historians to “Respect other passengers.”
It’d been centuries since anyone in England spoke thus to brats. Several of them will live their lives as emotional cripples as their creative externalisation of personality expressed in charging downstairs knocking others aside was thwarted.
As I left the UK the phone hacking frenzy appeared to be spreading to the USA. A comforting note was that British politicians have found someone to blame at last. It is of course the police. Why didn’t the Metropolitan Police take all their officers away from suicide bombers and drug cartels and investigate the newspapers, the editors of which dined as courted mates with the prime minster? That’s one tough question. And who should answer it?
Regular readers- (by the way I love you all) must have begun to think that I am obsessed with baguettes. Once I had offloaded my father’s old desk and the tandem bicycle I went to the local Intermarché. I bought une baguette at the cost of 50 cents and gave the Monsieur a one Euro coin. Now, at the time a family of shoppers had arrived with a new baby and there was a kiss-kiss-hand-shaking fest being held over the counter. Le Monsieur gave me change of 50 cents AND my original one Euro which he kept in his hand and not put in the till. I pointed out his kind error.
“You gave me 2 Euros!” He informed me with a flat dismissive finality.
I hackled and argued back. “Non- You gave me too much change – I did not have any 2 Euro coins.”
A shrug of surly wounded pride accompanied the coin as it was tossed into the till. I had hurt him. I felt ashamed.
Emma thinx: Being right is just as likely to land you in the wrong