Two things happened to me this week which were quite funny in retrospect but made me feel inadequate and made me realise how living in the depths of the country makes me isolated a bit from the real world.
I went with a friend to pick up another friend from hospital in Montauban, I was driving.
Now Montauban to me seems like a big city, after Varen and our quiet lanes. We were trying to find the eye hospital and I initially missed the street so felt a bit panicky thinking of the friend patiently waiting. The plan was for me to drop one friend off to drive the patients car home. When we found the hospital I suddenly realised I was desperately short of petrol. Malc had warned me that car would need filling up!
I asked the friends to drive close till I found a petrol station, which we did find quite quickly. The trouble for me being it was a self service, although I happily use the one at Simply I am not confident with others. I looked at the machine and stuffed my card in the slot ... too late realising it was the wrong slot. It of course got stuck and my friends had given me a cheery wave and driven off.
What could I do? a man cycled past on a bike and I asked for his help. With a bit of jiggery pokery he got the card out and then proceeded to help me perform the operation kindly looking away when I tapped in my code. Phew! a smiling Frenchman would have a good tale to tell the family about his services to an elderly English lady when he got home.
The second event was embarrassingly funny and I hope it makes you gasp and smile. A couple of days later and once again in Montauban I was having a simple hospital check when I went to the loo. The turning latch on the door was impossibly difficult to turn to its full extent but I thought I had managed it. There I was sitting down, jeans round ankles when I heard someone wrenching at the door. Good job I locked it I thought, when the door suddenly burst open. A French lady stood on the otherside taking in the scene in shocked horror. I apologised, God knows why, in retrospect she should have closed the door apologising, but she stood there with a face like thunder, then marched off. I had to hobble to close the door, feeling dreadful. If I could have met her later with my knickers and jeans in place I would have given her a piece of my mind!
Does this post go in the label "French Life" ? perhaps no label needed!
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