Discussion
It was the middle of the afternon, and I was in my house, in Middle England, tiling my kitchen walls. There's a knock on the door, so I open it to see two very earnest, very smiley men in cheap suits, both carrying very shiny fake crocodile briefcases. Yes, you know what they wanted as well as I did.
So I was about to trot out my standard, stock-in-trade greeting for these people, when the younger of the two spoke, and completely threw me.
"Can you speak French?" he said. Not "Hello", not "Excuse me Sir", just "Can you speak French?". I can, as a matter of fact.
"Yes." I replied.
"Oh." He said. "Can you?"
"Yes, I can." I elaborated
"You? You can speak French?"
"Yes, I can speak French." I'm becoming really rather intrigued by now.
"Ah." He turned to his colleague. "He can speak French." he said, handing his colleague the leaflet he'd been holding, part of which I'd already read upside down whilst he'd been interrogating me. It was entitled Bringing God closer to you. His colleague took the leaflet and handed back the same thing, but printed in French.
The younger man turned back to me, and with a peculiarly confused expression, he proffered the leaflet.
"Bonjour?" he said.
I still can't quite get my hat on.
Edited for bloody spelling!
So I was about to trot out my standard, stock-in-trade greeting for these people, when the younger of the two spoke, and completely threw me.
"Can you speak French?" he said. Not "Hello", not "Excuse me Sir", just "Can you speak French?". I can, as a matter of fact.
"Yes." I replied.
"Oh." He said. "Can you?"
"Yes, I can." I elaborated
"You? You can speak French?"
"Yes, I can speak French." I'm becoming really rather intrigued by now.
"Ah." He turned to his colleague. "He can speak French." he said, handing his colleague the leaflet he'd been holding, part of which I'd already read upside down whilst he'd been interrogating me. It was entitled Bringing God closer to you. His colleague took the leaflet and handed back the same thing, but printed in French.
The younger man turned back to me, and with a peculiarly confused expression, he proffered the leaflet.
"Bonjour?" he said.
I still can't quite get my hat on.
Edited for bloody spelling!
Edited by Doofus on Saturday 3rd July 22:53
king God Bothering Spunkmonkeys.
When much younger, and living in a part of London infested with the sanctimounious gits, I found that the easy way to get rid of pesky God-botherers was to tell them that I'm a Jew. As I lived in an area that had a large Orthodox Jewish community nearby, they never seemed to doubt it. I was willing to show them the physical 'evidence' if they ever asked.
If feeling more playful I would tell them that I was a Satanist. They never seemed too keen to come in and enjoy a fresh glass of goat's blood.
Since moving to my current gaff, they've only been round once. I opened the door, holding on to the collar of my Ridgeback, who is always keen to meet visitors. They didn't know that, although he looks like a lion-killing monster, he's as friendly as a hippy on ecstasy. I haven't seen them since...
If feeling more playful I would tell them that I was a Satanist. They never seemed too keen to come in and enjoy a fresh glass of goat's blood.
Since moving to my current gaff, they've only been round once. I opened the door, holding on to the collar of my Ridgeback, who is always keen to meet visitors. They didn't know that, although he looks like a lion-killing monster, he's as friendly as a hippy on ecstasy. I haven't seen them since...
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