The cheese and the mustard are ok
I am not remotely xenophopic and like to think that before I make any irrational judgements about an individual, group of people or even a nation I will have examined every angle before I reach a rash subjective decision.
So it has taken me two successive annual visits to France on a camping holiday to come to the definate conclusion that the French are the most ignorant, selfish and possibly dateless bunch of wankers I have had the displeasure to encounter.
They jump queues, barge you out of the way and don't ever get out of the way with absolute impunity and it could well be that the expressions or words sorry, excuse me or pardon are either never taught in the home or school system, or there is some subliminal state control at work here that involves peoples knowledge of these words being either erased or supressed.
But, it is perhaps in the field of driving that the French excel themselves when it comes to the epitome of discourtesy and blind pig ignorance.
To drive in an English car in France is simply to drive in an invisible car. A roundabout to the french is simply a straight road, a crossroads, ditto.
If a vehicle is oncoming and wanting to turn left then please do not presume you have the right of way, because seeing your English number plate is merely carte-blanch for old Jean-Paul to presume you are an imbecile whose only aim in life is to putter around French roads with the sole aim of ensuring he gets to his destination all the quicker.
On one occasion last week (I'm still quivering with apoplexy) about this we spotted a car parking space on the other side of the road. My wife reversed across the carriageway into the space to straighten up only to have some (I desperately need to know the French for airheaded, sackless, bitch) to nip in front of us, take the space and without even making any eye contact to my splaying, waving arms and aghast, open mouth, proceed to get out of the car. We were so stunned by this that neither me or my wife could actually speak and drove off to find a space about 3 km away in order that we could spend some money where clearly only our money; and not our well being, contentment or happiness was sought.
I could go on about the futility of ever trying to actually visit anywhere of interest because you will not find a parking space. All you will infact find are Claude and Brigitte and a gaggle of oblivious, non-attentive children, who have been there since the early hours of the morning just to deprive you from enjoying any experience the country has to offer. And if you have the misfortune to enjoy ancient monuments, be sure to visit in mid-winter about 11 o'clock at night because this is the only time little Aime and Alain won't be clambering over somebodys ancient resting place in order for the goggle-eyed devoted catholic parents to show their coffee guzzling, croissant eating shums what their over indulged offspring and an ancient monument look like.
So it has taken me two successive annual visits to France on a camping holiday to come to the definate conclusion that the French are the most ignorant, selfish and possibly dateless bunch of wankers I have had the displeasure to encounter.
They jump queues, barge you out of the way and don't ever get out of the way with absolute impunity and it could well be that the expressions or words sorry, excuse me or pardon are either never taught in the home or school system, or there is some subliminal state control at work here that involves peoples knowledge of these words being either erased or supressed.
But, it is perhaps in the field of driving that the French excel themselves when it comes to the epitome of discourtesy and blind pig ignorance.
To drive in an English car in France is simply to drive in an invisible car. A roundabout to the french is simply a straight road, a crossroads, ditto.
If a vehicle is oncoming and wanting to turn left then please do not presume you have the right of way, because seeing your English number plate is merely carte-blanch for old Jean-Paul to presume you are an imbecile whose only aim in life is to putter around French roads with the sole aim of ensuring he gets to his destination all the quicker.
On one occasion last week (I'm still quivering with apoplexy) about this we spotted a car parking space on the other side of the road. My wife reversed across the carriageway into the space to straighten up only to have some (I desperately need to know the French for airheaded, sackless, bitch) to nip in front of us, take the space and without even making any eye contact to my splaying, waving arms and aghast, open mouth, proceed to get out of the car. We were so stunned by this that neither me or my wife could actually speak and drove off to find a space about 3 km away in order that we could spend some money where clearly only our money; and not our well being, contentment or happiness was sought.
I could go on about the futility of ever trying to actually visit anywhere of interest because you will not find a parking space. All you will infact find are Claude and Brigitte and a gaggle of oblivious, non-attentive children, who have been there since the early hours of the morning just to deprive you from enjoying any experience the country has to offer. And if you have the misfortune to enjoy ancient monuments, be sure to visit in mid-winter about 11 o'clock at night because this is the only time little Aime and Alain won't be clambering over somebodys ancient resting place in order for the goggle-eyed devoted catholic parents to show their coffee guzzling, croissant eating shums what their over indulged offspring and an ancient monument look like.
posted by shortithehorn at 8:05 AM
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