13th August 2008

The French are famous for two things: food and sex (and about the latter, more later). I always hate to see our fridge looking empty because it means the shelves need cleaning again. So, it's off to the local Intermarche in nearby Caussade. I say nearby, but in truth nothing here is down the road - it's at least 30 km away. As I lower myself gingerly into the car (my shoulder's still causing me trouble), him indoors says his customary 'corsetier'. After 41 years of marriage, I realise this is the prelude to yet another joke. Corsetier? Yeah, he says, that's the driver's seat - you cor sit 'ere. Grr. The Intermarche supermarket is as busy as usual, with hordes of those dratted English tourists taking all my pasteurised milk. Him indoors has a tin of peas in his hand. What? I say, stupidly. Yeah, you said you wanted some canapes! Give me strength. At last, our chariot is full of food and we head for the caisse checkout. From previous experience, I know to watch out for the French in the queue, who love to leave their trolleys to go on sporadic trips around the shop to look for forgotten items, leaving us fuming behind them. Also, I have learned to unload the trolley from behind, not from the front. Otherwise, the French customer behind you has a curious habit of stacking her produce on the belt before you've finished, pushing your available belt-space to about 3 cm! At last we've finished unloading and insert our debit card. (The French don't have debit cards because the bank charges too much, so take ages to write cheques and produce id). Whilst waiting, him indoors whispers that he knows why there are no hold-ups in France. Why? exasperated. Because money in French is not la monnaie, which merely means coins. So, demanding la monnaie with menaces from the cashier is only likely to produce a handful of change! Vive la difference.