Feeding The French

We have a dinner party organized for tomorrow night. It’s probably the first sit-down occasion when we’ll have a few French people present and it’s giving J and myself nightmares. We’ve met these people a few times before when our friend Helen has held soirees at her apartment in Nice, so they’re not strangers. But still – this could be a social disaster. It could all be on Facebook on Monday, or worse, on the local forum or even worse than that there could be French sniggers as we walk into the local bar next week!

The problem is what to serve for dinner. And more important than that, do we have canapés to start? And if we have canapés would it be ok for me to serve pickled onions and cheese and onion crisps with them? What about slices of chorizo? No, no – nothing spicy you idiot. And do I get good champagne or just the normal stuff? I haven’t slept for a week since J told me about hosting this dinner party.

When J and I were discussing it (sorry – when J was telling me that IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN), I wanted to cancel the whole thing or just have a Barbie and make it easy on ourselves, but J had her own ideas. She wanted me to make Crêpes Suzettes but that would be culinary suicide despite the fact that I think I make a pretty mean pancake or crêpe. If I did make pancakes would it be ok to serve them with warmed up Nutella chocolate sauce or would I have to make the proper orange, lemon and liqueur sauce and set the house on fire as I tried to flambé them in a pan with cheap, Greek brandy? If I had a deep fat fryer (I’ve asked for one for Xmas), I could have surprised them, and surprised isn’t an exaggeration I suppose, with deep fried Mars bars! I suppose they would call them Mars bars en-croute.

As for the main course (you’ll have noticed we’re going backwards here), I suggested we do a rib of beef on the BBQ because, as it’ll be a warm night we’ll be eating outside on the terrace and there’s nothing like a barbie to make everybody feel relaxed. But the French will want their beef red raw, whilst I like mine to be well cooked and that’s not really possible with a single joint on the Barbie, so that idea was knocked on the head. Something I’d like to do to my wife for having the social irresponsibility of inviting Frenchies in the first place.

What about the starter? Will I try my mean French Onion Soup on them or should we stick to slices of Scottish sausage wrapped in puff pastry? What about the easy option of smoked salmon but then they’ll want to know if it’s French salmon, farmed or Canadian. Oh my god !

And then there’s the wine. I drink plonk but I do try to take a reasonable bottle when I go visiting (about €2.50) but the first thing the French will do is look at the label and it’s at that point that things could go downhill if I’m not careful and there’s absolutely no chance I’ll use my wine boxes – sacre blue! Maybe I should just pour some plonk from my wine box into a decanter – nobody would question that would they? Everybody would think it was real good stuff but then they’d look for the tell-tale signs of sediment at the bottom of the decanter which you always get when it’s a really good wine. Of course ! I could put some cigarette ash at the bottom of the decanter – that would fool them.

What to do? What to do ? We’ll let you know how it goes. Wish us luck.

Cars In France

I’d love to have a new car. I love the smell of the leather, the knowledge that you’re protected from any faults for three years and the fact that each time you get a new car there are all sorts of new gizmos to play with. Sat Nav, climate control, cruise control etc etc (shows you how long it's been since I had a new car). But there’s no chance of me getting another new car in France (I’ve had two), because within a week, some adolescent idiot will have scraped his/her keys down both sides causing thousands of euros in damage. This has happened to me twice and to several people I know. I swear, if ever I caught somebody doing that to my car, I’d be in prison for the rest of my life – nuff said!

So why cars today (I always feel I need to justify my blogs)? It’s a couple of things but mainly a story my brother told me the other night. And before I continue, I haven't gone off my trolley - read on.

My brother must have one of the best jobs in the world. He drives around Scotland, visiting all sorts of beautiful places, stopping for lunch beside a loch, below a mountain or in a bay overlooking the sea. But last week as he was driving past an old landmark not far outside Glasgow (Jackie Stewart’s father’s garage), he spotted a flame-red Ferrari parked under a tree.

As is the norm in Glasgow, a heavy shower had sprung up, almost out of nowhere, and this guy who had an open-topped Ferrari, had stopped under a tree to get shelter. Despite the fact that he most probably had a hard top stored in his boot, the rain was so heavy that all he could do was to sit in his car with an umbrella up. Robert thought it was the funniest thing he’d seen in a very long time.

Back to France. The other thing which happens in France is that your car can be wrecked in the car park of a supermarket. Doors caved in, bumpers smashed, wing mirrors removed etc etc and that’s just you popping in to get a litre of milk. They just don’t care. Parked cars are there to let French drivers know when they need to reverse., or to go forward. Parked cars are a legitimate ‘bumper zone’ to let the Frenchies know when they’ve reached the limit of their turning zone. It’s accepted. It’s just a French thing. They’re stupid and they don’t care.

So …… my tow bar fitted to the back of my Jeep is my greatest weapon. I just reverse now and when I hit something, I know I need to go forward a bit. Not nice I know but sod them.

It reminds me of a situation quite a few years ago when my son, Stephen, and I went off to Calais on a ‘booze cruise’. We’d filled the supermarket trolley to overflowing with crates of beer and boxes of wine. The car park was on a hill and as we reached our car I said to Stephen to keep hold of the trolley otherwise it would roll off down the hill.

Of course, you can all guess what happened – Stephen was distracted by a sixty year old French woman in hot pants and let the trolley go. It was almost like slow motion as the fully-laden trolley ran downhill, straight into the bumper of another car. Being the honest, decent citizen I am, I put my business card on the windscreen, simply saying I’d seen what happened and for the owner to contact me.

We got back home and within a couple of days a really obnoxious, bolshy woman was on the phone demanding to know what had happened to her car. She was so obnoxious that I decided not to admit liability and said that all I’d seen was the car which had caused the damage. She demanded to know the registration plate so I made up a series of numbers on the spur of the moment. And then she said ……… that’s ok I’ll be able to trace him cause I’m in Scotland Yard’s stolen car crime squad ! Aaaaaagh !

Sir Bobby Robson R.I.P.

There’s been hundreds of tributes to Sir Bobby Robson who died on the 31^st July, the best of which was Sky Sports. I don’t intend to do another tribute here to a football man who was as passionate as any person can get about football, suffice to say he was a giant, leading teams to huge success in England, Portugal, Holland and Spain. Despite the fact that English football managers are some of the most successful in European football, none of them have come anywhere near his achievements with different teams in different countries.

However, on a lighter note and as a legacy, he’s left us with some hilarious quotes, most of which were probably gathered in the immediate aftermath of a football match when most managers cannot string two words together. Here they are:

”The first ninety minutes of a football match are the most important.”

"We didn’t underestimate them, but they were a lot better than we thought”

"I’m not going to look beyond the semi-final, but I would love to lead Newcastle out at the final."

"He’s very fast and if he gets a yard ahead of himself nobody will catch him."

“Ray Wilkins' day will come one night.”

"I would have given my right arm to be a pianist."

“I'd say he's the best in Europe, if you put me on the fence.”

"There will be a game where somebody scores more than Brazil and that might be the game they lose."

"He never fails to hit the target, but that was a miss."

“Some of the goals were good, some of the goals were sceptical.”

Sir Bobby to Bryan Robson: "Good morning, Bobby."
Bryan: "You’re Bobby, I’m Bryan!"

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An Abomination in Mayfair

The current American Embassy in Grosvenor Square in London’s Mayfair district is an abomination. In a district of wonderful Victorian and Edwardian buildings, the huge concrete monstrosity is an eyesore of the greatest magnitude. How it ever got planning permission is beyond me.

And now the Americans are putting in planning permission for a huge new embassy across the Thames to be situated between Chelsea and Vauxhall Bridges. They feel that the security problems inherent in Grosvenor Square means they have to move but the new proposal has run into problems – ha ha !

The newish mayor, good old manic Boris Johnson, who was actually born in New York, has told the Americans to stuff it unless they come up with the goods. And what are the ‘goods’?

Well the Americans have not paid a penny in congestion charges since the scheme started saying their ‘diplomats’ are exempt. They owe £3 million and good old Boris says they need to stump up the readies if they want to get their plans passed. He’s also demanding that they contribute a rather smallish £2.5 million towards the London Crossrail costs which is a bit rich cause I don’t think that line will go anywhere the new Embassy. The Yanks also want to construct the building with its ‘back’ to the river with a 15 ft earth embankment at the front to prevent car bombs.

All of this is troubling Boris (not a name you’d normally want to use to negotiate with the Americans) as he struggles to impose his will on the Yanks as they strive to get out of Mayfair.

However, nobody seems to have mentioned the real reason that the Americans want to move across the river. If constructed, it’ll be not too far from Britain’s MI5 spy centre and no doubt the old US listening devices will be pointed at Millbank House hoping to hear a few snippets of ‘offensive counterintelligence’. If they did listen in, hopefully they’d hear the national outrage over the case of Gary McKinnon, an Asperger Syndrome sufferer who hacked into the Pentagon looking for details of UFOs and alien contact. The Americans want to extradite him and McKinnon’s lawyers are fighting this. If extradited, we all know what will happen – he’ll get some ridiculous sentence. Maybe 20 years for an offence which would maybe get a large fine in the UK.

Anyway – I back Boris. I love Americans but just sometimes they get a little too big for their boots.

Anyone For Cricket ?

A nice little interlude before the football season starts. Yup – the Ashes is on TV and for those not of a cricket persuasion, the Ashes is a biennial contest between Australia and England over five (test) matches. It’s being played in England this year and we’re at test number 3, the first being drawn and the second, a thorough drubbing for the ‘Foster Drinkers’. The third match is going to be all-important. If England win, they cannot lose the series, although if the 5 match series remains drawn, the Aussies will retain the trophy, a small terracotta urn containing the ashes of a reputed bit of cricket equipment, a bail or a stump – nobody knows.

Why am I, a Scotsman, so keen on cricket? I’m not really. I like the test matches (the internationals) and the limited over games but I don’t watch the county games otherwise I’d be watching it on the telly 6 days a week, if not 7!

I like the major games because it’s a fascinating study in strategy. Five days of backs against the wall or, on some occasions, all out attack. Or, depending on the game, it can be both. And I particularly like how a team can be really on top and then a bowler comes on and changes the whole state of play. It’s strange to think that batsmen, even the best batsmen in the world, need to be ‘at the crease’ (batting) for maybe an hour to have a real impact on the game and yet a bowler can change the whole perspective within a ten minute spell.

I love the fact that despite fierce on-field rivalries, when a bowler whizzes one past a batsman’s helmet, there is invariably an smirk exchanged between the two adversaries – not something you would get in football. And when an innings finishes, the team on top usually claps off its best performer. All very civilized.

And then there are the statistics. Bowling and batting averages. Strike rates. Best innings for their career and this series and all series against the team they’re playing. Being a ‘numbers person’, I love all this stuff. Yup, OK, I’m a bit nerdy that way.

But alas. Just as the third test was about to begin, the Midlands heavens opened and turned Edgebaston into a lake. They spent all morning mopping up to try and make the ground playable and just as they were about to start, 6 hours late, the electricity was cut off – all these bloody Frenchies turning their air conditioning on I bet! Grrrrr!