cNutgroist

And so to last night, a fancy bistro where you can't get in if you're acting drunk and disorderly. Unfortunately, once you're in the rules don't apply. So i'm sitting there with mi' gorrrrrrlfreynd (the irish accent is rubbing off at last) and 5 french friends. We're having a fine old time, talking shite and degustating everything we can afford. At the end of the night, after a commendable run of music on the bar stereo, someone obviously wants to get rid of us cos they put on Dido. One of my companions asks me who it is and I reply "Dido". He says "What, Dildo?". I say "No, Fido. Because she's a dog and her music smells of shit". That's the level of anglo-french humour we were dealing with. And we laugh heartily at our 'aren't we funny! not really, no!" conversation.
So the middle-aged lady that has been sitting behind us at the bar chatting to her middle-aged lady friend suddenly stops in the middle of her conversation, turns round and fixes us all a stare. Smiles wickedly (literally wickedly, i'm telling you) and starts picking imaginary hairs off the back of one of my friend's collars. He's unaware of this but his girlfriend sure isnt. I ask her very politely what she's found on his neck...

No Response

Did you find something interesting?

Still No Response
You see my friend there? You're picking the back of his neck and we're all wondering what it is you've found.

She grabs my face with both hands, grins lovingly, manically into it, squeezing it like im a cute little baby and goes "What's on the back of his neck? Nothing. What you just said was all lies and bullshit. You're trying too hard. Here you are with French people and you're English, you shouldn't have to speak french to 'em. We don't want the North. That's a British problem. English people can have 'em all. Down South we don't want anything to do with 'em. They're all yours. Take 'em. Look at you! Aren't you lovely? Oh i'm sorry but you are

And she finally let's go of my face. I ask her what on earth she means, still politely because i'm not feeling threatened and i don't want to belittle her. I just think she needs to be made to realise, for herself, that she's drunk and mad and wrong. So i tell her I'm not going to talk about 'The North' (for other 'English people' [who are apparently indistinguishable from British - Birdman i wish i'd had you with me then], she means Northern Ireland, not the cold misty place full of coal and pies the M1 takes you to) because I don't know anything about it (my standard response, or it would be if anyone had ever brought it up but the truth within her mad statement is that most people in the Republic really don't care too much for what happens up there and don't care to bring it up with British citizens), I tell her that I'm speaking, or trying to speak, french because everyone is TALKING IN FRENCH and i'm not going to force them all to speak my language just cos im shit at theirs. I also ask her what exactly it was that I said that was all 'lies and bullshit' so I could have a chance to defend myself.

I'm wrong. ok? i'm WRONG.

Wrong about what? Maybe you are, maybe you're not. What exactly?

Everything. Everything. I'm wrong about it all

This is a shame because I didn't want her to get so contrite and i can see she's approaching melancholy. Besides, i'd hoped to slag off Dido some more. I'd hoped to say that she wasn't wrong andnor was I since it was all a matter of taste. I think Dido is perfectly formulaic, soulless and flimsy music designed more for aspirational, empty lives and cynically marketed thusly. You think it's really great music that speaks to you. That's all.

But instead she asked me what I thought, no, no, no, honestly thought, of Ireland....

to be cont.
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