On the recommendation of possibly the best Normandy guide book ever published, we visited the little village of Carrouges. Sometimes AKA the Costswolds of Normandy. Which frankly does it an injustice.... it's much nicer than that. Plus it has a great castle. Since we were the only people there the little guide chap (who had a withered arm, interestingly) gave us the tour in English - and we asked questions of him in French. All went well until he couldn't figure out the word 'coincidence', which he used as part of a throw away sentence.... "And this, how you say? Chest? Yes, Chest. Like your bosom no? But, for storage of the sheets and towels at the feet of the bed. So. This chest, it comes from London. Very recently. It comes by... how you say..... er.... this is difficult for me, um.... sacre bleu.... I am so stupid, it comes to us by....'
'Courier?' asks Rolf,
'Telekenesis?' I suggest helpfully.
'No, by bon chance, good lick but no.... not luck'
Rolf - 'Accident?'
Me - 'Flatulence? Optician? DJ Spoony? Booby Bird?'
'No, Like a good accident. No matter, it doesn't matter, it is nothing'
Me - 'Door key? Chump change?'
Guide - 'Please, no. Think no more of it'
Me - 'Diddy Men? Jubilant flapjack?'
Guide - 'In the next room, please follow me.... there is some regency furniture of exquisite quality'
Me - 'Dingo? Special friend?'
I kept this up with occasional help from Rolf until the guide was very nearly in tears. Then we went outside and took photos of the house, the gardens,
And the couchon vert
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