While I was on my Marks and Spencer big knicker hunting trip to London, Darling D organised a small party...
for 55 people.
Her Dad was persauded to take dog and camping car to a sandy beach for the night, in order that the party goers would not feel too inhibited.
They weren't inhibited at all.
My peace of mind was disturbed on holiday by a bizarre and brief message.
The gendarmes had been called out in the small hours because someone had been rearranging garden furniture in the village down the hill and disturbing the righteous slumber of somebody called Odile.
On my return, I found that the police had visited the next day, after Mysweet H had returned, and said it was possible that one of the villagers might make an official complaint. Mysweet H and Darling D tried to head this one off at the pass by writing a grovelling letter offering to pay for any damage. They bravely set off into the village to place this in everyone's letter box (20 houses or so).
Those that they met seemed to think it was funny rather than anything else, saying that their doorbells had been rung, but no harm done, and yes they had been known to party themselves at that age...
Later that day, a red faced man, known locally as someone who is very fond of a drink, staggered up the hill, to complain at length, in person.
His doorbell had been rung...late.
Someone had moved his ladder.
His 10 chickens had gone.
His neighbour, the elderly Odile, had been horrified to open her door after the bell had rung and find a frightening plastic flower with little flashing lights stuck in the pot outside her door.
Dad and daughter withstood the ten minute diatribe.
When the man with the red face appeared to have run down, Mysweet asked what damage he had sustained.
"Well, the ladder is still there... and the chickens came back, they know where their food is. But it was the disturbance and the worry, he said. You must give me MONEY."
He got an apology and a ranting opportunity, and that will have to do.
Darling D is trying to track down the culprits so they can go and apologise to Odile and give her some real flowers.
21 hours ago
21 comments:
I love the flashing flowers! That's too funny.
Love it! :D
By the bye, I hope you'll accept the award I made for you and some other blogs as a token of thanks for many hours of amusement =]
You'll find it at: http://sadoerotique.blogspot.com/
Alcohol was involved...
Ha ha, the neighbors should be thanking your Darling for some diversion from the same old routine!
dingo, that flower must have been really frightening.
sado, I am relieved to discover that you are a student from belgium and not the owner of a massage parlour
zhoen, I fear that it was...
amy,the little village at the bottom of our hill is renowned for its hard drinking, so there is an element of pot, kettle and black going on...
I expect there are some people living in the inner cities who would be delighted to be menaced with a plastic flower, everything is relative, isnt it?
I would definitely want some money if opened the door to a flashing flower! It was probably a real red letter day for poor old Odile!
daisy, mr red face , on hearing the idea that odile would be offered an apology and flowers shouted "what good is that to her! she needs money too!"
She could at least deduct the cost of the plastic flower from her damages claim for disruption of a nights sleep. Do you think this means that france is adopting the american culture of litigation?
Hmm, perhaps you shouldn't have ever mentioned money, that was opeining the door to some good old fashioned finger-rubbing French peasant greed. Are there any bottles left over from the party, you could offer Mr Tranche-Rouge one of those in lieu of damages, probably what he'd spend it on anyway.
lucy, there were a lot of bottles left over from the party, and I keep finding more in the garden...but they are all empty...
I would be thrilled with a flashing plastic flower.
I love the French. They actually make mountains out of mole hills and can talk about it forever.
mike...I'm sure we can arrange a flasher for you...
Suzie, our neighbours are not French...they are Breton. It is like calling someone English when they come from Wales (and a tribalism which is hard to understand for those of us, like me, with very mixed origins and from a big city) I would quite like an off-the-shelf identity, come to think of it! It is hard work deciding who you are when you are the offspring of an Irish Catholic and an atheist jew...
Sounds like this party will be remembered for years!
Hexe, Darling d's parties are famous amongst her peers. She has only had three of them in the last few years, but they have all been memorable...
I blame the parents...
just wait a few years Dick. They are small now, but your turn will come...you will be doing the equivalent of plastic flower apologising
You have to laugh!!
Hope you found some knickers!
Odile should thank her lucky stars it was only a plastic plant. In Scotland, my mates used to leave people a pile of dog poo wrapped in burning newspaper. Eeuuurgh!
Casdok, I did laugh and, what is more important, the knicker mission was successful...
tartetartan...eeeurgh indeed. Plastic flowers seem innocent by comparison!
Odile should have grabbed those flashing flowers. It would have given guests a lot to laugh about!!
meggie, we must find out what happened to the thing...I dont see it when I drive past her house...
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