WHERE'S MY GUILLOTINE?

I've just returned from a most wonderful stay in Annecy, France. This event was part of the twinning between Cheltenham and Annecy and was an exchange between Annecy and Cheltenham bridge clubs. 

Our hosts had been over to stay with us last year and it was lovely to meet them again and be the recipients of their very generous hospitality. We English were a group of eleven.

There were bridge competitions of course, plus various excursions to see the sights both of the beautiful town of Annecy and also of the amazing Savoie region with its snow-capped mountains and stunning scenery.

Of course there were also numerous meals to enjoy and plenty of wine flowing freely. On these occasions, there were sometimes as many as ninety people present. We sang, we told stories, we made lots of new friends and had one hell of a good time.

I couldn't help feeling though, if the citizens of these two great countries could get on so well together, how come the politicians can't do the same?

Now, where did I leave my guillotine?

EXCUSE MY FRENCH

It may be possible that unlike me, you are not regular readers of the renowned diarist and historic Tweeter and blogger Samuel Pepys. If this is the case let me tell you that he was a naughty chap. Not only did he regularly fiddle with the maid when his wife was elsewhere, he also visited other ladies either because their husbands were out or because they were ladies of pleasure.

What is more, he wrote about it all in his diary which is how I come to know what he was up to. You might think that this was a little dangerous. What if his wife, whilst perhaps checking his pockets for loose change, happened upon said diaries and perused them?

Well our friend Samuel had a method for dealing with this possibility. He would write the naughty bits in French which his wife clearly didn't understand. An example should suffice.

"I by water to Westminster-hall and there did see Mrs. Lane, and de la, elle and I to a cabaret at the Cloche in the street du roy; and there, after some caresses, je l’ay foutee sous de la chaise deux times" the rough translation of 'je l'ay foutee' being 'had my wicked way with her - twice'.

Of course, the French were not our favourite continental neighbours since we were probably at war with them more often than not and this might explain why we used their language not only to conceal sexual transgressions as Pepys did but also for many other things which were dirty, rude or distasteful.

Toilets for instance were called 'garderobes' translating as 'guard your robes'. The word 'loo' had a similar origin having come from the cry of 'gardez l'eau' (look out for the water) as people jettisoned the contents of their chamber pots into the street below.

Well I for one, have always regarded French as the most beautiful language in the world. That being the case. I hereby apologise to our French amis for my ancestors' gross misuse of their words.

I also forgive them for calling us 'Rosbifs' (Roast Beefs), after all, they were only getting their own back for us calling them 'frogs'. But out of beef and frogs, I know which I prefer to see nestling next to the roast potatoes on my plate.