French Paradox!

I was waiting at a bus stop on Drumcondra Road last Sunday, finishing an early chapter of a Parker novel, when a man walked up to me and announced that he was French.

"Fair play to ye," I said.

"Sank you," he replied.

Then he apologised to me for speaking too much English. Which meant he didn't speak very much at all.

So I accepted his apology and sanked him back.

Then he pointed to a sign outside a B&B next to the stop which had No Vacancies written on it and shrugged his shoulders like a Frenchman. Only then did I notice his luggage. A narrative formed pretty quickly in my mind loosely based on the words ... bagages ... Irlande ... beret and croissant.

"It is yes, no? Or no, yes?" he asked.

I thought about it for forty five seconds and replied.

"Yes it's no. Yes. Non vacances, oui. Oui. Non." 

His look became odd.

An empty Hunkydorys crisp bag passed in silence and without incident through the gap between our faces.

Then he leaned down to grip the handle of his bagages and sanked me encore.

I stuck my left arm (and Parker) out into the road and sanked him encore squared and with knobs on - but not nearly with as many knobs or squares as I used to sank the driver of the bus whose front doors were opening for me just then.

(Moral of story: improve both conversational French ... and/or English)

French perajox!