Tuesday, 27 January 2009

27.1.09 – Mud in your eye , All piss and no wind

One of the ministersBold of the French Government is planning to announce a state of National emergency due to the chaos and damage that the storms have caused in France. As if this were not enough to be going on with, Thursday will see a number of major unions on strike and on the streets to protest about, amongst other things, unemployment, retirement, etc. So, good luck to anyone arriving in France then. I think that the main demonstration in my area will take place in Pamiers.
As a by-product of my recent commencement of officially registering as a job seeker, an application for unemployment benefits continues to grind along. I received a 2 letters today from Pole-emploi dated 21.1.09 saying that there was no chance of me receiving anything due to some clause in Article 1. The second letter dated 22.1.09 says that the paperwork for my unemployment benefit has been forwarded to Paris?
In the UK, such letters would be signed by a human being, possibly on behalf of someone. My letters have the typewritten ”Le Directeur”. I get the feeling that I am just a number and that I will soon have gigantic inflatable spheres preventing me from escaping from the compound.
I have just finished listening to the end of Elizabeth George’s “What she did before he shot her”. It ended in an even bleaker way than I had anticipated. Considering it was written by an American who lives in America though, and that it was set in the London of the run down housing estates in the Kensington area, the dialogue and local colour was impressive though.
Yes but where does the relevance of the posts title lie?
Well, at Sunday’s choir practice, a lady at my table for lunch was telling me that her English teacher had been teaching her useful phrases. So now whenever she in a PUUB and about to drink, she raises her glass and says “Mud inyereye”. Being a perfectionist, I told her that if anyone ever used that expression, it would be “Here’s mud in your eye” and that I thought it was an old American expression, probably used by Humphrey Bogart.
I tried to tell her that if she ever found herself in a similar pub situation in Scotland, she should say Slandje! I did not complicate things by trying to spell it for her though. Sláinte!

Another phrase that she had learnt was "I am going for a woz". Again I had to correct her "I'm going for a waz". She seemed sceptical that I knew what it meant. So I translated for her benefit and for the others at the table. "Je vais pisser"

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