We went on a coach trip to Paris - that's Caddoc and Ada and me - we thought we could parler en français, but, eh bien! that was not to be. Peut être the natives, when talking, confused our sad, xenophobe ears as we floundered in incomprehension; their patois reduced us to tears!
So we sought out un thé dansant café where très jolie musique was played and dames et messieurs in tight trousers their pulsating rhumbas displayed.
I offered to partner Ms Ada; we abandoned all plans to converse, and took to the dance floor, gyrating, but events took a turn for the worse when, carried away with the rhythms, my elbow knocked off Caddoc’s hat. Then along came a frenetic français who trod on his chapeau - KERSPLAT!
At this point friend Cad really lost it. He rose, and emitting a roar, he grasped the jeune homme by his collar and frog-marched the Frog through the door. (*)
The café fell silent. The patrons first stared, then whispered and muttered till I (prudently) hid behind Ada, in case a clenched fist should whirl by.
Le garçon cried out "He deserves it!"
"Who, Caddoc?"
"Non! Gaston,” said Cad. “That chap I just dumped on le trottoir. He strutted like he’s Jaques-le-Lad!”
"Steady on!" cried someone in English, in time with the fiddle and bongo, which commenced with a popular chorus. You'd know it - "It Takes Three to Tango!"
(*) "La porte" would suit here, but it doesn't rhyme with "roar." Suggestions anyone?
With apologies to Tess and Salvador Dali for this spot of Magpie Madness!
