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An American in Paris

Bugger, a bloody Afro-american friend has suggested we join him et al for drinks in Paris at the New Year. Nothing I would like more, in fact I would happily sell a couple of wisdom teeth to fund the trip, but the snake suggests I bring the present Mrs Englishman as well. Again there is nothing I would prefer to do than parade my child bride through the debauched quarters of the Montmartre before tucking into the joys of raw meat and perfect chips in the company of valued friends. So it isn't the suggestion that I free Mrs E from her domestic servitude for a long weekend that has raised my goat but that everywhere Mrs E goes there goes also the Englishettes.The Englishettes who have been suckered into believing that Disneyland Paris is a veritable paradise on earth. For five long years I have persuaded them that the continent is isolated due to the fog and the unfortunate death of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and we are unable to visit. So how can I tell them that we are leaving them in the arms of the babysitter whose house is made of gingerbread and candy while we escape to forbidden treasures. It won't work. The first whisper of the the name of Paris will cause ten thousand requests to be launched to join us and divert us to the charms of Mickey.

I don't like leaving the parish but I want to go, it is just the small people who infest my house... what to do? And I can picture Mrs E and I in Paris already...

Comments

2 trips - tell the young ladies that you HAVE to be away at New Year, and you know how sad they will be, but to make it up to them you will take them to Disney at half-term.

Alan Douglas

Tell them you are checking out the current conditions in Europe.

You are leaving them because you love them so much and wouldn't want them to be at any risk ...

You are taking Mrs E because you need back-up.

Hope they don't ask when you come back ...

(Oh what a tangled web ...)

Of course, with the likely exchange rate (sterling:euro) you'd be able to fund the trip out of the loose change in your pockets.

And (he suggested evilly), I'm sure that with four (yes, FOUR) youngins of our own (three + a hanger-on), we'd be able to organize a little temporary babysitting while the (so-called) grownups head out for a meal of raw eels, snails and van blong.

Or you could just send them off (or threaten to send them off) to boarding school before then. I hear that's quite popular among the English.

Also, while Mlle. Caron does indeed bear a passing resemblance to Mrs. E, Gene Kelly looks nothing like you. And in any event, I doubt that even he could dance like that wearing wellies and a ratty old Barbour.

It's simple. Don't tell them it's Paris. Tell them you're going to Brussels.

Any city who's trademark is a rude little lad piddling in a lily pond, is hardly going to appeal to a clutch of Englishettes. Plus there's the mayonaise on your chips thing.

... and don't forget to tell them you are going for the Brussels International Sprout Festival. Hell's teeth, I won't want to come with you either....

Will you suit the tight green trousers, Mr E? And you're not allowed to treat Mrs E like that until you perfect the double pirouette, it's tricky but if you keep your head up and remember to start the turn from between the shoulder blades you might be ok.

Will you suit the tight green trousers, Mr E? And you're not allowed to treat Mrs E like that until you perfect the double pirouette, it's tricky but if you keep your head up and remember to start the turn from between the shoulder blades you might be ok.

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