Killing time

Yep, it's killing time, so if anybody so much as looks at me sideways...

Actually, we're killing time before we head off to Luton airport to fly over to France for four days. This should prove interesting as the extent of my French is "oui", "Je mapelle Mark" (thankyou Miss Powell, our hot year seven French teacher) and humming the chorus to "Voulez Vous".

After our four days in France, we're flying over to Barcelona. Thankfully I'm fluent in Spanish (esta muoy bella senorita) so Pet's got nothing to worry about!

Speaking of Pet, there aren't many wives who would travel to another country and procede to tell the local constabulary how to do their job. But my wife would. And did.

We were in the laundromat yesterday afternoon, when this young girl came in and demanded her sweater. An argument ensued, with her shouting "You don't know who I ****ing am! You don't know who you're ****ing with! I'll kill you! I'll burn your shop down!" Our washing done, we put our smalls in the dryer and I took the rest back to hang out in our room. When I returned, both her boyfriend and the police had arrived, with the latter trying to sort it out. Apparently she came in regularly, and had been doing so for the last four months, over the same issue. The police instructed the laundormat guy to provide her with the sweater tomorrow (which is now today) and sent her and her boyfriend on their way. Pet, believing an injustice had been done to the shopkeeper by the girl being able to walk away feeling vindicated after being verbally abusive and threatening, strode up to the police and told them so. The cop explained that she was known to them, although not for any criminal matters, and that he didn't want to get confrontational with her in the shop with needles and bystanders around. If it had been a US tv cop show, a shootout would've ensued and I would've copped one in the shoulder: only a flesh wound, nothing to worry about, but man it would've impressed the girls.