Charlie wrote back!

Since Charlie's first letter I've had lots of e-mails asking where you can find his blog.  To tell you the truth, you know as much as I do.  I have asked him for the blog name, but he seems to avoid the question, for the moment all we can enjoy is another of his letters, this one arrived on my desk this morning....

   Oi Sharon, it’s me Charlie.  I’m back.  How  are yer?

  Just been on your blog to see me little gite in among all your  posh things and I was bit overcome.   How do you like the colour of  the roof?   Nice innit?  I chose the colour cos it makes it  look like we got real tiles up there and not tin.  Cor it don’t half make  a racket when it rains.

   My Gladys did the paint job and what a palaver that was.   I got the ladder out for her (bloke’s got to his bit)  and then she had a hell of a time getting up there.   What wiv 5  gallons of roofing paint and the slippery slope it wasn’t easy for the girl.    Quite worried I was.   One slip would have been €300 of paint down the drain.  Not to mention the damage to all them bedding  plants she put in.  She’d have pulled the bloomin' gutter down too.   Couldn’t stand the pressure.  Went in to put the kettle on and watch the footy

Last week some of me mates came down from London and we went fishing for the weekend.  Fishin’ in France ain’t like it is in Blighty; ever so serious they are.  No drinkin’ during the day and they have a proper lunch wiv wine an’ all.  We started on the beer mid morning cos the lads were getting’ a bit twitchy.   After a few beers they was getting’ noisy.   Makin’ jokes about frogs is not good for the old entente cordial you know.    Things like  “What do frogs drink?”  “Hot croako”    I says it’s all right for you blighters but I’ve got to live ‘ere with this lot so shut up!    Should have seen us.  What a  sight.    

  You got a lot of Yankee  Doodle Dandies reading your stuff ain’t ya.  Some good looking ladies  too.   Not that I’ve got a wanderin’ eye or anything but my Gladys  says she don’t mind me lookin’ at the menu so long as I eat me dinner at home.    She’s a good girl; didn’t moan about me fishing trip and told me  to have a good time.  Not like her at all.  Really taking care  of herself these days too.  She don’t go out in her slippers no more and  she’s getting her hair done regular.  Looking all right she is.  Must be the influence of her French mates.

Seeing those Yankee ladies reminds me of when I got loads of Americans in the back of me cab.   In the good old days when a dollar was a dollar.   They always wanted to take me photo at the wheel in front of Buck House or something.   Course I kept the meter running didn’t I?   Got to make an honest bob or two when you can.  One bloke from New York, nice he was,  rented me cab for a whole day and could he talk?  Didn’t get a word in edgeways.  When I got home Gladys said I had an American accent.

Meanwhile here in deepest France me parlay vooin’ is comin’ along a treat.   Teaching ‘em a few cocky expressions like  “farcissez ca pour une aluette”.  Get it?   Stuff that for a lark eh?   Obvious innit?   Nobody gets it round here though; must be the way I say it.   How about “confiture de trafic?”  No sense of humour this lot.

Anyway the big news is the Mayor has asked my Gladys if she will go on his Consul  Administrayshun.  Town Council to you and me.   He said they’ve got local elections comin’ up in a couple of years and he thinks Gladys will add an  “international dimension to his team.”    Whatever turns you on I  say.    But you know what?  I’ll be a great power behind the throne don’t you think?   The silent one me.  And, if Gladys can swing me a bar  license for the gite, it’s a hole in one.   

So I say go for  it girl.  

Are you a local politico?   Bet you’re a big  wheel in parlimong and keeping it under your hat right?.   Planning to  throw it on the blog when we don’t expect it right?

Anyway, got to dash  now.  Gladys wants me to take her into town for a new frock......................  I can feel another long weekend with me mates comin’ on.

Ta ta for now

Charlie

 Oh dear ...  I'm not sure how long Charlie and Gladys are going to last in their French village, wherever they are.  Sounds to me like Charlie is having the wool pulled over his eyes.  Still, I'm not going to get involved, let's just wait and see how they do.

Charlie - A new follower

 Now I've always thought that my lovely followers came in all shapes and sizes, but this week I got a  surprise.  It would seem that one of them doesn't quite fit the mould; he says his name is Charlie, and I gather that he and his wife have moved to France, and have been having some trouble fitting in!

I'm sure he won't mind if I share his letter with you!

Oi Sharon,


I’m a blogger and I’ve got me own guest cottage too.   Bought it when I sold the cab last year.   Not as posh as yours but it was cheap as chips.  Not much more than the price of the cab it was, and what with the cash from the maisonette in Essex we’re livin the life of Riley down here.  It needed a lick of paint but my Gladys is very handy round the house and she’s done a luvly job.   We speak the lingo too.  When me and the missus traded South End for the Costa del Sol I really got into parlez vooing.  The locals love it when you make an effort.  Always practised me lingo when I got Johnny foreigner in the cab   “‘Ere gov no passamos al sud de la riviere pour les French”   or   “voulez vous allez el routo touristico pour el aeropuerto?”      It’s a gift innit?  

Been making a few fowpars down here so I’m writing to thank you for all them tips you dish out. 


That bit on French kissing and the warning about the bin men sauvayed our jambon I can cha cha.   I’m not into snogging wiv the bin men you understand but, until I read your blog, I was a bit flummoxed on French kissing.  

When I was a lad it was a nudge nudge, wink wink sort of thing.  So, when we went to the village newcomers party I thought I’d show a bit of the bulldog spirit and I tried it on with the Mayor’s wife; thought it might help me get me bar license.  She wasn’t best pleased.  In fact she made a bit of a fuss. Funny that innit?

Thought the mayor was going to shut me gite down.  He wasn’t happy at all.   Thanks to my Gladys things got smoothed over and we’re still in business; she’s so good at that diplomacy thing.   Don’t know what the flippin’ heck she did but it worked.

So, thanks to you, I think I comprendy;  you just give a peck on the cheek right?   Nothing sloppy; just a peck.    

But you know what’s got me flummoxed now? Which blinking side do you start on?    And how many pecks on the cheek do you have to go through?   Round here it seems to average four at a time so, if there are a lot of folk at the party, it can take nearly an hour to say hello to everyone.   Valuable drinking time wasted I say.

Now then; about those bin men of yours.   How right you are on the naming and shaming bit. Blimey.  I don’t want to go into the details but when I was a cabby, being 12 hours a day at the wheel and all, a man needed comfortable underwear if you get my drift. So I had a lot of shorts as I think you posh ladies call 'em.  Now, being as I’m retired an’ all, my Gladys decided to chuck a load into the blue poobelle.   Guess what?  I gets up the other morning to find all me old Y-fronts strung out along the fence.  The shame of it.   But what do you do?   Where do you send old clothes. There ain’t no charity shops round ‘ere.  Should have taken them to that brocante sale in Giverny.

Anyways you’re a real sport helping us out like that so I’ve got a tip or two for you.

Them wine bottles you chuck out.   Going round the village at all hours dropping them off in ones and twos isn’t right for a woman of your position.   I can see you’ve got a posh set up and I bet you’re worth a bob or two but let me tell ya, there’s money to be saved by buying wine in plastic boxes.  Good stuff it is. Just as good as the bottled stuff.   Some of it will make your eyes water but nothing a packet of Rennies can’t fix and there’s no messing about going to the bottle bank.  And if you mix a bit of the red plonk wiv some sweet white you get quite a decent rosey. That’s what my Gladys likes anyway.  

So that’s it for now; I’m off to a town hall meeting.  It’s nice getting into the local politics; I always took an interest when I was a cabby.   It was Gladys idea really and she said it might help with me bar license. All toffed up she is.  Even wearing a bit of perfume, must be ‘cos she’s seeing the Mayor

By the way you can call me Charlie.  OK?   

Ta ta for now..............Charlie

What can I say, except that I am flattered that such a distinguished character takes the time to read my humble blog.  Maybe, if we're lucky, he'll write back again soon...