France's finest
About 10 years back I decided to go touring France on my bike with a friend. Armed with a les routiers guide from WH Smiths we headed down to a five star place south of Brest. "An exeptional traditional property with rustic charm and offering a taste of the real France. ***** Highly recommended". The restaurant was rated very highly and the place had en-suites and TV in every room to boot. Sorted.

It was obvious things weren't going according to plan when we passed a dirty brown sofa with a spring pushing through on the landing with an old black and white TV above it. That was the "TV lounge". The room was flea bitten, there was no running water and the bog had a huge lump of polystyrene in it with "Ferme" written on. If we weren't so wasted from 6 hours blasing through the French countryside in the rain that would have been it but we decided to dry out and try the restaurant.

Not speaking da lingo too well I ordered what I thought was something with toast from the menu. I looked at the other diners and watched as this guy cut a slice of brown shit from a plate offered by the waiter, licked the knife clean and put it back on the plate. "Messuer, eer eez your pig pate", he said, passing me the plate and knife.

Holding back the barf I pretended to need the toilet, or as it is known in France, the shit stained hole in the ground in the corner of the bathroom with marks where to squat.

Fortunately I was still clad in the bike gear and we high tailed it back to the ferry. My mate was shitting himself that the gendarmes would be waiting for us there as he hadn't paid for the meal or the room.

Bon apetite.
(Mong The Merciless Older not wiser, Thu 17 Jan 2008, 19:07, Reply)