That feels better

This morning I pulled onto a road entering our neighbouring village, Crespian. In the far distance was an old Peugeot which eventually came screaming up behind me flashing its lights.

The car overtook me and pulled into the side of the road.

'Ah ha,' I said to myself, 'a driver who wants to discuss the merits of French driving. This should be fun.'

I pulled my car right alongside him (to stop him getting out and attacking me) and in my best Franglais asked him what his problem was. He was French and let out a stream of invective finishing by calling me a connard, at which point I knew that I'd won the argument.

Putting on my best 'look as if I was on day release from a lunatic asylum', I told him that he was wrong on three counts.

First it wasn't a Stop sign but Give-way, second this was a 50 Kph limit and that is exactly what I was doing and third, I wasn't French so I couldn't possibly be a connard.

The last bit did little to help Anglo French relations but the look on his face made me feel a whole lot better.