[John Whitworth]

Yes indeedy and oui mes braves, that is where I shall be for the next week. And, as is well known, the French have only just obtained the electric light, so I will be far from any computer. See youse all in a week, or une semaine as I believe they put it.

[R. S. Gwynn]

Ok, I'm taking over this forum. I think we should all write poems (16 lines max) imagining Whitworth in France.

[Janice D. Soderling]

I can't ! I'm laughing too hard at the thought of the poems that will appear here.

OK, just to get mine in here before Roger and Marion and those dudes put up an act too hard to follow.

***********
You will have a oui big mess, my brave John
if you start out insulting them this way.
They will not take it as a friendly come-on
The French do not know how those games to play.

Though they may be (and are) computer-challenged
they are bookoo well-read and know it all.
And if you don't believe me, you can ask them.
They have been knowing all since Adam's fall.

And they can cook. That's why you're going, no?
And they have wines and cheeses in each stall.
And each has taste and class, each has a bon mot
And if that's not enough, they know it all.

And if that's not enough, the native lingo
though nasal, is the second best on earth.
Just don't extol Anglaise or mutter bingo.
How can the French not salut M. Whitworth?

[R. S. Gwynn]

Flush with euros, Whitworth lands,
Like the Normans in reverse.
Frenchmen stand with open hands
Out to lighten Whitworth's purse.

Whitworth eyes some wine and bread
And stares wistfully at cheese
While exchange rates fill his head,
Mingling with the tasty breeze.

Whitworth tries to watch tv,
But the shows sound Frenchified.
Whitworth now observes that he
Soon will see his patience tried.

Whitworth's brought a book to read,
An historical romance.
Will the second Charles succeed?
All our ears are turned toward France.

[Marion Shore]

Monsieur Jean Wheetworth, bienvenue!
C'est a dire, we welcome you!
We know you'll find our French cuisine
nothing less than tres divine--
especialmente when compared
to your bloody English merde.
Ah! Les fish et les fromages!
Les meats, les salads, les potages!
Les escargots!--not for les wussies!
Go on! Try one! Don't be a pussie!
Dessert! Et puis, do not forget,
un cafe and une cigarette.
Alors! You wave la main and choke
et kvetchez you can't stand le smoke!
Then let us direct you, notre ami,
to le nearest Mickey D.

[Stephen Collington]

Marion,

It's overused and clichéd and so worn down that it's almost meaningless in most cases, but I have to say it here because here it's literally true:

LOL

Best laugh of the week.

Thank you!

Steve C.

p.s. Editing back. Janice, Sam, I was in such a hurry to respond to Marion that I didn't even scroll up to see the first post and so I missed yours. Much enjoyed as well. Janice, the repetition of "And if that's not enough, they know it all" at the end of S3 makes the poem. You might almost switch things around a bit so you can end on it. At any rate, saying it once is deliciously obnoxious. But it's the repeating it that's the killer.

Oh, and Marion are you deliberately throwing some Spanish in in L5? It looks like Manuel has crossed the channel from Faulty Towers for the summer or something. At any rate . . . "bloody merde"?!? Ooooouuuuch!

[Marion Shore]

Stephen,
J'adore le franglais! Couldn't resist.
Glad you enjoyed it.
Merci buckets,
Marion

[Janice D. Soderling]

I knew you would do something unbeatable, Marion, and I would be inhibited to even dip a toe in the waters after you have done your triple backflip from the high board.

As Steve says LOL, literally, I did.

[Gail White]

That green mist you see following you is my envy, John.

[R. S. Gwynn]

Plus! Plus !