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David Blaxill
The French

Bastogne Review
Nicey replies: Ahh I'm only familiar with the Auchan biscuit aisle at Boulogne. As soon as the tyres touch down in Calais I am filled with the urge to leave the place and head south, even if it is only for twenty minutes. We too like a spot of the old pic-nic when in France. There is also good sport to be had worrying the French by eating at times that are out of sync with them due to the hour time difference and being through a casual British approach to lunch time based on feeling peckish rather than some national time signal. Often as we have sat on a camp chair in some French lay by at quarter past two in the afternoon chewing on a bit of sauciseson whilst disembowelling an over ripe melon with spoon, we have received shocked glances from the occupants of a passing Renault or Citreon.

Once when camping in deepest darkest France we began about lunch at almost 1:30 and finished at around 3:00. One of the other French campers who we had gotten to know quite well came across to see if we were all right. He had been fretting that one of us had been taken ill, or that we had been involved in a road accident. He had to employ some very seldom used French expression that may have been "Vous mangez en decolarge?" or something like that. Despite two of our party being fluent French speakers and both having lived in France for at least a year each neither had heard this, which they best translated as "eating out of time". We were all quietly pleased with ourselves for creating such an air of tension just through shear applied Britishness.