“It’s still corporal punishment, see you in Strasbourg“. – Alan Partridge, Alan Partridge.
I ponced around Strasbourg Cathedral, still wearing my Stetson, still in Houston mode. It was the world’s tallest building from 1647 to 1874 , when it was surpassed by St. Nikolai’s Church, Hamburg. Today it’s the sixth. Eat my knowledge.
A shortish chap, non-descript, with an unbelievable look of shock and dismay in his eye approached. In French and pigeon English he muttered, motioning me to lift off my hat.
“I got ya chief,” I said, lifting my hat. The missus took ownership and planted it on hers, with a lady like tilt. Women can wear stetsons in cathedrals apparently, but men can’t.
I mean what kind of bollocks rule is that.
Later we had lunch at Umami. I asked what the waitress, who swooned between the desk and floor with cocksure insouciance, “What’s the catch of the day?”
Immediately I thought of a joke and laughed to myself, disturbingly. Anyone wanting to know the joke please inbox me, it’s not relevant or repeatable here.
For dinner we went to La Riviere. I asked the waiter who was of Asian descent, whom moved the crockery on the adjacent tables scientifically, like pin-less grenades on a chessboard, “Can I see the wine list please?”
“You’re looking at him,” he replied, reeling off a couple of recommendations for the soft shell tempura crab the missus and I ordered. Fucking balls on this guy, I loved it.