As I have mentioned before, there are many similarities between the UK and France. One of these is the Cold Caller. These are the annoying twats who call you on the off chance that you might want to something and yet presume that you are too lazy to have already gone and bought it.

I can’t see the point myself. If I suddenly decide one day that the house needs double glazing, or could do with converting to gas, I’ll go and find out about it. I won’t wait for someone to ring me up at 7 o’clock in the evening to ask me.

Whatever, mum and dad Smiley have done a good job and brought me up to be a polite person. So in the UK (on the occasions I am there) I am usually cold but polite in my dismissal of these people. I do sometimes say ‘wait while I turn the cooker down’ and then go back to whatever I was doing, leaving them waiting until they decide to hang up on their own. But generally it’s a firm ‘No Thanks’

In France though it’s a different story. I can’t think of anyone in France who has our home phone number who doesn’t speak English. Most of the companies who might need to ring me have my mobile number and use that. So when the phone rings at 6 o’clock at night, and it’s someone who can’t speak English, I know it’s either a wrong number or some twat trying to sell me something.

So having established that they don’t or wont speak English, I indulge myself in a few choice phrases of quite unrepeatable Anglo-Saxon. This usually includes some succinct advice on where they can stick their phone. Or maybe I might call their some observations about their parentage and sexual preferences might be in order. I am sure you get the drift!

Childish? – Yes
Immature? – Undoubtedly
Puerile? – Indisputably
Does it put a smile on my face? – EVERY SINGLE TIME!:DD