Rummage: On French Husbandry

I've been writing this blog for over two years now during which time I have received an inordinant number of enquiries about the Frenchman. Not craft, not offspring, no fascinating offers of employment in far-flung and exotic locations, noooo. It's all about Matters Pertaining to the French Chap With Whom I Co-Habit. Bless him. So I thought I'd answer a few now whilst I am up to my elbows in work and have a conspicuous absence of current photos.

Where did you meet the Frenchman?

We met in a nightclub in Newtown in a completely plastered semi-enebriated state. So much so that I was afraid that I might not know him the next time we met so I arrived 30 minutes late feigning casual indifference in the hope that he would recognise me.

He took me to a moody little bistro with the strains of Tom Waits in the background. I was so nervous my opening conversational gambit involved the French rugby union team and the 1997 World Cup. A combination of words and ideas which had never before passed my lips, I can't remember if I was relieved or appalled when he looked blankly at me and said he didn't know anything about it. Magically, the conversation came into its own and somewhere along the track I looked up and discovered that the once-full restaurant was empty except for the waiting staff lounging in the corner polishing off a bottle of wine. And I looked down and he was holding my hand.

Does the Frenchman have an accent?

This would be like asking whether the Pope is a Catholic or if the Kennedy family are gun-shy. Lordhavemercy. In the first six months of our relationship the most well-used words would have to have been, 'pardon?,' and 'quoi?.' Things have improved over time but I am still floored by the occasional statement of complete impenetrability. Let me give you an example, a couple of months ago, the Frenchman announced he had to make a trip to Bunnings for an assortment of hardware items. An hour and a half later I get an excited phone call from him that he had a great pair of lobsters and was on his way home. Now any sensible person would have enquired further as to which aisle in Bunnings housed the seafood section. Not me, no, I spent 15 minutes searching cooking sites for lobster recipes before he came home waving a pair of loppers at me.

Is he a romantic?

The answer is yes and no. He will always have my favourite cup ready with a perfectly brewed green tea and each morning presents a crusty sourdough to rival any decent boulangerie but will go to pieces at the thought of buying a birthday present. I once received two pots of rhubarb jam and another of mango chutney for my birthday. Needless to say, this did not go down well.

Would you recommend a Frenchman as a life partner?

Yes. If one can get beyond the little foibles such as the ever-present hypochondria and the penchant for rude gestures out the window of a car being driven too quickly then a French bloke is your man. Go to it!