What’s In A Name?

September 27, 2011 § Leave a comment

Paris.

Finally arrived with 2 rather heavy suitcases and numerous bags at my rented flat. ‘Where are the others?’ my rather jovial host asked at which point I gestured to the suitcases ‘in there..’ and watch him stagger down a small flight of stairs with the heaviest.

Mr Host had been waiting for me for quite some time at a neighbours. A few glasses or more I’d say but anyway he showed me around his very nice place before deciding that he needed coffee. Oh and some general chit-chat. And some more. And then how to switch things on. How to switch things off. On again. And open this cupboard… anyway, you get the picture. What can I say? People have the urge to tell me everything about themselves within 5 minutes. One very new friend once questioned why he was telling me the story he was as it showed him in a very unfavourable light…. I’d known him for about half an hour.

Forgive me Cozette for I have sinned…

Yes yes. Absolved. Hail Mary and all that.

Anyway, mein host (what’s the French for that… and do Germans say My Host in thick English accents?) kept getting stuck on my name. Stuck in the way that it was making him grin from ear to ear. Now, people who have read my posts before KNOW that I’m used to some French people finding my name highly amusing (Jean-Baptiste Mondino please stand up) well, what’s not to find funny but this was different, like a private joke, a rather sweet private joke that pops into your head and makes you giggle in spite of yourself….

After a few more instructions including showing me that the loo seat goes up and down… actually I was quite impressed to find a man who knew that one… he finally said his fair-wells.

Sometime later I fancied a cuppa and, while the kettle boiled glanced around: no mugs, tiny coffee cups, old mustard, sticky jars of herbs… the general kitchen accessories of a rental not a home and then, just by the window the sweet private joke revealed itself:

What’s the betting she gets talked ‘at’ to?

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