Montreal was great, more later when I'm back on a reasonable timezone. Suffice it to say the streets were cold (real cold) but the bars were hot. Which is kind of the point, n'est-ce pas?
Anyway, in the Air France lounge yesterday evening (and by the way congratulations to Air France who excelled themselves this trip by giving me a seat with a broken movie screen and a non-functioning reading light, in both directions, with nowhere to move to) I got chatting to an elderly Quebecoise lady who was telling me how she was desperate for the thaw to arrive.
"I just can't wait for the snow to go - we've got six feet of it in our back yard"
"Gosh, that's a lot of snow"
"And the thing is, my little pussy has been locked up since October"
"Oh, really? That must be uncomfortable" childish giggle, suppressed laughter.
"My Husband says that my pussy is making the house smell now"
"Gosh, that's terrible" mustn't laugh, mustn't laugh.
"Well, it's quite old, you know".
And so the chat (no pun intended, French fans) continued.
Admittedly she was old and English wasn't her first language, but as conversations go, this was pure gold.
And very, very 'Mrs Slocombe'.