I have spent the last four days in France, more specifically the region of France that is closest to the United Kingdom, and what I have seen is enough to convince me that after Brexit in March 2019, the French government should only issue visas to people from the United Kingdom if they can commit to learning ten simple words of fucking French.
Just to be clear, I am not talking about splitting the atom. I am not talking about redesigning the Large Hadron Collider. I am not even talking about trying to land a man on the Sun.
I am however talking about learning how to say ‘yes,’ ‘no’ and ‘ham sandwich.’
Shortly after arriving, I was in a café and witnessed a man walk up to the counter and ask for a ham and cheese sandwich by screaming the words ‘HAM AND CHEESE’ in English at the poor girl standing behind the counter.
After she turned away in absolute horror to grab his change, he even remarked to his friend that she had an ‘amazing arse.’
Here’s a pointer mate. The incredibly remote chances of her greasing your weasel would become just that slightly less bit remote if you made an effort to say ‘un sandwich au jambon et fromage s’il vous plait.’
You don’t even need to try the accent – you’d probably end up sounding like something out of Allo Allo anyway.
The following day, I witnessed a middle-aged man in a petrol station walk up to the counter to give his pump number and say ‘I dunno love. Twelve?’
Fortunately the lady behind the counter was able to figure it out, and when she said ‘votre ticket monsieur?’ while thrusting the receipt forward in case it was too much for his poor little brain he just said ‘no love you’re alright.’
French? That’s not even fucking English pal.
Brexit is about to provide our French friends with an amazing opportunity. Seeing that we are heading towards the ‘no deal’ Brexit that will turn the whole thing into an even bigger clusterfuck than we first imagined, the French government could well have the power to impose an entry visa for anyone in the United Kingdom who wants to pop over there for business or pleasure.
Forget about application forms and the like. Just stop everyone at the border and ask them to give ten words of French. Counting to ten would do if they were absolutely stuck.
Let’s face it. They’ve already grabbed the bull by the horns in Majorca by starting to beat the living shite out of anyone who turns up from abroad for a few sangrias in the sun.
It was probably all kicked off by some lobster-red Scouse bloke screaming ‘Oi Stavros’ at a local waiter before asking for a beer by simulating a real ale pump hand gesture that was hilariously inaccurate considering the draught dog’s piss that he was after.
Oh you want the bill do you? Well why are you scribbling on your palm with your index finger like that mummy at the start of In The Night Garden?
You’re after a full English are you? Have you ever considered taking a holiday in fucking England? Plenty of places offering it there. The odd carvery as well.