Embarrassing moment (2)

The conversation got onto embarrassing moments in life; not minor red-faced incidents but the ones that are so bad that you’ve blanked them. Try this for size.

I was eighteen and had just left school. I had a girlfriend whose parents had a small chateau in Brittany near St Malo (her mother was French). It was not a great success as I was overflowing with joie de vivre and  testosterone and rather lacking in judgement and tact. You get the idea?

We had been to the beach on velocetes and returned to find a drinks party in full swing with the guests standing and sitting on the steps of the chateau that looked over the drive and a small lake. Cars were lined up on the drive. I was staying in a small flat above the garage which was uphill from the house. I parked my velocete next to a gleaming open-top Triumph Stag. Being eighteen and full of joie de vivre, testosterone and a recently acquired driving license, I got into the car and pretended that I was James Hunt - before going up to change for the party.

Wearing my tight loons, kipper tie and wide lapelled jacket (this was the 70s) I walked towards the party to find a scene of mayhem. Men were gesticulating (this was France) and women crying (as well they might) and everyone was surrounding and pointing at cars in various states of destruction…..including a gleaming Triumph Stag.

It took a few seconds for the awful truth to sink in. Waves of denial followed and…….I genuinely can’t remember what happened next. I know I fessed up (I had to) but how it played out has (thankfully) been blanked.

I don’t think I was asked again.

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