As you know we always keep ourselves busy with the strangest events and the most colonial pastimes.
As March approaches so does the annual International Boules tournament in which I took part last year with a few other Italian friends and to which we intend to participate again this year with a slightly modified team; still strictly Made in Italy. Following the disgraceful 2009 performance against the professional French (they come with measuring tape and all while we get merry between one boule and the other) we have unanimously decided that this year we are going to attempt some practice runs before the start of the event. Training is a suitable pretence to keep up another of our favourite colonial diversions such as sipping Pimm’s at dusk in this beautifully favourable winter climate.
Without realising it I have ended up with the title of captain of the team which apparently leaves me in charge of coordinating the games with the other teams and organizing the pre-tournament training. I try to make myself useful.
I know that the Intercontinental Muscat has a number of Boules fields (or whatever they are called) as that is where the tournament takes place every year. Today armed with very little faith I called the hotel in an attempt to reserve one of the pitches:
It all starts with a call to a common entry point for every hotel establishment: the front desk.
FD: OK ma'm; I'll transfer you to the food and beverage department
ME: no, no, not food and beverage I am talking about BOULES, the playing facility you have outside; in your grounds... (I am still hopeful)
FD: OK ma'm I'll transfer you to the beach fun club
ME: (I think) wow that sounds promising. I’m impressed.
BFC: (after I explain what I am after) ok ma'm I'll transfer you to the control tower
ME: "control tower'? (WTF now they are sending me to the airport! … never mind)
…
Control T: OK ma'm I'll transfer you to ... (I’ve lost interest)
Some guy: boules pitch ma'am, no I don't understand: football field? basket ball?
ME: No no, boules, the french game!
The guy: No ma'm that's khalas. No more. it was only for the French.
ME: No more? What do you mean? You removed the pitches? There were a few and there is a new tournament coming up, what happened to the fields?
The guy: no ma'am that was just for that period. When they finished playing the French TOOK THEM AWAY.
ME: ???? (WTF) How? What do you mean? They took the pitches away? (I try to imagine the French with shovels and pickaxe dismantling the grounds of the Intercon). They are sand pits!! (to myself: surely they haven’t destroyed the pits to rebuild them again for this year’s tournament or have they? This hopeless man obviously hasn’t got a clue what facility of the hotel he works for I am talking about! I'll have to go there!).
The call has gone exactly as I expected, nonetheless I am in defibrillation!!
3 comments:
Grande Capitana!
Hehehe..."only for the French", "they took them away" :-)
It would have been even funnier if you tried referring to it as a bouledrome as the frenchies in my folks village do..
ah a bouledrome! That's why they didn't understand me.... silly me ;-)
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