It is official. SWMBO might not believe it but I know you will concur…

You could never get bored in a motel. Last Saturday night’s TV footy was interrupted (that was OK as the Blues were losing anyway) when the local AA tow truck arrived to drop off a Frenchman who they had booked in as the guest could not speak English. His rental car was on the back of the truck being taken to their workshop.

The guest’s English was about as good as my French. I tried primitive sign language but he used his phone ‘ap’ far more effectively than my wild gestures. He typed in French and showed me the English translation. All good so far. He advised, according to his translator, that a taxi (?) would be collecting him on the next day – Sunday – to take him to Wellington… I assumed what he meant was that the rental car company would send another vehicle.

Of course nobody (except for tired motel operators) work on Sunday so he was still here waiting for his taxi on Monday morning.

Then we started a 2 hour long drama of phoning the rental car firm who claimed they had no knowledge of his plight and had no intention of replacing his cheap stuffed rental car. Then we phoned AA insurance to beg them to pay for an additional night and the cost of a replacement car? We were lucky to get approval for an extra night but he would have to pay for any other charges and try to recover them later. Then we contacted the Turangi Tourist information office who assured us that there would be a seat for him on the Wellington bus that would arrive at 11.25 am. Then we had to use his translator to make sure he (not TRM) would pay the $57.00

Then our wonderful housekeeping staff (Uru – she had taken over as TRM’s Interpreter by this stage as SWMBO’s patience was exhausted. Uru can probably speak French by now.) offered to drive him to the bus stop and Information office – almost 500m away. He offered, via his magic translator, that he would pay for the petrol. When we offered to pay, he suggested Uru might like to drive him to Wellington instead. Mind you, he was young and virile with lots of French charm.

Finally, as he departed he shook my hand vigorously (the real danger was that he might want to kiss me on both cheeks?) and showed me his last translation, to thank us profusely and his French translator advised that I was “adorable”. So that makes it official from now on…

How should we advise Toe-paw Council?

I wonder if Trip Advisor will promote my adorability star rating?