We've all been there. The perils of learning another language. There's the usual feminine and masculine mix ups. When you find yourself asking for a 'polla', (prick), instead of a 'pollo', (chicken). Oh how they laughed at the local butcher's! Then there was that delicate, dyslexic situation at the furniture store. Ordering a wardrobe with cojones (bollocks) instead of cajones (drawers) and the shop assistant walking around laughing, holding an imaginary big pair between his legs and laughing 'si, pero, cojones eh!!' Then there is the disconcerting, bewildering, cruel, 'how do you say..?' moments when so called friends tell you how something is said and it is not until ten years later when the wife of the mayor of Montpelier looks at you during dinner and says ' I think you might like to know that the man you are describing on the other side of the table has sideburns and not bugger grips'.