Last week when I wanted to write about my Godin I asked Madame Dwyer what sex it should be. Madame told me that this depended on what the word was describing so I went to the much used dictionary and discovered that (thank God for M. Godin’s dignity ) a stove was masculine, but , that were one to change M. Godin’s sex and call him La Poele he would suddenly become a frying pan.
Mind you I also discovered that if he remained a masculine noun he could easily become a cloth with which one would cover a coffin.
A versatile man is my M.Godin.

All this leads me to a piece in the local ambidextrious news sheet Blablablah about the pitfalls and pratfalls of French synonyms.
Take La Selle for instance, a saddle but also a stool, as in a crap not one you might use for milking.
This would tend to make you a little careful of its use.
It is also pronounced exactly the same as, but is a different sex from Le Sel; the salt- be careful what you might ask to sprinkle on the poached eggs.

Now as I have gone on and on about all month I observe my Novembers dry.

This is a very difficult concept for the French , mainly because they don’t hit the bottle that hard anyway.
I was at a party last week of Síle’s choir and my neighbour at table asked me would I like some wine.
I explained my position and further, in a desperate attempt to get him to understand I said that I did it for “Ma Foie “- my liver.
M. looked all solemn and didn’t pursue the discussion .
Then it struck me, I had got the sex wrong, the liver is masculine, I should have said Mon Foie , Ma Foi is- of course- my faith, my poor neighbour thought that he was saddled ( La Selle feminine of course) with a religious maniac for the night.
At this stage Madame intervened and explained all- and not for La premiere fois (f. time)