The egged face

My previous post, Q&A , was over-complex and over-serious. Does what follows compensate?

● Introducing my youngest brother to rock-climbing I was solo-ing a climb I'd done before, rock broke away, I fell into a gully and had to be rescued. My brother never subsequently climbed.

● As a tyro reporter I interviewed a young woman and became infatuated. In the article I misspelt her name.

● My motorbike licence entitled me to drive a tiny three-wheeler car. Without any instruction or experience I bought such a car, drove it home and could only bring it to a halt by crashing it (mildly) into my mother's washing-line post.

● A Frenchman serving behind a bar way up in the Massif Central maintained I had mis-pronounced the word "rugby" so un-Frenchly he had no idea what I was talking about.

● At school, aged 11, I showed off in an essay by including several obscure words. My hand-writing was (and is) appalling and the master asked me to identify one word. "Intri-gewed," I said confidently.

● In the USA I was inveigled into a game of volley-ball not knowing the rules. Within a minute I consecutively hit the ball three times. In disgust another player (who didn't think much of foreigners anyway) immediately walked off saying he didn't play "pointless" games.

● My son-in-law, lunching in France, asked me about an "andouillette" (a sausage composed of sweepings from the butcher's floor) listed on the menu. Jocularly I said it was only for adults. He took this as a challenge, ordered one, ate a small slice and pushed it to the side of his plate. I teased him for being a child and he asked me to try it. It had, I think, putrefied.