Lies and more lies

Whilst I was labouring under the weight of my home made cassoulet last night it was all kicking off amongst the Irish community in Carcassonne. I am slightly sad that I missed it from a voyeuristic point of view but really it's the last thing I would want to be involved with.

A quite blatant and obvious wide boy called Steve has been giving it large all year here. He gave the impression that he owned a lot of property and was a big wheeler dealer and could get things done. He tried to persuade Patrick and me to join him by investing.

It was blather - it was obviously blather - but inevitably some people were taken in by it and ended up defending him against the accusations - and now that the truth is out and it has been shown to be a complete tissue of lies and fabrication, the fallout has begun.

He claimed that he owned the four bedroom property with pool that he lived in - but he was in fact just looking after it for the owner, who was also his employer. He claimed that he was a builder extraordinaire with a property portfolio - all nonsense - he owns nothing and has no money and now has nowhere to live as his employer has cottoned onto what he has been up to.

As he backed himself further into a corner he referred to Cathy as his old and senile secretary and laid the blame at her door as his web of lies began to unravel. Cathy is neither old nor senile and has never been his secretary and naturally this rankled somewhat.

Last night it appears that Cathy confronted Steve and told him what she thought, tipped his pint over his head and then got thumped by him for her audacity. Way to go girl but that looks like it hurt a bit. Thankfully the damage isn't too serious.

All of which backs up a decision I made six months ago to distance myself from the pub/late night culture that was becoming ever more prevalent amongst a certain number of the expatriate community here.

A stomach filling cassoulet was definitely the better option - although I would have loved to have seen the baptism.