I lost my temper in French for the first time on Friday 9 May. I only mention the specific day bacause the French love to name streets after dates special in French history, hence Rue de 14 Juille, etc. Avenue de 9 Mai is likely to be seen soon. Read on... (Oh, and BTW, I've had to use one creative spelling to get past the Off Exploring auto-censor, the wimp!)

Liz and I had been going well on a long days' cruise, part of our planned schedule to get us close to Agde so she could catch a train to Nimes for her flight to the UK on the 23rd. Unfortunately, all the locks we came to were set against us, so each time we had to wait mid-stream for them to empty and for the gates to open and let us in. It was getting frustrating, because being able to cruise into a lock with the water at your level is a breeze. And quick.

So it was hugely frustrating to have been overtaken by a boat about the same size as ours only to find when we caught up with them at the next lock that they'd gone in and decided to close the gates against us, when they knew full well we were in sight behind them. Lock etiquette dictates that if you have another boat behind you, you wait for them and let them share the lock with you. It saves the following boat time and, perhaps more importantly, helps conserve water on the canal.

But these people seemed to be in a hurry and to have thrown their etiquette overboard. So, having been forced to tie up at a pontoon and wait over twenty minutes for the lock cycle to be in our favour again, I strode up to the lock and asked the man in question if he was French. He said he was, at which point I ranted (with much arm-waving) about there being plenty of room in the lock for two boats but that he had chosen to keep the lock to himself. He tried to tell me something about being new to boating and I told him to learn, and fumed off. His wife hurled something at me, but since I didn't feel it land I assume it must have been abuse.

I was shaking with anger when I got back to our boat, though with some chagrin wondered whether my tirade in French hadn't actually sounded something like the British undercover gendarme in the TV series 'Allo 'Allo: "Fast of all, you are p'issing by us on the canal, going at spode. Then you enter the lick and close the goats just as we arrive. Monsieur, you are very road! My woof is very upset and so am I! You 'ave no idea how to soil a bat!"

However it came out I must have put the fear of God in them because they sped away once their gates were open and we never caught sight of them again (thinkfully)... until after we'd done our last lock of the long day. It was just after 7pm, closing time for the lock system, and we were aiming to moor on a pontoon beside the next lock, as we would then be first through the following morning. But we were disheartened to find that the errant new boatie and his woof had alady moored there, so we greenbanked a kilometre or more back, out of sight.

So twice they had thwarted us. I was fuming, again. I was shaking. There were waves in my wineglass.

Next morning we were a bit late leaving, about 0920, so we hoped that the soilers would have already gone through the lock as we didn't look forward to sharing with them now, even if they offered. However, having slept on it I was feeling a wee bit contrite, so in case we did meet up with them I rehearesed an apology in French.

And yes, b***** it, as we cruised around the bend to the lock, there they were, sitting on their top deck having breakfast. They didn't seem to be in a hurry, so we activated the pole mid-stream to begin the lock cycle and I dropped Liz off on the bank so she could go and get ready to catch ropes beside the lock. I saw her stop and talk to the errant French couple, though I couldn't hear what she was saying, but the man didn't seem too angry.

With the lock gates now open I began to cruise past them and as I did they both gave me a cheery bonjour, at which point I did my grovel in French and told them that I was sorry and that yesterdayI had been The Devil but today I was very calm. They laughed and the man said they were sorry too for not knowing about the etiquette and that they'd only been boating for three days. I felt a bit sick.

On the other hand, they were probably laughing a) in relief because I wasn't holding an axe and foaming at the mouth, and b) because my apology probably came out sounding like, "I apple juice for my behaviour yestoady, but I was like Satin himself, hoover toady I am very clam."

I asked if they wanted to share the lock with us but they said they were waiting for friends, so we went ahead. When I caught up with Liz she said she'd stopped and told them that I sometimes had a temper, but she said the man seemed quite embarrassed that they'd broken a major rule of canal boating and seemed genuinely contrite.

As was I. But at least I know I can yell in French, up to a pint.