@ShaunaTheSheep
I almost got into the wrong car after paying for petrol in France. I couldn’t understand why a stranger was sitting in my passenger seat. They were of course a French driver. DH and the DC were in hysterics.
Right car, but almost the wrong person breathalised at an armed police roadblock in the early hours of the morning, due to the steering wheel being on the wrong side
I drove to the South West of France for a friends wedding (not realising how far it actually was when looking at a small scale map)
But it meant that we had the convenience of an extra car, and got an extra mini break out of it. I had a Renault 5 at the time
I was a friend of the bride and stayed with one of her brothers in his city centre student flat.
After the wedding the evening was spent in a remote village restaurant, and we were the last to leave.
We had me, a British driver who only managed to get there by following the afternoon convoy, a city student who didn’t drive and had no idea where he was, a Parisienne wedding guest in the backseat who had no idea where she was, and the brides youngest brother who though French and familiar with wine had done what teenagers do when free alcohol is flowing, so was half collapsed in the back squeezing the Parisian in the corner.
We guessed the potential direction we may have arrived from and headed off for a mystery tour of some villages hoping for an informative road sign.
I stop - facing a collection of police vans and armed police having waved me to stop
The half dozing student resting his head on the left side passenger door window suddenly finds himself facing the police on the other side of the glass .... and winds the window down. Being in a French car in France the assumption is the person on the left is the one driving and plenty of fumes floating out the window a breathaliser arrived in his face..... ‘Non non non, c’est anglais ... la droit la droit !!!!’
With that panic over I’m then presented with an old fashioned breathalyzer bag, and my panic sets in - I’ve not been drinking, but there were toasts, and desperately trying to count and think of how many there were and how long ago.
With police at both windows, the two of us up front looking like rabbits in headlights, a semi conscious teen, our Parisian breaks the silence whilst I’m blowing and blowing to talk about a nice evening after a wedding etc
After what seemed like an age, we get a thumbs up and are waved away - we’re off as fast as possible without wheel spinning - and a few minutes later a teenagers slurred voice comes from the back - “Did anyone ask for directions?”
...... somehow we found a main road, a sign and could work out the way to town, some drop offs and a late lie in