La Defense (de cracher?)
"Excuser moi-ce train est bon pour La Defense?" asked Huttonian anxiously having got hopelessly lost in Gare du Nord where le sport national is to confuse all Anglo Saxons by )(a) hiding the ticket offices for le RER and b) hiding le RER itself. And then ensuring that to get to "B Direction Robinson"" involves a very long walk to an ill directed Quai not made easy by dragging a woobly wheeled suitcase up and down non functioning escalators.
The recipient of my enquiry having looked me up and down supercilliously and then waited until the doors had closed behind me thus ensuring I was likely to be trapped on the wrong train put down his paper (too late I noticed it was the Times) spoke at last
"Actually Old Boy. It is!
And then I had to do this on the French Blogspot