I really can't win. First, the computer's hard drive crashed. Then the car is morte de chez morte. Now, in the middle of a Gallo-Roman festival - where I could have taken pictures of sparsely-dressed gladiators and gaulois in battle - my faithful, always-by-my-side digital camera has malfunctioned.
My recent run of bad luck brings me to the expression avoir de la poisse. La poisse is pitch, as in the hot burning stuff that was poured from atop the many fortresses onto the invaders. Those who were at the front of the line had the misfortune to receive the poisse, and from there comes the saying still used today.
Coincidentally - or perhaps not, considering how much poisse I've run into in the past six weeks - some people speculate that my adopted home of Poix gets its name from la poisse. Globalement, I've been really happy in this petit bourg, this bled paumé in the middle of Picardy, where the people are warm and friendly. Thank goodness for les poyais, who have gone out of their way to help me in my recent time of need.
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