Parenting Tips By Crazy Bob -----Paris
Without Prejudice
I was married To Bob for twenty years. We both knew that we weren't suited but had four children, a business, that we ran together very well, so we plodded on.
I October of 1989, in what would be the last year of our marriage he decided we would go to my English cousin, David's, daughters wedding in Yorkshire. It was weird of Bob to think of us going as he hated The Poms and had no hesitation in saying so.
Strangely enough he fell in love with the UK, he couldn't get enough once we were there and we went to Wales and Scotland where we both nearly died at the hands of my slightly batty Scottish Aunt. I'll leave that story for another day.
Just before we were due to leave the UK, Bob decided we needed a mini break, a second honeymoon?? in France. Paris to be exact. Three days of shopping and sightseeing and falling back in love with each other.
I must admit I was gob smacked that he wanted to go but he was determined so that very day we went to the Travel Agents and booked our mini break.
Bob was so in love with the idea of all things British he suggested we have a double decker bus tour while we waited for our plane to Paris.
We had no sooner climbed the steps of the bus and parked ourselves on the seats than we heard a voice say,
:Bob Hancock"
We both turned around and in the seat behind us was a man that had a factory 3 doors down from our newly built factory in Dandenong.
What a fantastic coincidence we all thought and after the tour he and his wife took us to an old Pub for many beers. It was great to have other aussies we could talk to.
We left them and caught a train to Heathrow, eager to get to Paris and start our second honeymoon.
Bob was always full of these wonderful ideas.
He was exuberant and excited, I was a little more subdued. I knew his enthusiasms could turn dark very quickly. Very dark. I knew the marriage would end. I didn't want it to for many reasons but there was one over riding factor in our relationship. Bob was violent, extremely so.
I had left him too many times to count and would always have to return. 20 years of his behaviour had worn me down.
Bob had exchanged British Pounds for French Francs before we left. He kept a tight rein on the money, I usually had none of my own.
So after a very short trip across the British Channel we arrived at Orly airport, ready for our break.
The queue for passports were long and so Crazy decided he didn't want to wait with the rabble in the queue.
He after all was a big business man and had been travelling back and forth to the Phillipines for a couple of years with other business men. He was used to being "looked after" in the Phillipines. So being made to wait at another foreign airport was abhorrent to him.
I didn't care, I had been to Paris before with my parents as a child, queues were just an annoying part of life to me. I lined up and Bob held back. I saw that some young New Zealanders were filling out paperwork. I asked what it was for.
They said it was a visa form for entering France. At that time in history, The French weren't too keen on the New Zealanders as it had not been long since "The Rainbow Warrior" incident and they were requested to have a visa.
I wasn't worried, I was travelling on my British Passport. I was waved through without incident and saw that Bob was at the back of the queue.
I collected the one suitcase we had decided to share, inside were the tickets for our stay, and Bob had tucked the money in my bag for safekeeping.
I sat on the case facing the passport check and waited for my bad tempered husband to get through.
He was the last through. I could hear every word of the conversation as Bob was asked for his Visa along with his passport.
"What Visa?: Bob asked. You could hear the impatience and frustration in his voice.
"Visa", said the Customs Man and held out his hand to Bob.
"I don't have a fucking Visa" Bob replied.
Bob then absolutely lost it. I could see it was going to happen and winced.
"I've only been in your country five fucking minutes, and I fucking hate it already", said my hot headed husband, to the customs man.
Next thing two security men appeared from nowhere and put guns to Bob's head. Even then I could see him gesticulating wildly. They led him off and I sat there, not saying a word. I saw him in the distance throwing his arms up in the air.
They led him past the passport gate a few times and I could see his mouth moving but couldn't hear the words. His arms still flailing.
I sat and waited and after a while realised he wasn't coming back.
So there was I stranded on the other side of the gate, with the money and the tickets and everything ready for a 3 day stay in Paris.
Oh, I did make an attempt to get help. But all faces closed off to me with the same phrase.
"Sorry, No English"
So I thought, Fuck him, this was not the first incident with Bob and authority and his temper.
I caught the coach into Paris and found a great taxi driver who spoke perfect English. He took me straight to the pretty little boutique Hotel and I checked in.
I unpacked, rang the British Embassy but there was nothing they could do, it was 11pm at night.
So I thought,
"Ain't so bad"
I had the money and tickets for tours, my passport, all good. I thought to myself,
"Fine, I would have the mini break on my own stuff him."
I know that sounds really mean but I had got to the stage where I didn't care. Wherever we went there was always an incident. Him and his temper were just tedious and boring.
So I had a lovely hot shower, took a sleeping pill and went to bed. About 4am in the morning, the phone ringing woke me up. I thought it was the Embassy calling me back. Not a chance, it was Bob, God knows how he tracked me down.
"You have to come back", he said.
What", I replied, groggy with sleep.
"you have to comeback to the airport, they are deporting me on the first plane at 6am and I'm cold,I don't have a jumper. A chaplain has given me a sandwich, it's all I have had to eat"
I thought "tough!"
I dithered for a while weighing up his ire and my determination to ignore him.
Sadly I packed up my things and called the friendly cabby who had left me with his card.
There was no one at reception so I just left. The accomodation was pre paid, anyway and I slunk away like a thief in the night.
The journey to the airport was very quiet, the cabby could see my distress. The lights of Paris twinkled at me like hundreds of stars. I sighed, it was going to be long a long trip home.
When I finally found him, he was cornered off in a waiting room, the befuddled chaplain waiting with him.
Bob was livid, his recent experience subduing his temper not a bit. He ranted for a while and I escaped him by going to get us some coffees and more sandwiches.
So we were both deported the next morning, with a last warning to Bob that he could not return to France for years. He didn't say the words "I couldn't give a shit", but it was apparent in his bristling demeanour.
We arrived back in London and he went to exchange his money back and had lost heavily in the exchange.
After an irate phone call to the Travel Agent demanding his money back he was told in no uncertain terms that he was not entitled to. If he had entered France with me he would have been waved through, as I was his wife and travelling on a British Passport.
But the French at that time were also not happy with Aussies as we were protesting their Bomb testing that was too close to Australia. It was at the discretion of the airport authorities who they let in to the country and Bob had caused a massive scene for no other reason than that he didn't like to be kept waiting.
Apparently they also thought he might be a drug smuggler as he had a passport full of foreign country stamps. So no refund, lost money on the return exchange and no second honeymoon.
As we flew home to Australia over France, Bob vowed to never ever eat French Dressing, French Fries or anything else edible from France for years. I think somehow France's economy was not going to suffer much. But i just laughed at him, he was so very funny and didn't realise it.
But I loved him and respected him as my Husband, taking my vows very seriously, bore his children and now I think he is really happy at last, living on a farm, that would be his idea of heaven and having two boys after he was always disappointed in not having them.
And a wife that would do as she was told.
But for me, he was too much, too loud, too unhappy, too critical, probably better to find a person like me next time, quieter and more affectionate.
Love Janette
I was married To Bob for twenty years. We both knew that we weren't suited but had four children, a business, that we ran together very well, so we plodded on.
I October of 1989, in what would be the last year of our marriage he decided we would go to my English cousin, David's, daughters wedding in Yorkshire. It was weird of Bob to think of us going as he hated The Poms and had no hesitation in saying so.
Strangely enough he fell in love with the UK, he couldn't get enough once we were there and we went to Wales and Scotland where we both nearly died at the hands of my slightly batty Scottish Aunt. I'll leave that story for another day.
Just before we were due to leave the UK, Bob decided we needed a mini break, a second honeymoon?? in France. Paris to be exact. Three days of shopping and sightseeing and falling back in love with each other.
I must admit I was gob smacked that he wanted to go but he was determined so that very day we went to the Travel Agents and booked our mini break.
Bob was so in love with the idea of all things British he suggested we have a double decker bus tour while we waited for our plane to Paris.
We had no sooner climbed the steps of the bus and parked ourselves on the seats than we heard a voice say,
:Bob Hancock"
We both turned around and in the seat behind us was a man that had a factory 3 doors down from our newly built factory in Dandenong.
What a fantastic coincidence we all thought and after the tour he and his wife took us to an old Pub for many beers. It was great to have other aussies we could talk to.
We left them and caught a train to Heathrow, eager to get to Paris and start our second honeymoon.
Bob was always full of these wonderful ideas.
He was exuberant and excited, I was a little more subdued. I knew his enthusiasms could turn dark very quickly. Very dark. I knew the marriage would end. I didn't want it to for many reasons but there was one over riding factor in our relationship. Bob was violent, extremely so.
I had left him too many times to count and would always have to return. 20 years of his behaviour had worn me down.
Bob had exchanged British Pounds for French Francs before we left. He kept a tight rein on the money, I usually had none of my own.
So after a very short trip across the British Channel we arrived at Orly airport, ready for our break.
The queue for passports were long and so Crazy decided he didn't want to wait with the rabble in the queue.
He after all was a big business man and had been travelling back and forth to the Phillipines for a couple of years with other business men. He was used to being "looked after" in the Phillipines. So being made to wait at another foreign airport was abhorrent to him.
I didn't care, I had been to Paris before with my parents as a child, queues were just an annoying part of life to me. I lined up and Bob held back. I saw that some young New Zealanders were filling out paperwork. I asked what it was for.
They said it was a visa form for entering France. At that time in history, The French weren't too keen on the New Zealanders as it had not been long since "The Rainbow Warrior" incident and they were requested to have a visa.
I wasn't worried, I was travelling on my British Passport. I was waved through without incident and saw that Bob was at the back of the queue.
I collected the one suitcase we had decided to share, inside were the tickets for our stay, and Bob had tucked the money in my bag for safekeeping.
I sat on the case facing the passport check and waited for my bad tempered husband to get through.
He was the last through. I could hear every word of the conversation as Bob was asked for his Visa along with his passport.
"What Visa?: Bob asked. You could hear the impatience and frustration in his voice.
"Visa", said the Customs Man and held out his hand to Bob.
"I don't have a fucking Visa" Bob replied.
Bob then absolutely lost it. I could see it was going to happen and winced.
"I've only been in your country five fucking minutes, and I fucking hate it already", said my hot headed husband, to the customs man.
Next thing two security men appeared from nowhere and put guns to Bob's head. Even then I could see him gesticulating wildly. They led him off and I sat there, not saying a word. I saw him in the distance throwing his arms up in the air.
They led him past the passport gate a few times and I could see his mouth moving but couldn't hear the words. His arms still flailing.
I sat and waited and after a while realised he wasn't coming back.
So there was I stranded on the other side of the gate, with the money and the tickets and everything ready for a 3 day stay in Paris.
Oh, I did make an attempt to get help. But all faces closed off to me with the same phrase.
"Sorry, No English"
So I thought, Fuck him, this was not the first incident with Bob and authority and his temper.
I caught the coach into Paris and found a great taxi driver who spoke perfect English. He took me straight to the pretty little boutique Hotel and I checked in.
I unpacked, rang the British Embassy but there was nothing they could do, it was 11pm at night.
So I thought,
"Ain't so bad"
I had the money and tickets for tours, my passport, all good. I thought to myself,
"Fine, I would have the mini break on my own stuff him."
I know that sounds really mean but I had got to the stage where I didn't care. Wherever we went there was always an incident. Him and his temper were just tedious and boring.
So I had a lovely hot shower, took a sleeping pill and went to bed. About 4am in the morning, the phone ringing woke me up. I thought it was the Embassy calling me back. Not a chance, it was Bob, God knows how he tracked me down.
"You have to come back", he said.
What", I replied, groggy with sleep.
"you have to comeback to the airport, they are deporting me on the first plane at 6am and I'm cold,I don't have a jumper. A chaplain has given me a sandwich, it's all I have had to eat"
I thought "tough!"
I dithered for a while weighing up his ire and my determination to ignore him.
Sadly I packed up my things and called the friendly cabby who had left me with his card.
There was no one at reception so I just left. The accomodation was pre paid, anyway and I slunk away like a thief in the night.
The journey to the airport was very quiet, the cabby could see my distress. The lights of Paris twinkled at me like hundreds of stars. I sighed, it was going to be long a long trip home.
When I finally found him, he was cornered off in a waiting room, the befuddled chaplain waiting with him.
Bob was livid, his recent experience subduing his temper not a bit. He ranted for a while and I escaped him by going to get us some coffees and more sandwiches.
So we were both deported the next morning, with a last warning to Bob that he could not return to France for years. He didn't say the words "I couldn't give a shit", but it was apparent in his bristling demeanour.
We arrived back in London and he went to exchange his money back and had lost heavily in the exchange.
After an irate phone call to the Travel Agent demanding his money back he was told in no uncertain terms that he was not entitled to. If he had entered France with me he would have been waved through, as I was his wife and travelling on a British Passport.
But the French at that time were also not happy with Aussies as we were protesting their Bomb testing that was too close to Australia. It was at the discretion of the airport authorities who they let in to the country and Bob had caused a massive scene for no other reason than that he didn't like to be kept waiting.
Apparently they also thought he might be a drug smuggler as he had a passport full of foreign country stamps. So no refund, lost money on the return exchange and no second honeymoon.
As we flew home to Australia over France, Bob vowed to never ever eat French Dressing, French Fries or anything else edible from France for years. I think somehow France's economy was not going to suffer much. But i just laughed at him, he was so very funny and didn't realise it.
But I loved him and respected him as my Husband, taking my vows very seriously, bore his children and now I think he is really happy at last, living on a farm, that would be his idea of heaven and having two boys after he was always disappointed in not having them.
And a wife that would do as she was told.
But for me, he was too much, too loud, too unhappy, too critical, probably better to find a person like me next time, quieter and more affectionate.
Love Janette
