Mound Pleasant

We took the kids for the last forest walk of the Christmas holiday.
They gave out stink (as usual).
And they then loved it (as usual). 

This reminds me of my most enjoyable call while working as a Reservations Supervisor for American Airlines. 
This gentleman (I am not using the word lightly here) informed me that he demanded to be put through to the supervisor on duty because he could not understand the agent the switchboard lottery had put him through.
In fairness, Italian-English a la Francesco may sound different from BBC English, but is usually understandable.
He was obviously put off by my accent as well and was wondering whether he could escalate further than the Eric Cantona on duty. I put his mind to rest when I informed him that I was the most senior person on duty on the day.
I amended his reservation with due diligence, although his ticket was merely a business class ticket (we only reserved the royal treatment for F class ticket holders, usually investment bank morons or pharmaceutical conglomerate murderers) and asked the following:
'Where shall we mail the ticket to, Mr H**** (name begins like 'whore',  end sounds like 'ham') 
To which he replied 'The name is actchually Lord Whore-Ham, and the name of the prop-haty is Mount Pleasant'

I dutifully mailed his ticket to:
Lord H******
Mount Peasant 
******
Lancashire 

Typos are quite common with foreign labour...
Oh what a laugh... those were the days!