You know that feeling, when someone says something to you, an insult, or a smart-ass remark, and you have nothing to say - no witty comeback, no scathing remark, no nothing - and then, hours later, it comes to you, and you wish that you were double jointed so you could kick yourself right in the ass?
The French actually have a phrase for that - "esprit de l'escalier", or "Spirit of the Stairway", so named because the smart remark comes to you after you've left the party and started down the staircase.
This fact goes some way toward restoring my faith in the French.
Only a little way though. I mean, they can't even come up with a solid reason why they call us 'les rosbifs'.
Also, having three novels on the go - writing, not reading - is a silly idea. Because you have an idea, and haven't got a fucking clue which novel it works with.