I am sitting at the lunch table with my group from work, and somehow the subject of English girls has come up in the conversation. "I think they're cute", I say. "Are you kidding?", answers X. (a male co-worker) in disbelief. "No.", I reply, "They [the English] have a lot of charm and style." Y. (another male co-worker, who is French) is also at the table, and he suggests, "Yes, but what about the French?" "Have you met the new English post-doc joining our collaboration?", I ask them, adding that, "Her name is Z." Suddenly we are all outdoors and Z. appears. She races across a street in a car or some other vehicle. The vehicle crashes into the glass of a shop window and she falls out of the car and lies on the sidewalk. Seeing this, I run down the street to help her. "I'm okay", she reassures me when I reach her side. Not believing this entirely, I examine her head to find it covered with fine shrapnel of glass. I wipe some blood from her forehead with my handkerchief, but she doesn't seem to be too badly injured.