Oh... Ha ha ha... What a hilarious misunderstanding!

I decide to use my debating skills to counter the dangerous elf, much like Roberto used his debating skills in Lovely Paisely Print Shorts to successfully argue for the life of his love Esmerelda against the evil prosecutor Jim in a Turkmenistanian court. (Where the price of oil was not being discussed.)
Unfortunately, I was rather lacking in said skills. I failed my speeches every year at school, although my description of a cabbage in my final year was described by my teacher as "inadequate." Inadequate! I was rapt!
But, I tried anyway. For Mumsy. For Britain. For equal pay for women workers.

"What happens if I don't come any closer, but instead step further away?" I ask the elf, convinced this will confuse him.
"You'll be in the moat?" The elf counters brilliantly. He is right of course. I am standing on the edge of the moat.
Round one to him, then.
"Well what happens if I do this?" I ask, clicking my fingers, in the hope he'll explode, like a fridge.
The elf shrugs and replies in a stream of French.
Zut alors! (Round two to him also, it seems.)
I click again.
Elf returns to English. (Not to be confused with Alf, by the way, that strange teddy alien thing that was a star of a sitcom in the 90s.)
"So, is there any way I can have Mumsy back without some sort of violent altercation in which everyone gets hurt, and maybe someone even loses an eye?" I cry in forlorn hope. (Not to be confused with Hope, by the way, a small town on the outskirts of Richmond, that is in no way forlorn.)
"No! Now scram!" The elf growls, raising his finger a millimetre or twelve.
"I implore you to reconsider!" I beg, fearing for my life.
"Hmm.... Ok!" The elf answers, disappearing in a puff of purple smoke.

Round three, and match, to me!

p243624h : : n8y3thgpihg