The French sun having lightened my locks, I thought I was having my first ‘blonde’ moment last night when I was being very clumsy and talking even more rubbish than usual. In hindsight I realised I was just a bit pissed. Whatever- I blame France.
Every time I go to France I am think it’s wonderful, and it is, but by the time the holiday is over I’m happy to be going home.
I don’t want to be mean about the French, after all I know a French person and he is extremely nice and excessively lovely –Salut, Franck- but do they have to get so irritated because you haven’t become fluent in the language in preparation for a fortnight’s holiday?
I was trying but it seemed that my efforts to parlé were even more insulting than my husband’s shouting/pointing approach. I know we Brits aren’t renowned linguists, but it’s not our fault everyone speaks English. Well, it probably is, but at least English is easier than French.
That’s what a Dutch friend told me –Goedemorgan, Fred- and he should know because Dutch is impossible. Which is why Dutch people speak so many other languages, it’s in preference to their own.
Also, why do all the French waitresses have to be supermodels? You just don’t need to be reminded of an unachievable aesthetic ideal when you’re trying to have dinner. It almost put me off my fourth course.
And finally, French people please don’t stare, point and tut at me as I carry a screaming child out of the hypermarché (it was my child by the way). My friend from Yorkshire –Eyup, Penny- informed me that it’s a well-known fact French children are generally better behaved than English kids. They don’t have tantrums, at least not in public, presumably this being a trait that builds up until adulthood when it bursts out in grander arenas than the Hyper U, like international politics.
It is quite possible that I’m just very jealous of the French because they get to live in France. Booking my next holiday as we speak.