Despite the sudden fall in temperature and the unwelcome arrival of the winter winds and snow flurries, my social diary has been packed with dinner invitations. Having got used to being the odd one out at the table, the single one, it’s wonderful to be part of a couple again. And since I live in a tiny rural village in South-West France and my beau happens to be a local, invariably such get-togethers with friends means conversing in French. According to mes amis my ‘Southern’ accent is praiseworthy and I am beginning to get all the words out in the right order. Most of the time. As the English language is a sort of descended mix of French and German, there are a lot of words that are the same but just spoken slightly differently by adding an accent on the end. Then there are those which mean something entirely different in the mother tongue but somehow sound charming in translation. Take for example, “manifestation”. Translated into English, it means a protest or demonstration which never fails to pop images of ghostly creatures complaining into my head. Then there is the phrase, ” je voudrais vous présenter ma famille” which means “I would like to introduce you to my family” but brings to mind a sort of Downton-esq idea of being presented at court whilst wearing a glittering ball gown and tiara. Of course, this can sometimes lead to hilarity when you try and explain a word in English that just doesn’t sound right when you say the French equivalent. Lionel was in fits of giggles when I told him to ‘duck’ as Denis wielded a wooden plank above his head. “Canard!” he replied and everyone looked up.
Over dinner the other evening chez Denis, that is to say at his house, I was ‘presented’ to his daughter’s boyfriend’s parents and sister (read it slowly and hope it makes sense). I had already been told by Marina, Denis’ daughter, that the family spoke a little English and once the greetings were over (“enchanté’s all round – it’s nice that people are enchanted to meet you), I was asked which language I preferred to have a conversation in. I chose French as these sorts of occasions are great learning environments and the chat flowed. It was at some point just after we sat down that the boyfriend’s sister mentioned that she had had English lessons at school and decided to continue whatever topic we had been discussing in sentences mixed between the two tongues. Felice spoke passionately about politics, the Meghan and Harry saga and anything else that she had a point about, with the F-word dropped in for good measure. “Good Lord” I thought, “where in the world did her English teacher come from?”
Putting the world to rights with friends is one thing but once again I have had to give Sherman a good talking to. The boy got out again, this time right in front of me as I was trying to shore up the remaining gaps under the fence. I retrieved him from the same bit of road a few minutes later, delighted with himself for finding a very nice lady dog who had a very nice smelling derrière. Lionel, Denis and I have come up with a solution but until Lionel is next here, Denis is still on rest, the dogs have to have me as a minder – that is to say they can’t just whizz around outside unattended. Luckily none of them, including the escapee, particularly like the freezing cold so want to come back in after half an hour or so. I don’t relish the thought of being out there any longer than necessary at the moment.
Simon and Alba, brother and his wife, arrived on Friday to spend a week down here whilst their apartment in Narbonne is being renovated. It’s a relief to have a few extra hands around so that we can start clearing the other top bedroom which is currently being used as a storeroom. Nick and Roy have constructed built in floor to ceiling cupboards so that all the bed linen, duvets, spare coats and all that stuff can be put away. And tomorrow Nick and I will begin transforming the old utility room into another living space with, yes you guessed right, more storage cupboards. I know L’Horte was a huge house but it’s mind-boggling to try and figure out how we’ve ended up with so many bed sheets and spare electric bulbs. I’m looking forward to the challenge as not only will I be learning new skills, it’s an inside job. I shall endeavour to be the best apprentice for you Nick darling and keep my language clean. Perhaps we should put up the boxing bag first?…
“The most intimate temper of a people, its deepest soul, is above all in its language” (Jules Michelet)
Widow plus woofs 