Photo credit: Gabriel Meffre
6 years on living in France, and I finally feel that my French is reasonably good. Of course my accent will always remain a dead give away and I seem destined to endure the vaguely patronising title of “la petite canadienne”, but all in all je me débrouille pas trop mal.
And so, after years of being teased for my gaffes in French (apparently a salopette does not mean what I thought it did…), I can now retaliate. For although many Frenchies declare themselves to be bilingual on their CVs, the percentage that actually does speak and write intelligible English is relatively small. I am regularly confronted with winery technical sheets that enthusiastically describe the “profound colour”, “specific nose” and “generous matter” of Côtes du Rhônes and Gigondas. Or, my personal favourite, the ageing process of a Merlot being explained as “breeding in tank for 6 months”. And what better food pairing suggestion than “foul”?
I still chuckle when I think of an old marketing colleague proudly explaining to a client that we had just invested in a “brand new screwing machine” (a screw cap closure unit for our bottling line). My very polite and conservative client from Saskatchewan and I burst out laughing until tears streamed down our faces…and the more we laughed, the redder and more tight-lipped my poor colleaugue became.
But before I get too smug, I must admit that this immersion in franglais has taken an alarming toll on my English. I find myself saying things like “It would arrange me if you would pass by at 6” or that I am going to “profit from the nice weather to go for a walk”. Looks like the French might have the last laugh after all…