is trying to shoot people who are innocently walking across land that happens to be in their way,” I snap. I ask him in my basic French when his lord and master is due to come back.
“ Oh la la ,” he says shrugging his shoulders. I am stunned. They actually SAY that? I thought that was just a cliché, some sort of joke perpetuated by the French Tourist Board. He’ll be donning a beret and picking up a snail to munch on any second.
“ Je n’en sais rien ,” he says.
I guess that means ‘I don’t know and I don’t care’.
“Well, when he does come back, could you please ask him to call me or come and see me? I want to sort this out. Come along children,” I snap, wagging my finger in his general direction until I notice my nails are shamefully un-manicured. I put them away in case he decides to report me to the French style police.
At the school gates, the children’s new friends are already gathered.
“Mummy, this is Calypso,” says Charlotte dragging me running towards a thin and attractive woman with long dark hair. “Cloud’s mummy.”
For some reason I am reminded of being a child, with my mother trying to set me up with other children – something I always hated.
“How do you do?” says the woman, who is wearing a similar tie-dye outfit to the one I saw her daughter wearing earlier, only in yellow. I read somewhere that yellow is the most unflattering colour you can wear, but she seems to look good in it. Mind you, she is the kind of person who would look good wearing a bin-liner, or even a yellow tie-dyed dress.
“I’m Calypso Hampton.”
“Hello,” I say shaking her outstretched hand. “I’m Sophie.”
“Good to meet you, Sophie. Don’t look so nervous,” she laughs. “It’s not compulsory to be friends with me. I hate the idea that just because you come from the same country as someone you have to be friends, don’t you?”
I smile and agree and immediately want to be friends with her.
“How are you finding things?” she asks.
I can’t tell her the truth; it might put her off me for life. “I find the whole French language thing very difficult,” I say. “A few days ago in a café I asked for some butter and ended up with two beers.”
She laughs. “I once told Cloud’s teacher that Cloud had lice in her horses,” she said. “The difference between chevaux and cheveux is totally imperceptible to me. I mean, for us hair is hair and a horse is a horse. Much more sensible. I think they do it just to confuse us foreigners. Do you know that in France your class is obvious not so much by your accent but your command of the language? For example if you use a liaison between two words ending in vowels, you’re considered posh.”
I can’t even think of two French words ending in vowels, let alone a liaison – whatever that is. But I just nod and say “how interesting”. I don’t know how she sounds in French, but Calypso sounds very posh to me in English.
“Must dash,” she says. “Let’s arrange a play-date soon, the kids all seem to be getting on well. The little English mafia.”
I laugh and nod. “Yes, it’s lovely that they have made friends so quickly. I was a bit worried.”
“Oh don’t worry, it really is a lovely place to live, we’re all very friendly.” She waves and goes off.
I think to myself that there’s probably not much point in my making friends, or even arguing about walking on M. de Sard’s land, when we won’t be here for much longer. Although at the very least I would like the children to do one term in a French school, which will mean they are miles ahead when they go back to England.
England… Soon I will have to get used to the weather again, used to that relentless greyness, the drizzle, the children’s muddy feet. That’s one of the most incredible things about living here; there’s no mud. Mud has become a thing of the past; the wellies, which back home were out every day, haven’t even been unpacked.
On the
“ Oh la la ,” he says shrugging his shoulders. I am stunned. They actually SAY that? I thought that was just a cliché, some sort of joke perpetuated by the French Tourist Board. He’ll be donning a beret and picking up a snail to munch on any second.
“ Je n’en sais rien ,” he says.
I guess that means ‘I don’t know and I don’t care’.
“Well, when he does come back, could you please ask him to call me or come and see me? I want to sort this out. Come along children,” I snap, wagging my finger in his general direction until I notice my nails are shamefully un-manicured. I put them away in case he decides to report me to the French style police.
At the school gates, the children’s new friends are already gathered.
“Mummy, this is Calypso,” says Charlotte dragging me running towards a thin and attractive woman with long dark hair. “Cloud’s mummy.”
For some reason I am reminded of being a child, with my mother trying to set me up with other children – something I always hated.
“How do you do?” says the woman, who is wearing a similar tie-dye outfit to the one I saw her daughter wearing earlier, only in yellow. I read somewhere that yellow is the most unflattering colour you can wear, but she seems to look good in it. Mind you, she is the kind of person who would look good wearing a bin-liner, or even a yellow tie-dyed dress.
“I’m Calypso Hampton.”
“Hello,” I say shaking her outstretched hand. “I’m Sophie.”
“Good to meet you, Sophie. Don’t look so nervous,” she laughs. “It’s not compulsory to be friends with me. I hate the idea that just because you come from the same country as someone you have to be friends, don’t you?”
I smile and agree and immediately want to be friends with her.
“How are you finding things?” she asks.
I can’t tell her the truth; it might put her off me for life. “I find the whole French language thing very difficult,” I say. “A few days ago in a café I asked for some butter and ended up with two beers.”
She laughs. “I once told Cloud’s teacher that Cloud had lice in her horses,” she said. “The difference between chevaux and cheveux is totally imperceptible to me. I mean, for us hair is hair and a horse is a horse. Much more sensible. I think they do it just to confuse us foreigners. Do you know that in France your class is obvious not so much by your accent but your command of the language? For example if you use a liaison between two words ending in vowels, you’re considered posh.”
I can’t even think of two French words ending in vowels, let alone a liaison – whatever that is. But I just nod and say “how interesting”. I don’t know how she sounds in French, but Calypso sounds very posh to me in English.
“Must dash,” she says. “Let’s arrange a play-date soon, the kids all seem to be getting on well. The little English mafia.”
I laugh and nod. “Yes, it’s lovely that they have made friends so quickly. I was a bit worried.”
“Oh don’t worry, it really is a lovely place to live, we’re all very friendly.” She waves and goes off.
I think to myself that there’s probably not much point in my making friends, or even arguing about walking on M. de Sard’s land, when we won’t be here for much longer. Although at the very least I would like the children to do one term in a French school, which will mean they are miles ahead when they go back to England.
England… Soon I will have to get used to the weather again, used to that relentless greyness, the drizzle, the children’s muddy feet. That’s one of the most incredible things about living here; there’s no mud. Mud has become a thing of the past; the wellies, which back home were out every day, haven’t even been unpacked.
On the
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