Lost in Translation

It always happens. I’m talking to someone French at a party or in town and they say, ‘How long have you been here?’ What they actually mean is, ‘Your French is so bad I can’t believe that you’ve lived in France for 10 years.’

It’s not my fault. I’ve had French lessons at school. I’ve had private French lessons in BT in London and they even paid for me to have private lessons in France when I wasn’t even supposed to be here but I just can’t get my head round it. I mean guys change flat tyres – no problem. Women can’t. Women can learn several languages – guys can’t. It’s just the way things are.

I ask the kids who are totally bilingual, to speak to me in French so I’ll learn but they absolutely refuse to do so. I demand that as a family we speak French at dinner twice a week but they refuse to do so. What am I to do? They say the best way to learn French (for a man) is to get a French mistress but then all I’d learn is, ‘Mon Dieu. Ah – c’est bon. Continuez. Encore ma Cherie’, and some other phrases, all of which I already know (don’t ask how).

And so my French education happens when I bump into my French neighbours or I’m out and about in town, but of course, despite being French, their politeness means that they never correct my appalling grammar and tenses. They just laugh!

It all came home to roost last week when I phoned to make an appointment for my quarterly haircut. I hate phoning French people - you don’t see their lips move (obviously) and cannot work out what they’re saying.

‘Bonjour Monsieur Patrice, je voudrais un rendezvous pour une coup sil-vous-plait.’ Basically, can I have an appointment for a haircut please. ‘Oui monsieur – trois heures?’, was the reply. 1 o’clock – no problem.

Now this is where things get tricky. I turned up at 1 o’clock and the place was distinctly closed. I looked at his ‘hours of business notice (horaires) and it said he didn’t open until 2pm. I went for lunch and saw the lights go on at 2pm and when I’d finished my café crème (which unusually wasn’t accompanied by the waiter asking sarcastically if I wanted a croissant with it – see later) I went over and threw Patrice’s door open and made it known that I wasn’t happy.

(I won’t do this bit in French) – ah Thomas – you are early – your appointment isn’t until 3pm – trois heures. Nope Patrice – you said 1 o’oclock - treize heures. No monsieur, I said trois heures. And there the problem lay.

The stupid French have virtually the same word for thirteen and three. Well at least when you put the word ‘heures’ after them.

So trying to put this down phonetically, 1 o’clock is thirteen hours which is ‘trez hours’, whereas 3pm is ‘trwaz hours’. Stupid, bloody French!

And the thing about the croissant with the coffee is classic French arrogance. The French never have milk in their coffee unless it’s breakfast when some of them have a small white coffee but they always have a croissant with it. So when the English order a white coffee at lunchtime, occasionally, and only when the waiter is a complete moron, they’ll ask if you want a croissant with it. I always look forward to that cause it means I don’t have to leave the pratt a tip !!