My French teacher was fresh out of Teacher Training College and exemplified the curvaceous big bosomed come-hitherness that is every 15 year old boys ideal of feminine perfection. It was no bloody wonder none of us could manage French pronunciation, being incapable of saying anything other than a mumbled "dunno Miss" in her pneumatic presence.
I speak very, very poor French as a result of this educational handicap. This doesn't bother me unduly as I can't see much point in being able to speak fluent Froggy. It's not as though they still rule Indochina. If they did I could swan around Hanoi in a crumpled cream linen suit and seduce oriental beauties with my Baudelaire recitations. These days the Viet birds are more likely to invite me to partake in some 'boom boom' in one of their brothels, which isn't very glamorous at all and indicative of the verbal felicity which the Americans left in their bomb strewn wake.
I'm quite satisfied not to be able to speak French as the French clearly have no intention of learning to speak English. Each to their own I say.
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I don't know HOW you expect to order a bowl of poutine when you come to Canada.
You don't need to be able to speak French in order to bomb Quebec.
Screw Quebec. You won't need Froggy here in Upper Canada, which is full of displaced Scots, Irish, and members of the Orange Order.
Oohh, I just remembered something funny. Many, many moons ago, when I lived in Blighty, French farmers blockaded shipments of English lamb. (Who knows why. French farmers leap at any opportunity to man the barriers, as you well know.) Anyhoo, English farmers organized a protest march on the French embassy in London, and I was highly amused to see one doughty English farmer wielding a sign that read: IF YOU WON'T BUY OUR LAMB, WE WON'T BUY YOUR LETTERS. Lost on the Frogs, of course, but I thought it was funny.
I've made quite a nice living from speaking fluent Froggy, you know. And don't listen to MJ - nobody but those blasted canucks wants that nasty poutine anyway!
I speak excellent French - but no one understands a word of it - except in Manchester.
Tessa
I can't imagine Orangemen in Northern Canada. They must get frost bitten ears when they wear their bowler hats.
Peevish
French can't be much use when conversing with your illegal immigrant Mexican houseboy Juan.
Kaz
Wow do you say 'fook' in French?
It's the way they can't be arsed to learn how to pronounce the "th" sound, it always coming out as "ze". This is the greatest triumph of the English over all European countries - none of them can pronounce it. My Italian dad still hasn't got the hang of it after living in England for over 40 years.
My French teacher was Spanish, and quite mental. Whenever somebody got something wrong in class, she'd scream "I thamped you, my gaaal!" It worked, we all did pretty well, even though our French accents were heavily tinged with Salford and Basque.
Can't remember a fucking word of it these days. Then again, I don't really have to since I never intend visiting the place.
A Basque French teacher? The Basques are all mentalist bombers but they give good tapas.
I'm sure Mrs Royle would've been a bomber if she hadn't become a teacher. She'd have been an excellent terrorist.
Was she in the 'Royle Family'?
Ah but to net a classier bird who might shag you for free (and possibly a chap with a bit of sophistication), a little French never goes a-Miss.
Sorry that should have read ('and possibly LIKE a chap with a bit of sophistication')etc
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