Look Out, Look Out! There Are Guard Cats About!

Tags

animals, Cats, France, French, funny, Guard Cats, Humor, Humour, Learning, News

 

I was talking to a French bloke yesterday about cats.

We were at a friends and family get-together, eating and drinking, all the usual things, and I’d struck up a conversation with Bernard a pal of my beau-pere and, naturally, the conversation got around to cats.

I’d mentioned to him that my previous next-door neighbour had 25 cats. 25 indoor cats I should add.

I know this because after she moved out the owner of the property had to clean it up. I got talking to him because he’d spilled cement on my gazebo roof and came round to clean it up, which was nice of him.

’25 cats! Oh, the smell’ the owner had said to me, wafting his hand in front of his nose in case I didn’t understand what ’25 cats! Oh, the smell’ meant in French. But I did, so that was good. ‘The next person we rent the house out to’ he’d continued, with a determined look in his eye ‘No more than 3 cats!’

He was true to his word. Our new neighbour only has 3 cats. And one French bulldog.

And approximately 30 chickens (plus an undisclosed number of indoor chickens).

Back to Bernard and he told me that 25 cats was nothing.

‘There’s a lady in my village’ he said to me ‘Who has a 100 cats’ (He said ‘une centaine de chats’ and I don’t use that number very often in reference to cats, so I had to check with my partner that I’d understood 100 correctly. I had.) ‘I mean she doesn’t feed them all, and they come and go, and are pretty wild, but yes, 100 cats’. I thought to myself that those cats probably wouldn’t go hungry if she died, but I kept that thought to myself.

‘That’s nothing though’ he said to me and commenced to tell me a tale about a friend of his who lives in La Réunion, an overseas French department, east of Madagascar. This friend of his lives in a house surrounded by very high walls, with barbed wire at the top, and owns a team of guard cats.

Yes, you read that right – guard cats.

Bernard visited his friend earlier in the year and witnessed this phenomenon first-hand. There are, according to Bernard, 15 of them, and if you don’t ring a special bell when you enter the premises, or they don’t know you, they will attack en-masse.

‘They come at you all at once, and get their claws out and hiss’ Bernard added, while making a very bizarre expression to let me know what a cat with its claws out looked like, in case I hadn’t understood him. But I had understood him, so that was good, plus I got a free cat impersonation thrown in.

He then explained that these cats will then remain in attack-mode until they receive the stand-down word from either of their owners. Or they kill whatever has disturbed them, whichever comes first.

‘I’d never seen a team of guard-cats until then’ Bernard said to me.

‘I’d never heard of guard-cats until just now’ I replied, still trying to picture what 15 cats all attacking at once would look like, and trying to get the ‘Thundercats‘ theme tune out of my head.

 

So let me know, have you heard of guard cats?

 

 

 

A Terribly Optimistic Experiment In Crap Songs…

Tags

Advertising, Corona Virus, entertainment, funny, Humor, Learning, Life, Music, Youtube

 

I sometimes listen to crap songs late at night on YouTube.

I have, over the past couple of months, begun to draw a correlation between the amount of ads I am forced to view and the level of the Corona virus. As an example of this a few weeks ago – when the virus was arguably at its peak –  I could go through almost the entire back-catalogue of Steps, and be forced to watch just one 5 second ad.

Ditto for Genesis.

Last night I’d only listened to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up, Scatman (ski-ba-bop-ba-dop-bop) by Scatman John, and the masterpiece that is Blue by Eiffel 65, and I’d already endured a 15 second promo for a rapper I’d never heard of, and been encouraged to buy an Apple watch that cost more than my first car.

However it was when Flat Beat by Mr Oizo was interrupted mid-song that I knew we may be turning a corner, and that things seemed to be back to normal.

I am currently testing this hypothesis by playing Barbie Girl by Aqua, on a ten hour loop and monitoring the ad breaks and I will report back with my findings from this at a later date.

My Current French Language Level Is…

Tags

Corona Virus, France, French, funny, Humor, Language, Learning, Life, Lock Down

 

I had a lovely little spontaneous French conversation this morning, the kind that reassures you that you’re making progress. I was taking advantage of lock-down and painting the front of my house when a passerby said hello. I said hello back and he asked me what I was doing. I told him I was painting the front of my house, as I had the time and we didn’t like the previous colour. He said it looked beautiful and wished me well. I thanked him and bid him a good day. Then he carried on down the road, hand in hand with his dad.

 

Yes alright, he was five years old – but it still counts!

One, Deux, Three, Quatre…

Tags

English, France, French, funny, Humour, kids, Language, Learning, Parenting

Just had a lovely little Franglais moment with my son while helping him with his maths homework.

Me: ‘What’s eight times nine?’

 

Him: ‘Seventy-twelve…’

Me: (laughing)

Him: (laughing) ‘No, I meant because it’s soixante-douze’

I knew exactly what he meant when he said seventy-twelve: his English brain and his French brain had a fight and merged their answers together.

Sometimes it’s the little things that make you smile.

Understand Can’t My Boss I…

Tags

Culture, English, France, French, Humour, Language, Learning, Life, Relationships

 

My boss talks through his top lip.

This adds an extra delicious layer of difficulty to my daily struggle with the French language.

A normal everyday exchange goes a little something like this:

Me: ‘Nice weather today’

Him: ‘Plap plap, plappety plap plap sunny plap plap, plap plappety plap January plap plap plip plap plip brown. Plap, plap plap banana!’

I can’t complain too much about this, as he’s just trying to be nice and make conversation, but I really run into problems when I need to check with him when I am and aren’t working. I’ve managed to get it to the point – after verifying with my other colleagues, and checking the rota – where the response should be a simple yes.

This doesn’t change anything though.

Me: ‘So I finish at 12.30pm today?’

Him: ‘Plip plip plap, plappety plap plap, plap plap 12.30pm, plap plap small plap plap plip, plap candles PLAP! Plip plap, plop plap plip trousers plap plip plap brown plap plap plappety plop banana. Plap plap plap?’

(looks at his assistant to verify something, she looks at me, she talks mainly in vowels)

Her: ‘Oaui, oaui oaui, ooooooooa? 12.30pm, oaui oaui eh? Ooooaui ooooo, oaui. oaui oaui oaui, banana ‘

Me: (nodding head, waving hand like Obi-Wan Kenobi) ‘So I finish at 12.30pm, yes?’

Him:‘Plip plip plap, plappety plap plap, plap plap 12.30pm. Plip? Plap? Plop? Plappety plap plap, fish fingers? 12.30pm, banana plip plap plap‘

Her: ‘12.30pm, oaui oaui, ooooooooa’

Me: (backing away, nodding head) ‘Okay, 12.30pm. I’ll finish then’

Due to these exchanges so far I have turned up twice when I shouldn’t have done. Thankfully the plaps and plips are getting less and less as my ears adjust.

There’s been no improvement when I talk to my father-in-law though, as he also talks though his top lip. Except his top lip has a moustache.

Me: ‘How’s it going Andre?’

Him: ‘Mwaf, mwaf, mwaf mwaf cold mwaf mwaf mwaf mwaf mwaf, mwaf mwaf mwaf?’

Me: (smiling, nodding vaguely) ‘Great, yes’

 

 

A French Winter’s Tale…

Tags

animals, christmas, France, French, funny, Humour, Language, Learning, Life

 

I was back teaching my group of French retirees English last night. As it was our first class following the Christmas holidays I asked them to write a short piece about what they did during the festive season. Then – to make it more interesting – I mixed up the sheets, so that each person would end up with somebody else’s work. They then read out the piece they had been given, with the aim of the ‘game’ being for everyone to guess who had written what.

 

I won’t go into too much detail, or copy out everything that was written, however I thought I would share one piece in particular, as I found it to be humorous, quirky and very evocative of rural French life…

 

I love Christmas when it snows

But this year it was just raining

Like cats and dogs – but I have no dogs

So I can say it was raining like sheep and cats

Though sheep don’t mind the rain, but the cats do.

As for the other animals, the kids were very interested to see the rooster jump on the hen.

Suddenly they understood everything…

 

Conversationus interruptus…

Tags

English, France, French, funny, Humour, Language, Learning

 

Personally I never know when to politely enter a conversation with French people. I feel like a novice driver trying to join the roundabout of the Champs-Élysées. The French people in the English class I go to on Monday evenings don’t half like to interrupt conversations though. They just jump straight in whenever they feel like it.

Case in point last night at class. The aim was to go round the group (approx 15 people) and have each classmate speak a bit in English about what they did during the Christmas holidays, and once that was finished we would all then read a lengthy text at the end about Downton Abbey.

A lengthy text about Downton Abbey – and here was me thinking Christmas was over (that’s sarcasm BTW).

This all fell apart rapidly, because they insisted on cutting in and asking questions about the most minor of details when people were speaking.

Example: Evelyn.

Evelyn had a lovely Christmas. She spent time with friends and family. She had some lovely food. She saw in the New Year with her in-laws and her daughter. Her husband had to pick up their other daughter from Paris, as she couldn’t get home any other way due to the strikes. Evelyn also painted during Christmas.

This was how it was supposed to come out. How it actually came out was like this:

Evelyn: ‘I had a lovely Christmas with friends and family, and I painted…’

Pierre: ‘What did you paint?’

Evelyn: ‘What?’

Pierre: ‘Did you paint a painting or a wall?’

Evelyn: ‘A wall’

Christine: ‘What colour?’

Evelyn: ‘errr, blue’

Bertrand: ‘What sort of blue?’

Evelyn: (struggling somewhat) ‘Strong blue’

Bertrand: ‘Strong blue? You mean dark blue?’

Evelyn: ‘errr no’

Christine: (pointing at Martine’s jumper) ‘Blue like that blue?’

Evelyn: ‘No’

Christine: (pointing at Isabelle’s scarf) ‘Blue like that blue?’

Evelyn: ‘No’

Bertrand: (pointing at the dark blue curtains ) ‘Blue like that?’

Evelyn: ‘Yes, a bit’

Bertrand: ‘That’s dark blue’

Evelyn: ‘Ok. And so after I painted…’

Bertrand: ‘What brand was the paint?’

It went on like this all evening. Every time someone would get a decent ‘flow’ going, somebody else would interrupt them.

The class was due to finish at 9.30 pm, however I had to excuse myself at 9.45pm.

They hadn’t even started reading the Downton Abbey text either.

Just When You Think You’ve Figured The French Language Out…

Tags

Annoying, France, French, fun, Humor, Humour, Language, Learning

 

I’m hosting a birthday party for my son.

First parent rolls up and deposits a kid.

We chit chat.

Then he looks at me, eyebrow raised quizzically à la Roger Moore – the universal parent’s sign for ‘What time shall I pick my kid back up?’.

‘Dix-sept heure’ I say.

‘Cinq heure?’ he replies.

I nod my head, mentally correcting my French lingo.

Parent two rolls up and deposits a kid.

We chit chat.

Then she looks at me, eyebrow raised quizzically à la Roger Moore – the universal parent’s sign for ‘What time shall I pick my kid back up?’.

‘Cinq heure’ I say

‘Dix-sept heure?’ she replies.

I nod my head, mentally screaming at the French lingo.

Parent three rolls up and deposits a kid.

We chit chat.

Then he looks at me, eyebrow raised quizzically à la Roger Moore – the universal parent’s sign for ‘What time shall I pick my kid back up?’.

I hold my hand up with five fingers splayed out, point at it and nod my head smiling.

 

Tune in next week to hear me moan as I try to work out when to say ‘des fois’ and when to say ‘parfois’

 

 

 

Butt In The Queue…

Tags

France, French, funny, Humor, Humour, Language, Learning

 

She was milling around in front of me and I had a trolley full of items and two kids, so I needed to know what the French lady near the tills was doing. ‘Are you in the queue?’ I said to her. She turned around, gave me a withering look and headed off in the opposite direction. I didn’t mind, I just joined the line and waited my turn.

Later on that day I bumped into my friend in the bakery shop. As usual we were at the back of around 15 people. ‘It’s always busy in here isn’t it?’ I said to him. He nodded his agreement. ‘Always such a big queue’ I added. He looked at me, puzzled. ‘What?’ he said to me. ‘In here, there’s always a big queue’. ‘Yes’ he replied, turning away and still looking somewhat puzzled.

Following these exchanges, and after conferring with my (French) missus and my (French) work colleagues I have come to the following conclusions.

1. I need to work on my pronunciation.
2. I need to learn to differentiate between the French word for queue – queue – and the French word for arse – cul.

Great, Now I Hate My Voice In Two Languages…

Tags

English, French, funny, Humor, Humour, Language, Learning

I teach retired French people English every month.

You may have heard me mention it before.

Last night I took them a handout ‘18 Tips To Help With Your English Pronunciation‘.

How to make the ‘th’ sound was covered.

It had pictures and everything.

They liked that.

This was great because, amongst other things, I’m trying to help them say ‘the’ and ‘this’ and ‘that’ properly.

So then when they want to say ‘Hello, is the theatre this way, or that way?’ they say ‘Hello, is the theatre this way, or that way?’ and not: ‘Hello, iz ze see-a-ter zis way, or zat way?’ or: ‘Hello, iz ve ve-a-ter vis way, or vat way?’

There were suggestions for how to improve your English e.g: watch Youtube, listen to podcasts, watch the news in English and practice in the park by asking other English speakers if they sound alright.

It also suggested recording yourself, and then playing back your recording so you could hear where you were going wrong.

‘This is great’ I thought ‘They can do that later’.

‘This is great’ they said ‘We can do that now’

They all pulled out their mobile phones, which were far more impressive than mine, (which struggles to play ‘Snake’) and started recording themselves reading from the handout.

‘This is great’ I thought ‘My work here is done’.

It wasn’t.

Michelle looked at me. I like Michelle, she looks like everyone’s favourite grandma. And I bet she bakes really nice cakes.

‘Why don’t we get Phil to read some French?’

I’ve gone off Michelle.

‘We can record it and listen to it’ she added.

Now I think she looks more like that woman with the gingerbread house, the one in the forest that tried to shove those two bread-crumb kids in the oven.

‘Here, you can read this advert from my Aldi flyer’ she finished, handing me the brochure, and indicating what she meant.

I bet her cakes taste horrible.

I looked at the advert. It was on my personal favourite, Mastermind subject: hen houses.

The word for hen house in French is a nightmare to pronounce, for me anyway. It’s ‘poulailler’, which is really easy to copy and paste from Google (after three badly-spelled attempts, anyway) but horrible to say.

The closest I’ve ever gotten to a hen house is buying one for my French mother-in-law, and it’s this one awful word that makes me remember it so vividly.

‘You want a hen house?’ I’d said to her, on the sunny day of June 12th, 2018 (12.43pm) ‘Yes’ she said to me ‘From Amazon UK, I don’t have an account’ I clicked on Amazon France, ‘What about all these hundreds of hen houses?’ I said to her. ‘No’ she said to me ‘I want that one’. ‘Right’ I said to her ‘And what is it in French? a poulailler?’. ‘No’, she said to me, ‘It’s pronounced ‘poulailler”

‘Poulailler?’

‘No, Poulailler’

‘Poulailler?’

‘No, Poulailler’

‘Poulailler?’

‘Nearly, it’s Poulailler’

‘Poulailler?’

‘No, Poulailler’

‘Poulailler?’

‘No, Poulailler’

This went on for three-and-a-half days. Actually it was probably only ten minutes, but when you can’t pronounce something in French and you’re sat opposite an implacable French person repeatedly saying it perfectly, blinking at you like that penguin from ‘Wallace And Gromit: The Wrong Trousers‘, time seems to go funny and stretch out.

So back in class and I read the passage out. Poulailler didn’t disappoint and was still no friend to my tongue.

I finished and they made positive noises. ‘Hmmm’ they said and ‘Bien’  and ‘pas mal’ and stuff like that.

Then Christine pressed play on her phone.

Now I hate my voice, with a passion, and have been affectionately referred to as ‘Orville’ in the past by friends. So I was not looking forward to what was to come.

I was not let down.

The room was filled with a God-awful noise that sounded like Inspector Clouseau met that bloke off ‘Allo, ‘Allo’ and somehow managed to conceive a child. A child that took all the very worst aspects of their voices and dialled it up to 11. I felt like a French Borat.

My mind has thankfully blanked it out, as though it can’t keep such an awful memory in. Surely, I thought on the way home, I can’t be that bad.

I turned to my rock, my moon and stars, the mother of my children, my partner – surely she would reassure me?

Oh, and she’s French too.

‘Hey’ I said to her.

‘Hmmm?’ she looked at me.

‘What do I sound like when I speak French?’

She looked at me, blinking like that penguin from ‘Wallace and Gromit: The Wrong Trousers’.

‘Weird’ she finally replied, sticking it and snapping it off.