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Arborebum
“How’s your French coming on?” A friend from England asked me last time he visited.“Oh not too bad. It was OK ten years ago when I first arrived here and it has steadily deteriorated ever since.” I replied.
Regrettably true for the most part. The problem is that the longer you live here the more you realise you don’t understand. To be fair though French must be the only language in the world where even the indigenous population barely comprehend it. Most of our dinner table conversations amongst our local guests are arguments between them on how this or that should be pronounced or what gender the jolly left handed widget is.
Just last week one of our guests announced to all that she had just returned from her annual skiing holiday in Chamonix. Pronouncing that famous resort town with a hard ‘x’ at the end and she caused more uproar than was heard at the storming of the Bastille.
“It vous must pronounce ‘Shamonee’.” lamented one guest complete with an indignant stare designed to reduce the poor woman to tears.
He nearly succeeded too except she mustered her last *twenty eight point three six grams of Gallic shruggery and retorted “Non! It is a Roman town. The ‘x’ it is to stay.”
I fared little better last week down at our local surgery. I was anxious about a small
lump that had appeared on my right side under my upper arm. I spent hours practising
what I was to say and felt quite proud of myself when I spluttered it out in front of my
local doctor. Perhaps fortunately he also happens to be a good friend.
“You have a small tree growing out of your arse?” He replied, somewhat rhetorically. “This I must see. Drop your pantaloons please whilst I look for my camera and secateurs.”
Anyway he prescribed a cream. "Apply this three times a day after sex."
At least that's what I thought he said but when I told my wife she said I'd made another linguistic mistake.
I’ve finished pruning now.
For the day anyway.
* = 1 oz
