La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 5 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

“Veuillez attacher votre ceinture, s’il vous plaît, Madame. Nous allons atterrir à Heathrow bientôt.” L’hôtesse de l’air a souri gentiment et a continué le long du couloir en faisant ses contrôles de sécurité.

J’ai regardé Anouk qui avait les yeux fixés sur les nuages vers l’extérieur de l’hublot.

“Maman, on va pouvoir voir la maison de la Reine d’ici ?” elle m’a demandé. Elle avait l’air sérieuse.

“C’est un peu plus grand qu’une maison, chérie,” je lui ai dit “mais on ne sait jamais. En fait, demain on va voir sa maison de plus près quand Tatie Amina nous montrera les sites touristiques de Londres.”

“Ah,” elle a dit, ses yeux grands ouverts. “J’espère qu’on la voit.”

“On verra, ma petite,” je l’ai rassurée en prenant sa main pour l’atterrissage.

Trois heures plus tard on est arrivés à notre l’hôtel, près de la station de métro Gloucester Road. J’étais absolument ravie d’être à Londres pour la première fois. Tout me semblait tellement charmant, même si c’était une des plus grandes villes du monde. “Paris est sublime,” je me suis dit, “mais cette ville a un vrai caractère. Je l’adore déjà.”

Nous nous sommes installés dans nos chambres d’hôtel respectives et le plan était de se reposer un peu avant d’aller dîner à Covent Garden. Il était 14h30. Anouk avait l’air très fatigué, la pauvre. Moi, par contre, j’étais très impatiente de sortir de l’hôtel pour pouvoir découvrir le quartier. J’ai demandé à Amina et Hervé de garder Anouk pour une heure ou deux et heureusement ils étaient d’accord. J’ai pris la clef de ma chambre et je suis allée parler avec le concierge pour lui demander les directions jusqu’au métro, ou The Underground, comme disent les Anglais.

Après un peu de confusion à propos de la prononciation du nom “Gloucester” (je ne comprendrai jamais les règles de prononciation de l’anglais !) j’ai quitté l’hôtel avec un plan du quartier, un grand sourire et une forte envie de me plonger dans cette ville fascinante.

Je ne pouvais pas en croire mes yeux quand j’ai vu mon premier autobus à impériale rouge en vraie. J’avais le sens du déjà-vu comme il y avait souvent des photos de ces bus iconiques dans les pages de nos textes d’anglais.

Une heure plus tard, je me promenais toujours. Loin de mes responsabilités, je me sentais plus légère et j’avais l’impression d’être libre. Dans une sorte de rêverie, je me suis perdue un peu alors quand j’ai vu une librairie absolument charmante, j’ai décidé d’y entrer pour demander mon chemin. Je ne le savais pas à l’époque mais cette décision aller changer ma vie. 

“Could you attach your seatbelt, please, madam. We are going to land at Heathrow soon.” The air hostess smiled kindly and continued along the aisle doing her security checks.

I looked at Anouk, who was staring at the clouds through the window.

“Mum, are we going to be able to see the Queen’s house from here?” she asked me. She seemed serious.

“It’s a bit bigger than a house, darling,” I said to her “but we never know. In fact, tomorrow we’re going to see her house from closer up when Aunty Amina shows us the tourist sights of London.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes round. “I hope we see her.”

“We’ll see, little one,” I reassured her taking her hand for the landing.

Three hours later we arrived at our hotel, close to the tube station Gloucester Road.

I was absolutely delighted to be in London for the first time. Everything seemed so charming to me, even if it was one of the biggest cities in the world. “Paris is sublime,” I said to myself, “but this city has real personality. I love it already.”

We settled into our respective hotel rooms and the plan was to have a bit of a rest before going to dinner in Covent Garden. It was 2:30pm. Anouk seemed very tired, the poor thing. I, on the other hand, was impatient to leave the hotel to explore the area. I asked Amina and Hervé to look after Anouk for an hour or two and luckily they agreed. I took my room key and I went to talk to the concierge to ask him directions to the tube station, or ‘The Underground”, as the English say.

After a bit of confusion about the pronunciation of the word “Gloucester” (I will never understand the rules of English pronunciation!) I left the hotel with a map of the area, a big smile and a strong desire dive into this fascinating city.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw my first red double-decker bus in real life. I had a feeling of déjà vu as there were often photos of these iconic buses in our English textbooks.

An hour later, I was still walking. Far from my responsibilities, I feel lighter and I felt like I was free. In a sort of dream-like state, I got a little lost so when I saw an absolutely charming bookshop, I decided to go in to ask for directions. I didn’t know it at the time, but this decision would change my life. 

Le Top 5 tips for speaking French.

I know I’m speaking a lot about my new-found love for tennis at the moment, but it’s very hard to ignore the parallels between trying to learn French and picking up a tennis racket again after a 40-year gap (and I was no Navratilova in the first place, je vous assure*).

My friend and I started hitting balls late last year and loved it so much we decided to do it more regularly in 2023. After a few sessions, though, it became clear we needed some help, so we started doing a lesson before work on a Thursday and then having a hit on a Saturday.

We dream of being able to turn up and spend the whole hour on the court, rallying back and forth to one another in a calm and competent manner. You won’t be surprised to hear that our current experience is a very long way from that. Some days we manage to hit a few shots in a row, but many, many balles de tennis* end up going straight into the net or way over the baseline at the other end. One or two have even somehow gone through a mysterious hole in my strings and hit the fence behind me, but we won’t dwell on those ones.

A very similar thing may happen to you when you try to speak French. We know that most of you are borderline fluent when under the shower or when driving, but when it comes the time to have a real conversation with another person, suddenly you find yourself afflicted with all manner of trous de mémoires*.

For beginners, this can be put down to nerves and is completely natural, but what if you’ve been doing French for a while and you still draw a blank? Or worse, find yourself heading down a rabbit hole from which there appears to be no return?

We find this usually happens because you’re trying to speak French as you do English (or your native language, whatever that may be). I really don’t enjoy saying this, but it’s simply impossible for most of us.

The average adult knows between 25 000 and 35 000 words in their mother tongue. By the end of our Absolute Beginner 1 course, you’ll know approximately 200 words, so if you extrapolate that figure, by the time you’ve completed our Intermediate Revision Course you’d know about 2 500 words. That is, you have approximately 10% of the word power in French that you do in English.

But, don’t be too déçu(e)*. You can absolutely make this work to your advantage. Over the course of the next few newsletters, I’ll be offering up my top five tips as to how to pull that off.

You’ll definitely notice there’s a running theme in all of the tips. If you remember nothing else, please learn this one par cœur*: lentement mais sûrement*.

So you know by now that my dream of lazily (and competently) rallying with my friend from either side of the net is on hold as we get to grips with the basics.

At one of our very first lessons, as Vince, our tennis coach, watched Tanya and I flail around the court trying to hit winners (which were for the great majority definitely losers), he casually mentioned the concept of the 100-point rally. Naturellement*, this stopped us in our tracks. The tennis definition of the word rally “is a sequence of back and forth shots between players” and I’m pretty sure two shots in a row is stretching the meaning of the word ‘sequence’. Vince gently suggested that the next time we had a hit together, we have as our goal to reach a 100-point rally without an error. Jaws on the floor, Tanya and I paused to consider just how gently and carefully we’d need to hit the ball if we were to get beyond 10 points in a row, let alone 100. Firstly, we’d have to move much closer to the net to reduce the margin for error. We’d have to take care to make sure the ball simply hit the strings, rather than try to erase the Dunlop logo with each whack. Lastly, we’d have to be mindful of where the other was standing to make sure the shot was easy for them to reach (needless to say our footwork is inexistant* at this point).

Every single bit of this can be applied to speaking French and another definition of the word ‘rally’ might be worth bearing in mind: to draw or call (persons) together for a common action or effort. 

Sure, when you’re approaching fluency, knock your socks off by adding flourishes and brilliant tournures de phrases*, but when you’re just  starting out, be a good partner to your interlocuteur*. That is, physically position yourself in a comfortable manner to get ready to communicate. This means: lower the shoulders, take a couple of deep breaths to centre yourself, open up your body language and look your partner in the eye.  Take another slow breath et voilà*! You’re closer to the net already.

Next, scrap the complicated English sentence you’re dying to communicate, and instead, imagine you’re about to explain that same idea to a four-year-old. How would you speak? Slowly? Carefully? Using simple language? Pausing every now and then to check they were following? Oui*? Now you’re on the path to success.

Imagine the opening question was “What are you doing today after the class?”. Instead of trying to say (to use an example from a recent class, merci* Martha!) “I’ve gotta rush home because I’ve got a guy coming to sand and reseal the deck” try this instead: “Aujourd’hui, après la classe, un homme vient à la maison. Il va travailler sur mon balcon.” Granted, not textbook perfect French, but you’ve got your message across, probably in a slow and deliberate manner but also hopefully (and this is by far the most important bit) in a way that is easily comprehensible.

Finally, be kind to your speaking partner, particularly if they’re not quite as advanced as you. This goes back to the four-year-old idea. Be sure to choose simple words and phrases you think your French-speaking buddy will understand. Don’t deny them the incredible pleasure of understanding a couple of simple sentences in a French they’re likely to be familiar with. You know the feeling yourself, so be sure to share it around as much as you can.

I really hope this advice doesn’t come across as patronising as it is sûrement* not my intent. You know how to communicate extremely well in your mother tongues, quite likely a great deal better than me. What I notice, though, is that in our excitement (anxiety?) to speak French, we sometimes forget the basics. It is my strong belief that if you can adopt this approach the next time you have a go at speaking, you’ll see more smiles than frowns, and that goes for your classroom potes* and ‘real’ French people as well.

Next month: walk before you can run.

Bon courage*!

*I assure you | *tennis balls | *memory lapses | *disappointed | *by heart | *slowly but surely | *Naturally | *non-existent | *turns of phrase | *fellow speaker | *there you go | *Yes | *thank you | *Today, after the class, a man is coming to the house. He is going to work on my balcony. | *surely | *mates | *Good luck

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 4 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

Cinq minutes plus tard, je cherchais toujours mes boucles d’oreilles préférées, mais je ne pouvais pas les trouver.

Soudain, Hervé a crié “Allons-y, Leïla ! On va être en retard.”

“Jean-Louis, tu as vu mes boucles d’oreilles ?” j’ai crié de la chambre.

“Oui, elles sont dans la poche de ma veste, dans l’armoire. Tu me les as données l’autre soir après le dîner avec Noëlle. Tu m’as dit qu’elles te faisaient mal.”

“Ah, oui, tu as raison. Deux minutes !” j’ai répondu.

Mais en cherchant dans la poche, je n’ai rien trouvé. “Quelle veste, Jean-Louis ?” j’ai crié. Je commençais à paniquer.

“Leïla, viens ! On va rater l’avion si tu ne viens pas tout de suite!” a dit Hervé.

“Leïla,” a dit mon mari quand je suis revenue au salon, “encore une fois, ne t’inquiète pas ! Tu as ton passeport ?”

“Bien sûr,” j’ai répondu, “Il est là, dans mon sac à main. J’ai le passeport d’Anouk aussi.”

“Tu as les billets?” Hervé a demandé.

“Oui, je les ai avec les passeports,” j’ai répondu. “Et j’ai les chèques voyage.”

“Bon, tu es prête, alors !” a dit Jean-Louis.

“De toute façon,” a ajouté Hervé, “Amina a beaucoup de boucles d’oreilles. Elle peut te donner une paire.”

“C’est gentil, Hervé, mais ce sont mes préférées ! Ah, zut !”

“Chérie, s’il te plaît, laisse tomber. Pourquoi pas acheter une nouvelle paire à Londres ? Les Anglais ont des boutiques aussi, tu sais,” Jean-Louis a dit, en souriant.

J’étais surprise. Jean-Louis est normalement très prudent avec l’argent.

“Tu es sûr ?” j’ai demandé.

“Pour toi, ma reine, oui, je suis certain.”

“Merci beaucoup, chéri,” j’ai dit, touchée. Jean-Louis était vraiment très cool à propos de ce voyage, je me suis dit. “C’est très gentil. De toute façon, je les ai probablement mises dans ma valise par accident.”

Jean-Louis a souri, il m’a prise dans ses bras, et on s’est embrassés.

“Allez, ça suffit, vous deux. Il y a un avion qui nous attend. Allez, hop ! Dans la voiture !”

“Tu vas me manquer. Fais bon voyage, Leïla,” a dit mon mari.

“Merci, mon amour,” j’ai répondu avec des larmes aux yeux.

J’ai oublié le mauvais pressentiment et j’ai suivi mon frère vers la porte.

Five minutes later, I was still looking for my favourite earrings, but I couldn’t I find them.

Suddenly, Hervé yelled out “Let’s go, Leïla! We’re going to be late.”

“Jean-Louis, have you seen my earrings? I shouted from the bedroom.

“Yes, they’re in my jacket pocket, in the wardrobe. You gave them to me the other night after the dinner with Noëlle. You said they were hurting you.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right. Two minutes!” I responded.

But in searching the pocket, I didn’t find anything. “Which jacket, Jean-Louis?” I cried. I was starting to panic.

“Leïla, come on! We’re going to miss the plane if you don’t come straight away!” Hervé said.

“Leïla,” said my husband when I came back into the living room, “once again, don’t worry! Do you have your passport?”

“Of course,” I responded. “It’s here, in my handbag. I have Anouk’s passport as well.”

“Do you have the tickets?” Hervé asked.

“Yes, I have them with the passports,” I said. “And I have the travellers’ cheques.”

“Right, so you’re ready, then!” said Jean-Louis.

“In any case,” Hervé added, “Amina has lots of earrings. She can give you a pair.”

“That’s nice of you, Hervé, but they’re my favourites! Oh, damn!”

“Darling, please, drop it. Why not buy a new pair in London? The English have shops as well, you know,” Jean-Louis said, smiling.

I was surprised. Jean-Louis is usually very careful with money.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“For you, my queen, I am certain.”

“Thank you very much, darling,” I said, touched. Jean-Louis was really cool about this trip, I said to myself. “That’s really kind of you. In any case, I probably put them in my suitcase by accident in any case.”

Jean-Louis smiled, he took me in his arms and we kissed.

“Okay, that’s enough, you two. We have a plane waiting for us. Come on, let’s go. In the car!”

“I’m going to miss you. Have a good trip, Leïla,” my husband said.

“Thank you, my love,” I responded with tears in my eyes.

I forgot the bad feeling and I followed my brother towards the door.

Rabbit holes and jumbo tennis balls

In the last How to Learn French post, we talked about les hauts et les bas* of being a beginner learner. I mentioned that when students sign up for their first French course, they’re usually brimming with excitement and just busting to start speaking French.

Unfortunately, that initial brio is often quickly replaced with something nearing despair as they realise the enormity of the task ahead. I’ve spoken about how that happened to me only very recently with learning Sanskrit. On a side note - I’ve had four weeks off due to a term break and guess who’s done about two hours of the 20 she planned? I have, though, managed to draw myself up a cheat sheet so at least I know what I don’t know (and I’m counting that as a win).

So, what to do when, after getting a handle on the groundwork, you’re ready to launch into actually speaking? This will likely happen to you a few times along your learning adventure. Here at Lingua Franca, we encourage you to do our Speaking Practice Courses right from Absolute Beginner 1, and it’s usually around the Absolute Beginner Revision mark that you’ll get your first soupçon* of desire to speak. Once you’ve got the present tense sur le bout des doigts*, you’ll probably be drawn to making your own simple sentences.

When you do, you’ll soon realise how great it would be to be able to tell someone what you did yesterday and what you’re going to do tomorrow. You can still say quite a lot without knowing those tenses, but roll on Beginner Revision…

Then, by the time you reach Intermediate Revision, usually in about your third year, you’ll be impatient to start speaking up, and rightly so. You’ve diligently learned several tenses as well as un tas de* vocab, you’ve got the numbers under your belt and have a pretty good handle on the pronunciation. You’re probably looking for a reward for all that hard work and your fervent hope is that when you do open your mouth the words will flow out as easily as they do from the ball of your pen.

Mais, non*!

How many times have we heard this refrain from our Chouchous*? It’s a lament I know well personally, having expressed it about my own French many, many times. Préparez-vous*, it’s a question you’ll ask yourself more than once throughout your French learning career, but it seems to be at its most piquante* when you know a lot in theory, but seem unable to let the words coulent*.

I remember in Year 12, just as we were nearing our final exams, our French teacher was particularly pleased with our performance one day. She said: “Félicitations, la classe*! You’re now able to speak at the level of an eight-year-old!”. While she smiled at us beatifically, we let out huge (and let’s face it, dramatic) sighs of disappointment. I’ll never forget it. All that work to be able to speak like a virtual bébé*? You’ve got to be kidding!

I’ve reflected a lot on that moment in the years hence, and have come to realise that Mlle MacPherson was paying us a sincere compliment. Though at 16 the thought of speaking like an eight-year-old was frankly insulting, when you think about how much an eight-year-old is able to say, most French learners would be delighted to have that level of fluency.

So, how to set yourself up for succès* as you take your first steps?

As frustrating as the advice to take it ‘slowly but surely’ may sound, it really will set you off on le bon chemin*.

Leaping out of the gates at full galop* might feel great for the first few words (which you’ve likely prepared ahead of time in your head), but a sentence or two later, you might feel yourself barrelling full speed into a rabbit hole from which it’s hard to escape. Trying to express yourself as you do in your native language, with the vocabulary, fluency and dexterity built up over a lifetime will ensure you spend more time underground than above it. It amounts to trying to run before you can walk, and from recent experience I can tell you this is probably not the way to build confidence, which will account for about 80% of your success.

Last month, I promised you a story about a jumbo tennis ball, so here it comes.

In a year of new things for me, I’ve recently taken up tennis. While my friend and I were keen to get on the court and rip a few backhands down the line at our first lesson, our teacher insisted we start by standing on either side of the net and throwing (carefully and very gently) an oversized pink tennis ball to one another. Oh, la honte*! This action apparently mimics the elements of a solid backhand and laid the groundwork for us graduating to our first strokes with a regular-sized ball later in the hour. 

This applies to your French as well. Freezing up mid-sentence because you don’t know the word for ‘four-wheel drive’, for example, is the equivalent of me trying to pull a drop shot on my opponent when I can’t even be sure I’ll make contact. Could you use the word for ‘car’ instead? How important to your story is it that your audience know you’re talking about a specific type of vehicle? Remember, the goal is to communicate. In order to get your message across, you may need to simplify the message itself. My bet is it won’t overly impact your story and the most important thing is that by choosing a word you know instead (voiture*), you’ll likely get to the next word and the next and the next, and before you know it, you’ll being having yourself a real-life conversation.

Next month, more tennis analogies* await, as we consider the concept of the 100-point rally. À la prochaine*!

*the highs and lows | *hint | *down pat | *a heap of | *but no | *my mouth | *Teacher’s Pets | *Get ready | *pointed | *flow | *Congratulations, class | *baby | *success | *Slowly but surely | *the right path | *gallop | *Oh, the shame of it! | *car | *analogies | *Until the next time

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 3 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

“D’accord, maman !” ma fille m’a répondu et elle a quitté la chambre. “Papa, tu es où ? Je vais à Londres et je veux dire au revoir !”

Finalement, j’étais toute seule pour la première fois de la matinée. J’ai poussé un soupir de soulagement. J’étais surprise de remarquer que même après ça, je me sentais toujours mal à l’aise. “C’est normal, Leila,” je me suis dit. “C’est la première fois que tu voyages sans tous les enfants. Elles vont beaucoup te manquer .”

Si je suis honnête, j’étais un peu anxieuse de laisser les filles avec Jean-Louis, même si sa mère allait l’aider. C’est leur père, c’est vrai, mais mon mari à la tendance à travailler très, très dur, donc il ne passe pas beaucoup de temps avec nos filles. Et le fait que sa mère vienne pour l’aider lui donne l’excuse parfaite pour travailler encore plus.

Mais même en admettant tout ça, j’étais toujours un peu inquiète. Je ne savais pas pourquoi, mais j’avais un mauvais pressentiment.

Je ne pouvais pas y réfléchir plus, parce que tout d’un coup, j’ai entendu la voix de mon frère. “Tu es prête, frangine?”

“Oui, frérot, j’arrive. Deux minutes !”

J’ai fini de fermer ma valise et je suis entrée dans le salon. Tout le monde était là. 

Jean-Louis parlait à Hervé et Anouk jouait avec ses sœurs et ses cousines, Sara et Mina.

“Bon, on est prêts pour le grand voyage ?” a demandé mon frère.

“Oui, tout à fait,” j’ai répondu. “Chéri, n’oublie pas qu’il y a une quiche pour vous dans le frigo pour ce soir. Vous restez ici ce soir, non ?”

“Ne t’inquiète pas, Leïla, ça va aller. Demain, on va à l’hôtel avec grand-mère. Vous avez hâte de la voir, les filles ?” Jean-Louis a demandé à Céline et Vivienne.

Mais les petites étaient trop occupées avec leurs cousines pour lui répondre.

“Ah, un instant, j’ai oublié mes boucles d’oreilles préférées. Je reviens tout de suite.” j’ai dit et je suis retournée à la chambre pour les chercher.

“Okay, Mum!” my daughter replied and she left the room. “Dad, where are you?” I’m going to London and I want to say goodbye!”

Finally, I was alone for the first time that morning. I let out a sigh of relief. I was surprised to notice that even after that I still felt ill at ease. “It’s normal, Leïla,” I said to myself. “It’s the first time you’re travelling without all the children. You’re going to miss them a lot.”

If I’m honest, I was a bit anxious about leaving the girls with Jean-Louis, even if his mother was going to help him. He’s their father, it’s true, but my husband has the tendency to work very, very hard, so he doesn’t spend a lot of time with our girls. And the fact his mother is coming to help him gives him the perfect excuse to work even more.

But even in admitting that, I was still a little worried. I didn’t know why, but I had a bad feeling.

I couldn’t think about it any more, because all of a sudden, I heard my brother’s voice. “You ready, sis?”

“Yes, bro, I’m coming. Two minutes!”

I finished closing my suitcase and I went into the living room. Everyone was there.

Jean-Louis was speaking to Hervé and Anouk was playing with her sisters and cousins, Sara and Mina.

“Right, are we ready for the big trip?” asked my brother.

“Yes, absolutely,” I responded. “Darling, don’t forget there is a quiche for you in the fridge for tonight. You’re staying here tonight, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Leïla, it’s all going to be fine. Tomorrow, we’re going to the hotel with Grandma. Are you keen to see her, girls?” Jean-Louis asked Céline and Vivienne.

But the little ones were too busy with their cousins to answer.

“Oh, one sec, I’ve forgotten my favourite earrings. I’ll be back straight away,” I said and I returned to the bedroom to look for them.

The happy medium

I have found it absolutely fascinating to watch the progress of our students over the years, particularly when it comes to speaking French.

I have seen hundreds follow more or less the same path and it is only now that I am learning a couple of new skills myself that I think I’m able to see clairement.*

Teaching absolute beginners is a real rush because they’re so excited about the language. Everything is new to them and if French is a treasure chest, they’re just dying to crack the lid. There’s nothing quite like the energy of teaching them their very first list of greetings, which at Lingua Franca (and no doubt many schools around the world) takes place in the first 15 minutes of Lesson 1. It’s delightful to see adults play around with the language, testing out the new sounds, finally seeing words in print that, prior to that moment, may have simply been absorbed by osmosis (s’il vous plaît* springs to mind, as well as monsieur*). Watching the spark of recognition as they make the links between the French and the English is particularly gratifying.

This high energy usually lasts until Lesson 4, which is when we learn to conjugate our first verb. These days, I know to warn the tutors that at the end of that lesson, their students will most likely leave the classroom with their shoulders down and frowns on their fronts*. As a tutor, it’s hard not to feel like a bit of a failure at that moment, especially since the previous three weeks have usually been so much fun. I imagine it’s a bit like being a parent in that sometimes you have to deliver hard truths for the good of your child. It must fait vibrer la corde sensible* to see them crestfallen, but you know it’s only temporary and is truly for their long-term benefit. I now view lesson number four as a very important piece of the puzzle. 

Not only do students need to know how to conjugate regular -re verbs if they ever want to speak French well, it’s also important that they know fairly early on in the piece that French is not a cake walk. Learning a language is similar to learning to play an instrument. I’m sure someone could teach me how to pluck out a tune on a guitar in a few hours, just as we could arm a student with a few rote phrases to help them navigate an upcoming trip. Sometimes, that style of learning is absolutely appropriate for the occasion. However, if your goal is to achieve some level of mastery, it makes sense that one has to put the hard yards in. 

Lesson 4 seems to be when the enormity of the scale of the language first hits. The exact same thing has just happened to me with my Sanskrit lessons. The first week I was just dying to try out all the new sounds and mesmerised by difference of the script. As I mentioned last month, though, just a few short lessons later, I felt I was drowning as I came to see just how much work I was going to have to do to even be able to get a simple sentence out of my mouth. I think this is the exact point where many of our students lose their nerve to speak and instead retreat into the theory in an attempt to just get things straight! I know I did for a bit.

A mentor of mine commented recently that she notices I delve into detail when I want to regain control of a situation. As soon as she said it I knew she was right. When the vast scope of Sanskrit hit me for the first time,  my instinctive reaction was: “Right, I just need some time alone to get this information in order”. Actually, that’s not entirely true, my first thought was “What the hell have I done?”, but after I gathered myself, my next instinct was to grab an A3 sheet of paper so I could start mapping out what I’d learned. 

I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. Of course, ideally, you’d be able to continue to exercise your vocal skills at the same time as you’re putting all of your theoretical canards* in a row, but this is not always the reality. Like Lingua Franca courses, my Sanskrit lessons give me ample opportunity to work on my speaking skills at the same time as I tackle the theory. When I felt that I really needed to get to grips with the basics, though, that sort of practice went out the fenêtre* for a time and this is not the end of the world. 

In the very next lesson, I was able to recognise most of the character symbols in the alphabet, so that felt like a win. Meanwhile, my nascent Sanskrit accent had gone to custard. It seems I was concentrating so hard on the academic side of things that I’d left no room for any flourish. Again, that is fine. The point is that I was further along the bumpy path than I was a week before that.

I was heartened to be able to recognise that. In the past, I would have given the floor to my inner critic who would have berated me for not getting it all perfect out of the blocks. By the way, if you too have this little voice that sits on your shoulder at lessons or keeps you company when you do your homework, maybe it’s best to tell it to take a seat and just let you get on with it. It’s hard enough as it is without unsolicited criticism coming from the cheap seats.

So if you’ve cracked the lid of the treasure chest and brushed away the top layer of gold coins only to reveal the mass of tarnished trove below, ne te décourage pas. The chest is lined with gold and idling in the juste milieu for a bit is time well spent. Shoring up your connaissances* will never be wasted, as you’ll see when your desire to speak returns (and it will, c’est promis*).

Next month: how a jumbo tennis ball, a rabbit hole and a bit of forward thinking can set you on the path to speaking success.

*clearly | *The treasure chest | *please | *sir | *Hitting rock bottom | *foreheads | *tugs at the heartstrings | *the happy medium | *ducks | *window | *don’t be discouraged | *knowledge | *I promise

D'accord vs ça va

Do you think you know the difference between d’accord and ça va? Es-tu sûr*? While in some circumstances these expressions both mean ‘OK’, that’s not always the case – and they’re not interchangeable. D’accord and ça va have different uses, yet even our most advanced students mix them up from time to time.

Ne t’inquiète pas*, though. After you’ve finished this lesson, tout sera clair*! And in case you get lost, just remember this:

When you want to say ‘OK’

D’accord and ça va both mean OK. However, d’accord is to do with agreement, whereas ça va is about how you are feeling or how someone or something is going. Confused? Consider how both are used in conversation below. 

D’accord

Q: Tu veux venir avec nous?
Do you want to come with us?
R: D’accord!
OK!

Q: D’accord?
OK?
R: Oui, d’accord.
Yes, OK.

In these examples, you are agreeing to an activity, idea or decision. 

Ça va

Q: Ça va? 
How are you? (Literal translation: it goes?)
R: Ça va.
OK/ fine. (Literal translation: it goes.)

Q: Je prends ta voiture, ça va?
I’m taking your car, is that OK? 
R: Oui, ça va.
Yes, it’s OK.  

In these examples, you are being asked if you are OK or if a certain situation is OK. 

Other uses of d’accord

Still with us? While ça va is quite straightforward, there are plusieurs* other uses of d’accord to wrap your tête* around.  

Être d’accord (literally, ‘to be in agreement’) means to agree with someone or something. 

Par example*…

Q: Ils sont d’accord?
Do they agree? 
R: Oui, ils sont d’accord.
Yes, they agree. 

Q: Es-tu d’accord avec elle?
Do you agree with her?
R: Oui, je suis d’accord. 
Yes, I agree.

Q: Qu’est-ce que vous pensez?
What do you think?
R: Je ne suis pas d’accord avec ça. 
I don’t agree with that. 

Être d’accord pour is also used to express agreement or willingness to do something.
Par example…

Q: Vous êtes d’accord pour arroser mes plantes quand je suis en vacances?
Do you agree to water my plants while I’m on holiday?
R: Oui, je suis d’accord pour les arroser.
Yes, I’m willing to water them. 

Je suis d’accord pour travailler samedi. 
I agree to work on Saturday. 

Finally (for now), être d’accord que means ‘to agree that’.

Par example…

Il était d’accord que ce n’était pas une bonne idée. 
He agreed that it wasn’t a good idea. 

TO RECAP

Got it? Here are some common traps to avoid. 

COMMON MISTAKES

*Are you sure? | * Don’t worry | *Everything will be clear! | *several | *head | *For example

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 2 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

C’était le jour de mon départ à Londres et j’étais à la maison en faisant les valises pour ma fille Anouk et moi.

Anouk est entrée dans ma chambre, en chantant: “On va à Londres pour voir La Reine et je vais devenir princesse!”

J’ai rigolé et j’ai hoché la tête. “Je ne peux pas promettre qu’on va voir la Reine, ma petite, mais tu es déjà une princesse à mes yeux.”

Elle a souri et elle a pris ma main.

“On part bientôt, maman?” elle a demandé, avec de grands yeux.

“Oui, ma chérie. Très bientôt. Tonton Hervé va venir nous chercher pour aller à l’aéroport.”

“Est-ce que Tatie Amina va venir aussi?” Anouk a continué.

“Oui, elle vient avec tes cousins. C’est Tati Amina qui a organisé ce voyage pour aller voir ses amis anglais,” j’ai répondu.

“Ah, bon,” elle a dit. “Maman, pourquoi Céline et Vivienne ne viennent pas avec nous? Ce ne sont pas des princesses comme moi?”

“Mais bien sûr que si! Ce sont des princesses comme toi, mais tes sœurs sont trop petites pour faire un long voyage comme ça. Toi, tu es grande.”

“Oui, j’ai 3 ans, maman. Je suis une grande fille.”

“Oui, je sais, ma grande, mais tes sœurs vont faire un petit voyage avec ton papa et ta mamie, tu te souviens? Mamie vient du Maroc pour aider papa avec tes sœurs. Ils vont tous rester à l’hôtel de Papa pendant que nous sommes à Londres.”

J’ai presque rigolé, mais je me suis arrêtée. C’était le premier voyage à Paris pour la mère de Jean-Louis. Il voulait lui offrir de rester à son hôtel. Jean-Louis vient d’une famille simple. Ses parents n’avaient pas beaucoup d’argent, donc pour mon mari c’était important de montrer à sa maman qu’il gagnait bien sa vie. Ses parents étaient horrifiés quand il a décidé d’émigrer en France, donc il voulait prouver à sa mère qu’il avait pris la bonne décision. Je comprenais ça, bien sûr, mais ma pauvre belle-mère! Certes, elle allait adorer rester dans un hôtel de luxe au centre de Paris avec le service de chambre, mais de partager sa chambre avec deux bébés ce ne sont pas des vacances! Mais ma belle-mère a dit qu’elle était ravie. Si on allait aller voir La Reine en Angleterre, ma belle mère, Fatima, aller voir son roi en venant en France. Pour elle, Jean-Louis était le soleil de sa vie.

“Allez, oust!” j’ai dit à Anouk. “Je dois finir de faire les valises. Va dire au revoir à Papa.”

It was the day of my departure for London and I was at home, packing suitcases for my daughter, Anouk, and me.

Anouk came into my bedroom singing “We’re going to London to see The Queen and I’m going to become a princess!”

I laughed and I shook my head. “I can’t promise we’re going to see The Queen, my darling, but you’re already a princess in my eyes.”

She smiled and she took my hand.

“Are we leaving soon, Mum?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Yes, my darling. Very soon. Uncle Hervé is going to come and pick us up to go to the airport.”

“Is Aunty Amina coming too?” Anouk continued.

“Yes, she’s coming with your cousins. It’s Tati Amina who organised this trip in order to go and see her English friends,” I responded.

“Oh really?” she said “Mum, why aren’t Céline and Vivienne coming with us? Aren’t they princesses like me?”

“But of course they are! They are princesses like you but your sisters are too little to go on a long trip like that. You, you’re a big girl.”

“Yes, I’m three.”

“Yes, I know, my big girl, but your sisters are going to go on a little trip with your Daddy and your Grandma. Do you remember? Grandma’s coming from Morocco to help Daddy with your sisters. They’re all going to stay at Daddy’s hotel while we’re in London.”

I nearly laughed, but I stopped myself. It was Jean-Louis’ mother’s first trip to Paris. He wanted to offer for her to stay at his hotel. Jean-Louis comes from a modest family. His parents didn’t have a lot of money, so for my husband it was important to show his Mum that he was doing well for himself. His parents were horrified when he decided to emigrate to France, so he wanted to prove to his mother that he made the right decision. I understood that, of course, but my poor mother-in-law! Sure, she was going to love staying in a luxury hotel in the centre of Paris with room service, but to share her room with two babies was no holiday! But my mother-in-law said that she was delighted. If we were going to see the Queen in England, my mother-in-law, Fatima, was going to see her King by coming to France. For her, Jean-Louis was the moon and the stars.

“Come on, scoot!” I said to Anouk. “I have to finish packing the suitcases. Go say goodbye to Daddy.”

Sometimes simple is best.

As some of you know, I started learning French il y a très longtemps*. If my calculations are correct, I learned my first words of French in 1983 as a Year 6 student so that makes it a neat forty years ago.

For the first few years, we didn’t seem to advance much beyond basic greetings, colours, saying how old we were and the numbers. It almost seemed as though we started over every year and progressed very little. This didn’t bother us at all as we were just having fun with the language at that point, as well as devouring the pretend pains au chocolats* our Year 9 teacher would bring in which consisted of Furry Friends squished between two bits of Tip Top Bread. Miam*!

It wasn’t until Year 10 that things became a little more serious, and by Year 11 and 12 we were in the thick of it. I can picture (and I reckon Mum could still find) the reams and reams of foolscap A4 paper covered in verb conjugations in my Kilometrico-blue script. I have always loved French so the laboriousness of the task didn’t put me off. I’d just write the verbs out over and over and I ended up knowing them pretty well. Strangely, I cannot visualise an equal stack of pages covered in algebra equations.

So, in recent years when new students ask “How am I ever going to remember these verb conjugations?” my instinct is to tell them to write them out over and over as I did. I often second-guess myself, though, since my technique literally dates from the last century, when applications were something you filled out, not something you télécharge*. If the student is around my age or older, I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know of a better way than learning them rote. However, when younger people ask, I sometimes feel embarrassed I don’t have a more tech-based conseil* to give. Surely, I think to myself, memorisation techniques must have developed in the four decades since I opened my lever-arch file to pull out a fresh sheet?

In an effort to appear more early-adopter than flat-earther, occasionally I’ll recommend the app Quizlet, a great website that allows you to make digital flashcards for free.  Mais*, old-timer that I am, I add the caveat that students should create their own digital pack rather than just accessing someone else’s, as I believe a great deal of retention comes in the act of writing out the conjugations. I’m also a believer that if something costs you a bit of effort, you’re more likely to feel some ownership (voire* pride) and therefore more likely to use it.

Even as I’m offering this advice, though, I really want to just say “Write them out!”. To me, it’s so quick and easy to grab a pen and paper and just hop into it. Easy, that is, until you actually have to do it…

I have recently started studying Sanskrit and as you may know, it uses a special (and quite decorative) script instead of the Roman letters used by French, English and many other languages. 

In Term 1, our focus is to learn the alphabet and its sounds. It’s a twelve-week course. At Lingua Franca, we cover the French alphabet in one lesson, so I could see I had some work ahead of me.

Like the Chouchou* I aspire to be, I read the course materials before my first lesson and felt bien préparée* as I met my teacher and classmates for the first time. About halfway into the hour, though, the challenge in learning a brand new script became very clear. I made a promise to myself to devote Saturday afternoons to it until I had it nailed. I truly thought it’d take one samedi après-midi* and I’d be done, ready to be a total know-it-all by lesson two. Je suis très naïve*, it turns out.

For various reasons, my first whole Saturday afternoon turned out to be a grand total of 40 minutes by the pool. By the end of it I was confident with seven of the 49 characters and could (almost) recognise another six. “Pas de problème*,” I told myself, “the lesson isn’t until Thursday evening. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Needless to say I didn’t perform terribly well in that class, which didn’t bother me particularly, though I did have to laugh when I noticed I was exhibiting the behaviours we see in our own classes here at Lingua Franca from time to time: avoiding eye contact with the tutor and working out which question she was going to ask me and preparing that instead of listening to what was going on in the moment. Some of you know the drill, I suspect.

So while not being the star of the class was not bothering me, I didn’t like seeing what my lack of preparation was doing for my enjoyment of the language. I was so keen to unlock the doors between the characters, the sounds and their meanings, but I couldn’t do it as I hadn’t mastered the alphabet yet. I felt like I was falling behind. A couple of my new classmates were exclaiming how beautiful the language was and I just couldn’t see it. Worse, I knew that I wasn’t putting myself in a position to be able to make an informed decision as to whether I even liked my new hobby or not. 

At the end of the lesson, the tutor set our homework, which seemed a bit overwhelming but I vowed to do it to get myself back on le bon chemin*.

Despite my resolve to do better, I knew I had a busy week coming up. Luckily, I mentioned my dilemma to one of my classes and I noticed one of the student’s eyes light up. Edith stayed behind as everyone else filed out of the room, and then enthusiastically told me how she prepared for her vet science exams. Guess what her conseil was? Rote learning of course. She told me to write the characters out over and over again, in groups first, marking them as I went. Those that I hadn’t mastered she suggested I regroup and go over as many times as necessary to commit them to memory. Then, once I believed I’d mastered them, to throw them back into the mix and go again. Over and over and over until it worked.

I was relieved. Even though she’d done her undergraduate degree some moons ago, it was clear she was a lifelong learner, and had chosen these techniques even when brighter, shinier techniques were available. 

She also suggested tackling the learning first thing in the morning, before my day got underway. “Do it every couple of days in bed with a coffee when the world is still quiet. It doesn’t have to take too long.” I admit, this sounded a lot more appealing than devoting an entire Saturday afternoon to the task.

Again, though, I had to roll my eyes at myself. We regularly tell our students to do a little bit often rather than a big session on the eve of their lesson. Why wasn’t I listening to my own advice?

Easier to take Edith’s advice, it seemed, and I tried this technique in the days that followed. The first morning, I ended up with only 10 minutes to spare but rather than put it off, I decided to at least get my homework in my hands and just have a look at the scope of what I had to do. From the course materials, I isolated my reference points and matched that with the homework sheets. That act alone was enough to get me excited again about the challenge before me and as I write this, I only have three or four characters that remain stubbornly out of my grasp. I can also report that my second lesson was an entirely different experience. Though still difficult, I could at least follow along with the class, making mistakes, getting a few right and thoroughly enjoying myself.

Most importantly, my encounter with this ancient language that is brand new to me delivered a powerful lesson in empathy. I know I’m probably preaching to the converted, but learning a language is not easy. Let’s go easy on ourselves and just chip away at it together. I’m pretty sure it’s the key to unlocking the door between frustration and joy.

*a long time ago | *chocolate croissants | *Yum! | *download | *piece of advice | *but | *indeed | *Teacher’s Pet | *well-prepared | *Saturday afternoon | *I am very naive | *No problem | *the right track

Mecspliquez that again?

If you’re a woman you’ve no doubt rolled tes yeux* as un homme* has condescendingly “explained” the simplest of concepts to you. And guess what? The idea of mansplaining also exists in French – and it goes by the name of mecsplication.

A homonym for m'expliquer*, mecspliquer means to explain something to a woman in a patronising or oversimplified manner. It’s a clever combination of two French words. Mec – meaning guy, dude, man or bro in slang. And expliquer, meaning – you guessed it – to explain.

Want an example of mecsplication in action? Regarde* this famous 2021 tweet by Dr Jessica McCarthy.

Oh, la honte!*

*your eyes | *a man |* explain to me | *Look at | *Oh, the shame!

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 1 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

- “Merci, vous deux, pour cette soirée très agréable,” a dit Noëlle alors que nous sortions du restaurant.

- “Merci à toi, Noëlle, oui je suis d’accord, c’était super,” a dit Jean-Louis. “Est-ce qu’on peut te ramener ?”

-“Non, ça va merci, j’ai ma voiture,” a répondu Noëlle.

-“Tu es venue en métro, tu m’as dit. Tu as oublié ? Trop de vin ce soir, Noëlle ?” ai-je taquiné.

-“Ben non, c’est juste que…” Noëlle a arrêté de parler et elle a rougi.

Jean-Louis a commencé a dire quelque chose, mais Noëlle lui a coupé la parole.

-“Non, en fait, j’ai laissé ma voiture près du métro Mabillon quand j’ai su pour la manifestation.”

- “Mais…” ai-je commencé à protester, mais mon mari a dit soudainement :
- “Bon, on y va ? Je dois me lever tôt demain.”

J’étais confuse, mais nous nous sommes dit au revoir et nous sommes partis.

Dans la voiture, j’ai dit :
- “C’est super de sortir le soir de temps en temps, Jean-Louis. J’aime bien passer du temps avec toi, sans les enfants. On peut faire ça plus souvent ?”

-“Oui, je suis d’accord. On peut inviter Noëlle aussi”, a-t-il répondu en regardant la route.

-“Oh…Oui, je suppose”, ai-je dit, un peu déçue.

Jean-Louis m’a regardée, et il a dit :
- “Eh bien, elle est un peu seule, Noëlle, non ? Elle n’a pas de famille ici comme nous. On devrait l’inviter parfois, je pense.”

- “Elle n’est pas aussi seule que ça !” ai-je répondu.

- “Que veux-tu dire ?” a dit Jean-Louis.

- “Ben, elle a déjà un nouvel amoureux.”

- “Leïla, arrête les ragots. C’est ton amie ! Ce n’est pas très gentil.” a répondu Jean-Louis fermement.

J’étais un peu choquée, je dois dire. Mon mari est en train de défendre Noëlle ?

- “Tu la défends, Jean-Louis ?” ai-je dit. “J’ai cru que tu ne l’aimais pas. Tu as changé d’avis ? Est-ce que c’est son charme australien ? Je pense que tu as dit qu’elle n’était pas sincère.”

Alors que nous arrivions dans notre rue, Jean-Louis a coupé le moteur et regardait droit devant lui.

- “Je n’ai jamais dit ça, Leïla. Je suppose que je ne la connaissais pas très bien. Allons, ça suffit ! Je ne veux pas passer la nuit devant notre appartement à parler de ton amie.”

Jean-Louis n’avait pas l’air très heureux.

- “Tu es fatigué, mon amour ?” ai-je demandé.

Parfois Jean-Louis était un peu susceptible.

- “Oui, ça doit être ça. Je suis désolé, chérie. Je t’aime, tu le sais ?” a-t-il dit en sortant de la voiture. Il a pris ma main. “Viens, on va se coucher”.

“Thanks you both for a lovely evening,” said Noëlle as we left the restaurant.“Thanks to you, Noëlle, I agree, it was great,” said JL” Can you we give you a lift?”

“No, that’s fine, thanks, I’ve got my car,” Noelle responded.

“You came by metro, you told me. Have you forgotten? Too much wine tonight, Noelle?” I teased.

“No, no, it’s just that…” Noelle stopped talking and she blushed.

Jean-Louis started to say something but Noelle cut him off.

“No, in fact, I left my car close to the Mabillon metro station when I heard about the demonstration.”

“But - “ I started to protest but my husband suddenly said: “Right, are we going? I have to get up early tomorrow.”

I was confused but we said goodbye and we left.

In the car, I said: “It’s great to go out at night from time to time, Jean-Louis. I like spending time with you without the children.”

“Yes, I agree. We can invite Noelle as well,” he responded, watching the road.

“Oh. Yes I suppose,” I said, a little disappointed.

Jean-Louis looked at me and he said: “Well, she’s a bit lonely, Noëlle, don’t you think? She doesn’t have family here like us. We should invite her sometimes, I think.”

“She’s not that lonely”, I said.

“What do you mean?” said Jean-Louis.

“Well, she’s already got a new love interest.”

“Leïla, stop with the gossiping. She’s your friend. It’s not very nice. responded Jean-Louis firmly.

I was a bit shocked I have to say. My husband was defending Noëlle?

“Are you defending her, Jean-Louis?” I said. “I thought you didn’t like her. Have you changed your mind? It is her Australian charm? I thought you said that she wasn’t very genuine.”

As we arrived in our street, Jean-Louis turned off the motor and looked straight ahead of him.

“I never said that Leila. I suppose that I didn’t know her very well. Come on, that’s enough. I don’t want to spend the night in front of our apartment talking about your friend.”

Jean-Louis didn’t seem very happy.

“Are you tired, my love, I asked? Sometimes Jean-Louis was a bit touchy.

“Yes, it must be that. I’m sorry darling. I love you, you do know that?” he said as we got out of the car. He took my hand.  “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

English words used in French

From ballet to faux-pas, baguette to souvenir, most Aussies unwittingly use numerous words of French origin as they go about their days. How numerous? Well, everyone’s vocabulaire* differs, but suffice it to say that approximately 7, 000 mots français* have made their way into the modern English language. (And many, many more words we use have French or Latin roots.)

But does it go both ways? Well, to a lesser extent, oui*. Today’s French is also littered with Anglicisms – especially among young, hip, pop culture vultures. 

You’re probably familiar with the food-related crossovers (hamburger, sandwich, hot dog), so here are some other loanwords to explore. 

Work out what you love

We all have moments along our French adventure where we toy with throwing it all in.

Obviously, as the owner of a French school it’s not in my interests to encourage people to follow through on this feeling and many times we just have to hang in there by a hair for the motivation (or favourable circumstances) to return. However, I do truly believe that if it’s not your thing, it’s best to let it go in favour of finding an activity that really lights you up. La vie est courte*, after all.

But what if you don’t know what it is you truly love? I consider myself very lucky in that I discovered French at the age of 11. What kills me is that I didn’t consider it as a viable career path until the age of 36, when I found myself crying on my birthday thinking “how did I muck my life up so badly?”. Nothing like a crisis to light a fire under us, that’s for sure.

Not everyone wants to turn their passion into their livelihood of course. Many people actually prefer to contain their loisirs* to their private time. But what if you’ve never truly discovered an interest qui te passionne*?

It might be time to consider these questions.

Were you more outdoorsy or did you prefer quiet time indoors? Did you read a lot? Or were you always hanging out with a gang of kids being rowdy? Did you used to love playing with Lego? Were you a dreamer? Were you dying to get into the kitchen to make something? What were you fascinated by?

Something people compliment you on, that you don’t even think of as a skill because you find it so easy? They say: ‘Gee, you’re good at that!’ and you think: ‘Can’t everyone do this?’

You know the type of thing: you start it thinking you’ll just do a little bit and a while later, you look at your watch expecting only 30 minutes to have passed, but in fact you’ve been at it for over two hours without realising.

Say you had to go to a party and you really were not in the mood.  Trying to hide, you go into the kitchen to get a glass of water and strike up a conversation with someone. You make polite chit chat, then hit on a subject you’re both passionate about. You end up spending the rest of the party in the kitchen, totally engrossed in this conversation. It’s like you can’t get the words out fast enough and you leave thinking: ‘What a great party!” What would be the subject you’d most likely be talking about?

This is not necessarily the answer, but it may give you an insight into what you truly enjoyed before societal expectations were placed on you.

Spend a few minutes daydreaming about this. Remember, in this scenario, you’re so set up you don’t have to give any thought to what makes money, what’s socially acceptable, what’s a transferable skill. This is purely about what would make you feel good. Then ask yourself why.

I didn’t have this list when I had my mid-thirties crise*, though I wish I did. Had I had access to this list, my answers would have looked a lot like this:

1. People from other cultures and travel
2. Languages
3. French
4. Languages and travel
5. A teacher (mostly for access to that stationery cupboard)
6. Learn more languages, travel.

So as you can see, I’m a pretty one-dimensional person. I do have other interests, but nothing really puts a fire in my belly like people, languages and travel. I could bore you for hours on the subject of just how much my life has changed for the better since I stopped caring what people thought and just decided to do what I loved. 

If you haven’t yet found ton truc, I sincerely hope you start the search. The great news is, it’s a search you can do from wherever you find yourself. Just take some time to gently ponder the questions ci-dessus*. And when you do find ta came*, chase it down like a person possessed. You'll never look back.

Of course, if you already know that French is your jam, félicitations*! You're in the right place.

 

*Life is short |* past-times | *that you’re passionate about | *crisis | *your thing | above | your jam | congratulations

Interesting French word : Crapoter

If you ever felt the peer pressure de fumer* in your youth, you may have crapoté* your first Marlboro Red. The French equivalent of the charming Aussie expression ‘bum puffing’, crapoter is a verb meaning to smoke a cigarette without inhaling. 

While that might sound like the best thing to do if forced to light up, it’s considered cringe-worthy among French teens. Toutefois*, that might be changing.
While smoking is still much more prevalent in France than en Australie*, the health message appears to be working. In 2021, 30% of French ados* had ever tried smoking, versus 52% in 2010. (In Australia, 97% of those aged 15-17 had never tried smoking, according to the National Health Survey.)

So now you know the word for fake smoking, how about fake singing? Can you remember it from December’s Chouchou News? If not, check it out here.

*to smoke | *smoked without inhaling |*However | *in Australia | *adolescents

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 6 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

“À l’amour ?” j’ai dit, surprise. “Vraiment, Noëlle ?”

Nous étions assises dans un très beau restaurant, Le Procope, dans le 6ème arrondissement de Paris, en prenant nos apéritifs.

“Pourquoi pas, Leïla ?” elle a répondu. “J’adore l’amour !”

“Même après la rupture avec Roger ?” j’ai demandé.

“Oui, bien sûr ! C’est vrai que ça n’a pas marché avec lui,  mais ça ne veut pas dire que je ne vais jamais avoir une autre relation amoureuse.”

“Ah, j’ai pensé que tu as déjà rencontré quelqu’un de nouveau,” j’ai dit.

Noëlle avait l’air un peu choqué.

“Qui a dit ça, Leïla ?” elle a demandé, en prenant une grosse gorgée de champagne.

“Roger, bien sûr ! Je t’ai dit que j’ai vu Roger l’autre jour, non ?”

“Ah bien sûr, oui. Tu m’as dit. Mais tu connais Roger, Leïla. Il n’est pas toujours totalement honnête.”

“Donc tu n’as pas rencontré un nouvel homme, alors ?” Je ne pouvais pas arrêter de poser des questions. Je savais que ce n’était pas bien, mais je voulais savoir si elle sortait avec mon professeur d’anglais, Simon.

“Je rencontre des hommes tout le temps, Leïla. Je crois que c’est grâce au fait que je suis australienne. Je crois que les hommes trouvent ça intéressant,” Noëlle a répondu.

“Les hommes français, tu veux dire ?” j’ai demandé. Oh là, là, je me suis dit. Tu es grave !

“Ouah, tu poses beaucoup de questions ce soir, Leïla. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ?” Noëlle avait l’air un peu énervé.

J’ai décidé de changer de stratégie. “Rien, c’est juste que tu es mon amie et je veux t’aider. Je connais les hommes français très bien. Ils sont très différents aux autres nationalités, particulièrement les anglo-saxons. La langue n’est pas la seule différence entre les pays anglophones et francophones, tu sais Noëlle.”

Noëlle n’a rien dit pour quelques secondes et puis elle a dit: “Alors mon nouvel homme parle anglais selon Roger, c’est bien ça ?”

J’ai commencé à répondre, mais Noëlle m’a coupé la parole. Avec un grand sourire, elle a dit:

“Jean-Louis ! Bonsoir ! Viens vite ! Ta femme est en train de m’interroger sur ma vie amoureuse !”

Je me suis retournée et j’ai vu mon mari, Jean-Louis, qui s’approchait de notre table. Il souriait, mais j’avais le sentiment qu’il était vexé quand même.

“Viens, mon chéri,” j’ai dit. “Tu as l’air fatigué. Tu travailles trop. S’il vous plaît, monsieur ! Du champagne pour mon mari. Merci,” j’ai dit au serveur.

“Tout de suite, madame,” il a répondu, et quelques secondes plus tard, il a posé la coupe de champagne devant Jean-Louis.

“Bon, Jean-Louis, tu vas nous raconter de ta journée ?” a demandé Noëlle. “Ça suffit avec ma vie privée pour ce soir.”

“Santé !” il a dit et nous avons tous rigolé.

“To love?” I said, surprised. “Really, Noëlle?”

We were seated in a very beautiful restaurant, Le Procope, in the 6th arrondissement of Paris, having our pre-dinner drinks.

“Why not, Leïla?” she responded. “I adore love!”

“Even after your break-up with Roger?” I asked.

“Yes, of course! It’s true that it didn’t work with him, but that doesn’t mean that I am not going to have another relationship.”

“Oh, I thought that you’ve already met someone new,” I said.

Noëlle seemed a bit shocked.

“Who told you that, Leïla?” she asked, taking a big gulp of champagne.

“Roger, of course! I told you that I saw Roger the other day, didn’t i?”

“Oh of course, yes. You did tell me. But you know Roger, Leïla. He is not always totally honest.”

“So you haven’t met a new man, then?” I couldn’t stop asking questions. I knew it wasn’t good, but I wanted to know if she was going out with my English professor, Simon.

“I meet men all the time, Leïla. I think it’s because of the fact that I’m Australian. I think men find that interesting,” Noëlle responded.

“French men, you mean?” I asked. Oh my goodness, I said to myself. You are nuts!

“Wow, you’re asking a lot of questions tonight, Leïla. What’s up?” Noëlle seemed a bit annoyed.

I decided to change strategy. “Nothing, it’s just that you’re my friend and I want to help you. I know French men very well. They are very different to other nationalities, particularly the Anglo-Saxons. The language is not the only difference between English-speaking and French-speaking countries, you know, Noëlle.”

Noëlle didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then she said: “So my new man speaks English according to Roger, is that it?”

I started to respond, but Noëlle cut me off. With a big smile she said:

“Jean-Louis! Good evening! Come quickly!  You’re wife is interrogating me about my love life!”

I turned around and I saw my husband, Jean-Louis, who was approaching our table. He was smiling, but I had the feeling that he was annoyed nonetheless.

“Come, my darling,” I said. “You look tired. You’re working too much. Excuse me, sir! Some champagne for my husband. Thank you,” I said to the waiter.

“Straight away,” he responded, and a few seconds later, he put the glass of champagne in front of Jean-Louis.

“Right, Jean-Louis, are you to tell us about your day?” asked Noëlle. “That’s enough with my private life for this evening.”

“Cheers to that!” he said and we all laughed.

Word power: feu

Looking to improve your French vocabulaire*? There’s un petit mot* you’ve probably come across that will help you péter le feu. Literally translated as ‘farting fire’, this charming expression simply means firing on all cylinders or being in good form. (Don’t you just love the French?)

The word in question? Feu, bien sûr*. 

Meaning ‘fire’, feu* is a handy word to know if you like cuisiner* or camping. But its uses don’t end there. 

Here are a few to add to your repertoire. Or, si tu as le feu sacré*, you can explore the full list at your leisure. 

*vocabulary | *a little word | *fire on all cylinders/ be in good form or health |*Fire, of course |*fire |*to cook |*if you have a fire in your belly/ if you’re very enthusiastic

Don't do it if you don't love it

Welcome to another article in our new series: How to Learn French. Not just les rouages*, but tips on the attitudes and practices you can adopt to ensure your success.

This article has been swimming around my head for quite a few weeks now, and in preparation, I  made a few notes.

Along with the words ‘passion’ (more on that later) and ‘teacup’ (that, too) was a very strange scratching in my handwriting : go with the hair of the arm. I knew exactly what I meant when I wrote it and was confident it would provide the backbone of this article, as well as add some imagery to this conseil*.

The reasons for the awkwardness of my note was two-fold. Firstly, I’d translated it from a French phrase I’d stumbled across a few years ago. Secondly, I’d never been able to remember the exact saying in French but I was sure it had something to do with flattening down the hair on your arm in the direction it grows, and was used to describe how we should pursue those things in life that come most easily to us. That is, going with the grain rather than against it. 

It turns out I shouldn’t have been so sure. When I finally tracked down the saying, I found it had a meaning quite different to the one I’d ascribed to it.

Flatter une personne dans le but d’obtenir sa confiance.

To flatter someone with the objective of winning their confidence.

So, quite off the mark. Or was I?

A further exploration of the definition brought about this explanation:

Par définition, les animaux aiment être caressés, ils se sentent ainsi flattés et dignes d'intérêt.

By definition, animals like to be patted, they feel both flattered and worthy of interest.

The last part of this definition really resonated with this particular animal (moi*).

From the very beginning, aged ten, when I had my very first lesson, learning French made me feel good. There was something about it that I found so intriguing, as though learning these strange-sounding words would unlock a parallel world previously unaccessible to me. This feeling has never gone away. In fact, it has intensified. I’m sure many of you feel the same way.

It’s not so much that I’m flattered by French (of course not), or that it makes me feel worthy of interest, but there is something to be said about spending your time doing something you love. Simply put, it feels right. It indeed feels like patting a dog the length of its coat in the direction of the growth of the hair (the French phrase is so much more elegant, non*?). There’s a therapeutic benefit to repeatedly caressing your favourite pet and I believe the same is true for regularly practising a skill you enjoy. It’s satisfying, calming and fun. And if you truly love it, it becomes so much more than that. It can inform your whole life, as it almost has done mine. 

Our Chouchous* come to Lingua Franca for all sorts of reasons. The predominant one, of course, is the desire to learn French. Many assume the main reason anyone would sign up to French lessons is because they have a trip to France planned in the near future, but in fact, that is a relatively rare occurence for us. As I mentioned in a previous post, most people come to us because they did a little bit of French at school and loved it, and then their lives took a different direction and French just didn’t fit in. Years or decades later, they come to us, wanting to pick it up again.

We also have people who have never studied French before but have long dreamed of doing so. We have partners of French people who come to us to be able to communicate better with their loved one and their loved one’s family. We have people whose children have partnered with a native French speaker, and they want to learn French so they can communicate with their grand-children. Some people work for French companies where having a knowledge of French is of huge benefit not only to their careers, but invaluable in forging relationships with their workmates.

Then we have all the reasons that go beyond the acquisition of language. Keeping your brain healthy, doing something (anything!) that’s not work, taking time for yourself, challenging yourself to learn something beyond the scope of your current expertise. For company. For stimulation. For the laughs. For connection.

We’re often told by students that coming to French is the high point of their week. I totally understand that. As a person who has taken my love of French to the extreme, I live and breathe it. When you’re truly passionate about something, it’s hard to separate your work and personal life, and in fact, I don’t really see the point. Arbitrarily drawing a line down the centre of my life for the sake of ‘balance’ when my passion for language, culture and travel permeates everything seems pointless, even cruel.

That said, though, the true highlight of my week is my Saturday morning Philosophy lesson. I absolutely love it. I get to ponder life’s big questions in a slow and almost meditative way with a group of people who have absolutely nothing to do with my ‘real’ life. It’s so liberating. It’s like washing my brain every week. I walk out of there as light as a feather, and the bonnes ondes* last well into the evening and sometimes, if I’m lucky, roll into Sunday morning and beyond. 

I’m not passionate about Philosophy, though. I just really, really like it. Unlike French, I very rarely race to a text to find out exactly what the Stoics were on about, or memorise a Marcus Aurelius quote. I just enjoy having the knowledge wash over me for the time I’m at my lesson. Occasionally I’ll give it some thought during the week, but sometimes not, and that is fine by me (and my tutor, thankfully). I’m not there to become an expert on Philosophy. I’m there to do something different and be exposed to some of the oldest ideas in history, which are almost all new to me.

Many of our students consider their French lessons the same way. It’s something very enjoyable they choose to do once or twice a week and adds an extra element to the life they’ve created for themselves. They may do French for a year or two, perhaps longer, and will happily let it go when it no longer serves them or they find something else that piques their interest.

Other students have a true passion for French. They’re easy to spot when you’re teaching them. They sit forward, eager for more and more knowledge. They ask questions. At times, they almost quiver with excitement. Their eyes are wide and bright and it’s wonderful to witness. These people never let it go, though the amount of time they devote to it may wax and wane over the years. It becomes part of their identity, and therefore is always there, patiently waiting in the background.

If you’ve ever been on Instagram, you’ve almost certainly seen an inspirational quote (or a thousand) about ‘filling up your teacup’. It’s the idea that we all have a limited amount of energy (our teacup) and that our teacup must be full before we are able to devote our time and energy to others. While a lovely idea in practice, I think many of us operate with sub-optimal liquid levels at times. It’s just part of living a modern life. I believe pursuing a hobby should feel like you’re replenishing your teacup, or at least maintaining the level. Which leads us in to the third group…

Luckily, this group is not a big one. It’s made up of people who have been dragged (or pushed) into French and found it’s just not for them. I feel sorry for them. You can tell they’re trying to put a brave face on it, but that there are about a hundred places they’d rather be at 6:15pm on a Wednesday night than at a French lesson. Others are people who thought speaking French would be like learning to ride a bike. A bit disorienting at first, a wobble or two and then there’s no looking back! Et en plus*, you never forget! Those of you who have studied French know it’s not like this at all. Learning a language is more like learning to play an instrument, with verb tables substituted for scales. And, as boring as it may sound, practice, practice and more practice is the key.

It is to this third group of people that this advice is directed. It’s frank but, for me at least, worth thinking about: if you don’t love it, don’t do it. If the idea of your upcoming French lesson hangs over your head all week and doesn’t get any better when you’re actually there, please let it go. Unless there is a valid reason why you must continue (and sometimes there is), go and do something that makes you feel good. 

This advice is not a rejection. Hopefully if you’re doing French because you feel you should, it’ll feel more like a liberation. Life truly is short, and the bank of happiness to be mined so rich when pursuing something you love that if you don’t love French (or any other leisure activity for that matter), don’t do it. Your time is precious. Fill it with things that make you feel engaged, confident and as though you’re stroking your favourite pet dans le sens du poil*. Not against the grain, pricking your hand, stirring up dust, making you sneeze and generally leaving you feeling bad.

Next month: a few ideas on how to work out what you truly do love, if you don’t already know.

*piece of advice | *me | *don’t you think? | *Teacher’s Pets | *good feeling | *plus | *in the direction of the hair

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 5 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

Je suis sortie du métro Odéon et cinq minutes plus tard, je suis arrivée au restaurant. J’étais à l’heure. Le maître d’hôtel s’est approché de moi.

“Bonsoir, madame,” il a dit. “Bienvenue.”

“Bonsoir, monsieur. J’ai une reservation pour trois personnes au nom de Toledano.”

“Certainement, Madame Toledano. Vous êtes là en premier.”


“Oui, mon amie va arriver bientôt et mon mari va nous rejoindre plus tard.”

“Très bien, madame. Benoît, s’il vous plaît ! Madame Toledano.”

En suivant le serveur à notre table, je pouvais apprécier le décor du restaurant. Au cœur de Saint-Germain des Prés dans le 6ème arrondissement, Le Procope est le plus ancien restaurant à Paris, et un des plus élégants. Avec un grand escalier, de beaux lustres, des nappes blanches et une ambiance calme et raffinée, j’avais l’impression de me retrouver dans un autre siècle.

J’ai décidé de faire une réservation quand j’ai entendu les nouvelles de Roger que c’était fini avec Noëlle. Même si Noëlle sortait avec un nouvel homme, j’étais sûre qu’elle était un peu triste. Ce n’est jamais facile quand une relation amoureuse se termine, donc je voulais lui remonter le moral. En regardant autour de restaurant, j’étais bien heureuse de mon choix. Noëlle allait adorer ce restaurant typiquement français. J’étais sûre qu’il n’y avait pas ces types de lieux en Australie.

Quinze minutes plus tard, Noëlle est arrivée. “Je suis désolée, Leïla ! Mon métro était en retard à cause d’une manifestation.”

“Une manifestation à 20h du soir ? C’est étrange !” j’ai remarqué.

“Ah, je ne sais pas, Leïla. Peut-être que je n’ai pas compris l’annonce. Le français n’est pas ma première langue, d’après tout. Bon, qu’est-ce qu’on va prendre comme apéritif ?” elle a demandé, en changeant le sujet.

“Une coupe de champagne ?” j’ai proposé.

“Ou bien un petit crémant ?” a dit Noëlle, “C’est moins cher. Malheureusement, je n’ai pas de mari riche comme toi,” elle a rigolé.

J’ai rigolé aussi. C’était très agréable d’être dans un restaurant avec ma copine au lieu d’être à la maison avec des enfants, en préparant le dîner et en faisant la vaisselle après. J’ai laissé ça à ma belle-sœur, Amina, ce soir.

“Noëlle, c’est moi qui vous invite ce soir. J’insiste.”

“C’est gentil Leïla et j’accepte avec plaisir. Deux coupes de champagne, alors, monsieur. Merci.”

“Je vous en prie, mesdames,” il a dit.

Quelques minutes plus tard, le serveur est retourné avec nos apéritifs.

“Voilà, mesdames. Deux coupes de champagne et des gougères salées en accompagnement.”

“Merci, monsieur,” nous avons dit, en même temps.

“Santé, Noëlle !” j’ai dit en levant ma flûte.

“Santé, Leïla !” elle a répondu. “À l’amour !”

I exited the Odéon metro and five minutes later, I arrived at the restaurant. I was on time. The maître d’ approached me.

“Good evening, madam,” he said. “Welcome.”

“Good evening, sir. I have a reservation for three people in the name of Toledano.”

“Certainly, Mrs Toledano. You’re the first to arrive.”

“Yes, my friend is going to arrive soon and my husband is going to join us later.”

“Very well, madam. Benoît, please! Mrs Toledano.”

In following the waiter to our table, I was able to appreciate the restaurant’s decor. In the heart of the Saint-Germain des Prés in the 6th arrondissement, Le Procope is the oldest restaurant in Paris, and one of the most elegant. With a grand staircase, beautiful chandeliers, white tablecloths and a calm and refined ambiance, I felt as though I’d found myself in anther century.

I decided to make a reservation when I heard the news from Roger that it was finished with Noëlle. Even if Noëlle was going out with a new man, I was sure that she was a little sad. It’s never easy when a romantic relationship ends, so I wanted to cheer her up. In looking around the restaurant, I was really happy with my choice. Noëlle was going to adore this typically French restaurant. I was sure there weren’t these types of places in Australia.

Fifteen minutes later, Noëlle arrived. “I’m sorry, Leïla!” My metro was late because of a demonstration.”

“A demonstration at 8 o’clock at night ? That’s strange!” I remarked.

“Oh, I don’t know, Leïla. Maybe I didn’t understand the announcement. French is not my first language, after all. Right, what are we going to have as a pre-dinner drink?” she asked, changing the subject.

“A glass of champagne?” I suggested.

“Or even a little sparkling wine?” said Noëlle. “It’s less expensive. Unfortunately, I don’t have a rich husband like you,” she laughed.

I laughed too. It was really nice to be in a restaurant with my girlfriend instead of at home with the children, preparing dinner and doing the washing up afterwards. I left that to my sister-in-law, Amina, tonight. “Noëlle, it’s my treat tonight. I insist.”

“That’s kind of you Leila and I accept with pleasure. Two glasses of champagne, then, sir. Thank you.”

Several minutes later, the waiter returned with our pre-dinner drinks.

“Here we go, ladies. Two glasses of champagne and some savoury puffs as an accompaniment.”

“Thank you, sir,” we said, at the same time.

“Cheers, Noëlle!” I said as I raised my glass.

“Cheers, Leïla!” she response. “To love!”

Stop trying so hard

Last month, I advised a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ approach to speaking French.

If you know anything about French, you know there’s always an exception, so here it comes:

The first time this advice was offered to me, I can’t say I took it graciously. My reaction may have involved me throwing down my table tennis bat, flouncing off en faisant la tronche* and slamming my bedroom door. In my defence, I was only 16, mais quand même*.

The year before, I’d been lucky enough to take part in an exchange to Réunion Island, a little slice of French paradis* located in the Indian Ocean between Mauritius and Madagascar. I’d been learning French since upper primary school and was in Year 11 when a group of about 40 of us left Perth for Singapore. After an overnight stay in a Mauritius hotel where we learned the word for cafards*, our very excited group landed at Roland Garros Airport in the capital of St Denis.

We were billeted out to families across the island and I absolutely fell in love with my host mère, père, deux sœurs et petit frère*.

In the car on the way from the airport to my nouvelle maison, my host sister Cécile said: “Je suis allée en Australie l’année dernière.” Though I’d studied the passé composé* at school and thought I had a handle on it, I managed to translate her statement to mean that she was going to come to Australia the next year. Proof that there’s knowing something academically and there’s really knowing it.

”Fantastique!*’ I exclaimed. “Tu vas rester avec moi*?”

Cécile looked confused, I was embarrassed and that pretty much set the tone for the next four weeks of my life as I struggled to communicate with real French people in real-life situations with my suddenly sub-par French. Néamoins*, I had a wonderful experience, my French did improve (even though I couldn’t tell at the time) and the next thing I knew, we were back at the airport, me in floods of tears promising to return the very next year. It’s been trente-quatre ans* and counting, but croyez-moi*, it’s going to happen.

Since Cécile had already been to Australia, we were to host someone brand new in return. Though I was disappointed to be denied the chance to resume my close friendship with her, I was secretly excited we’d be hosting un garçon* called Michel. Naturellement*, I thought we’d fall in love and live happily ever after and I could already see my future playing out as one half of a très chic* bi-cultural couple flitting between Réunion, Australia and France.

So when Michel and I took an almost instant dislike to one another it was a disappointment to say the least. I found him arrogant, he found me arrogante*. If he was têtu*, I was even more têtue. Let’s just say on n’était pas faits l’un pour l’autre*.

Our discord came to a head over la table de ping pong* and it’s a moment I’ll never forget. It’s also one for which I am forever grateful, as humiliating as it was at the time.

Part of my arrogance came in the form of the pride I took in my French. I absolutely loved it from the minute we started learning it in primary school. I’d worked really hard on it and was therefore very attached to it. Un poil* too attached, as it turned out.

Michel and I had not been getting on since his arrival. He annoyed me like a petit frère*, and I already had one of those. I’d whinged to Mum but she wasn’t having it, telling me it was my duty to be nice to him since he was a guest in our home (fair enough). She suggested I invite some of my friends around with their own exchange students to dilute the intensity a bit, which I promptly did.

We all decided to play table tennis and though this should have been a safe choice of activity, unfortunately both Michel and I were blessed with l’esprit de compétition* and our bickering soon reached a climax.

I can’t remember if this played out in French or in English but I clearly remember Michel and I were on opposing sides of the net when he let out a stream of insults ending with words to the effect of “You think you’re so good at French but you try too hard and it sounds stupid!”. I was absolutely humiliated, my face rouge comme une tomate, my friends standing off to the side, mouths open, and the Réunionnais exchange students shifting awkwardly in their baskets*. Cue the bat slamming, flouncing and sulking for the rest of the afternoon. Oh adolescence, how I miss you!

I hate to admit it, but he was right.

We all know how hard it is to get our mouths around French pronunciation at first, and it can continue to be difficult for quite a long time. There are sounds in French that just do not exist in English, such as the infamous ‘r’ as well as the nasal vowels. Then of course they have words like écureuil*, which seem designed to destroy us.

Additionally, our French teacher in high school had told us to really exaggerate the ‘r’ at first, which is advice I still give to our students when they’re first introduced to it (merci, Mlle MacPherson*!). I’d just forgotten the second part of her advice which was to back off a touch once we’d mastered producing the sound.

So the advice to ‘stop trying so hard’ is valid, but may not apply to you if you’re still relatively new and trying to get your mouth (and head) around French pronunciation. However, if you’ve been at it a while, and it still feels like you’re making an enormous every time you open your mouth to speak French, see if taking it down a notch yields better results.

I know I used to think I had to try really hard to produce a French accent and try I did. Too much, as it turned out. It was only in making a concerted effort learn the rules of French pronunciation (and there are plenty of resources to help with that) that I had the confidence to back off a little.

If you think about it, we don’t have to make an effort when we speak English because we’re really comfortable with the sounds we need to make. In fact we don’t even think about it. The same is true for French people. They’re never trying to sound French, they just do. And that’s because they’ve mastered the required sounds.

Turn on French radio or watch the French news and you’ll soon notice that some people sound very obviously French, whereas others appear to have a softer accent. When I realised that, despite their differences, they were all native French speakers, j’ai eu un déclic* which seemed to give me permission to tone it down a bit. Not all French people sound like a Pepe Le Pew, I realised.

If you do the work of learning the pronunciation, you’ll see there are actually fewer variations than you might think. French pronunciation is one of the few areas of the language that is, in fact, not riddled with exceptions. The same sounds come up time and time again, but are just spelled differently (think of the ‘o’ in ‘tomate’, the ‘eau’ in ‘bateau’ and the ‘au’ in ‘jaune’ - they’re all the same sound). Learn to group these sounds together, and the whole exercise will seem more manageable. Those of you who have done our Absolute Beginner series of workbooks will have been shown this, but it never hurts to go back to the basics with fresh eyes and to have a go at mapping it out for yourself.

Next, practise, practise and practise some more (flashcards are great for this) and be gentle on yourself. It will most likely get worse before it gets better. Then, just when you reach the point where you’re about to self-combust with all the effort, give yourself a break.

Try slowing down and softening your delivery a little and you may well be surprised find your pronunciation sounds more fluid and gentle, and somewhat counterintuitively, even more French.

*sulking *but even so *paradise *cockroaches *mother, father, two sisters and little brother *new house *I went to Australia last year *past tense *Fantastic *Are you going to stay with me *Nevertheless *thirty four years *believe me *a boy *Naturally *very chic *arrogant *pig-headed *we weren’t exactly made for one another *the table tennis table *A touch *little brother *the competitive spirit *red as a tomato *squirrel *trainers thank you, Miss MacPherson *I had a Eureka moment

Interesting French word: chanter en yaourt

While it might sound like a kind of vocal training best avoided by the lactose intolerant, this amusing French phrase has zero to do with dairy. And we’re betting you’ve even done it yourself – possibly during a trip to France. 

Literally translated as ‘singing in yoghurt’, chanter en yaourt means fudging your way through song lyrics using gibberish and, most likely, bravado.

According to Wikipedia, it’s “une technique qui consiste à chanter en produisant des sons, des onomatopées, des syllabes qui font penser qu'il s'agit d'une langue réelle.” (Traduction*: a technique that consists of singing while producing sounds, onomatopoeias, syllables that make people think that it is a real language.)

The term can apply to any ‘fake singing’ but most often refers to attempting to sing in another language. Why not give it a go next time les paroles* escape you?

*translation | *the song lyrics