Goodbye la France

I'm Francesca Tereshkova, a British girl who washed up on the shores of France aboard a Eurolines bus in 1998. I came to France the day after I finished my University finals. I'm now 32 with two children. I married my Russian boyfriend (now 'hubski') in 2003. And I've learned as much about France as I need to know. In August 2006, I brought my family back 'home' to the UK. We're still adjusting... This is my story.

Name:
Location: Formerly the Parisian suburbs, now the town of E., Darkest Oxfordshire, United Kingdom

I get perverse enjoyment from doing the opposite of what everyone else does. I wish I could stop but I can't. So when thousands of Frenchies were leaving France to find work and to make a better life in the UK, I chose to do exactly the opposite. That was in 1998. My French experience is unlike any I have read about in the vast Brit-in-France literary sub-genre. I have no French boyfriend or family, no country house. Dog poo has never inspired me to pick up a pen. I have recently given up on France ever changing, or me ever changing, and brought my family back to the strange new world that is England in 2006. This blog, part life-story, part diary, is my way of saying goodbye la France, and hello Angleterre (or in the Oxfordshire vernacular, 'Orwoight?').

Saturday, September 16, 2006

In which I finally get to use my TEFL qualification ...

Hubski's English homework is lying on the table. I can't resist a peek. Professional interest and all that. You see, I used to be an English teacher. And it was the hardest 56 francs an hour I ever earned.

Hubski has a cavalier approach to English. He works with broad, impressionistic brush strokes. The main thing is, HE knows what he wants to say. If other people can't work it out, tough. Example: 'I was not coming to England before because I was not wanting Tony Blair to feel himself in the shadow'. But now hubski's abilities to convince someone to employ him (rather than entertaining the locals at our local), have come under an unforgiving spotlight. So he's enrolled on an intensive English course at the local college.

It's a single sheet of A4, entitled 'Grammar Check'. My last attempt to teach hubski English grammar stalled. His parting shot? 'I would like to be creative with your f**king language.' Hubski has an advanced grasp of swearing and slang - the result of learning English 'on the job' while working as a hotel bell boy.

The task is to identify mistakes in various sentences, and correct them. All in all he's not done too badly. The last sentence, however, contains a classic hubski clanger. He's crossed out 'Why are those men laughing?' and written 'Why those men are laughing?'

I decide to intervene. 'If the sentence uses the verb 'to be', it always comes after the question word, so you have, 'Why are you laughing?' With other verbs, you use 'do' as an auxiliary, and then the infinitive, like in 'Why do they think it's funny?'. See?'

There's a looong silence. Hubski seems to be digesting my pearls of wisdom, and committing them to memory. Possibly, he's thinking how lucky he is to be married to such a polymath - someone whose professional experience has spanned English teaching, lifeguarding, paper delivering, bar maiding, chip frying, tourist guiding, translating, and bell ringing.

I feel I should break the silence. 'I'm a good teacher, aren't I?' I joke (for it is a joke).

'Yes' he replies. 'You do.'

He has a remarkably British sense of humour. I hope the interviewer sees it that way.

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