I realised last night that I had to go and take my phonetics test this morning before my class at 10, a horrible realisation after a promising but tiring day in Exeter. I managed to get to the Blvd. Raspail in record time and eventually took my test. Now I normally think, through English speaking arrogance that my accent is quite good, only occasionally having to shout in someone’s ear very slowly to be understood. But this morning, I cracked. She asked me to repeat several basic phrases after her but a combination of this unnatural way of speaking and a nervous desire to say it the way she said it meant my throat went missing in action. That is, the wee ‘grr’ that is present in many words went missing. I reminded myself of an English postman who was in my class at the Alliance Francaise for a week and spoke French with a cockney accent.
After this letdown, she pointed out to me that I was not bad, though had the usual problems that come with being an ‘anglophone’. So every second week now begins at 8.30 everyday for an hour of phonetics. I then chose the 2 lectures that I will attend each week. My choices were heavily limited by my training schedule but look fine all the same.
Tuesday afternoon is Cultural and Social Geography of France and Thursday is 20th Century Theatre...
On my way back to my normal French class I passed by my ‘local’ bakery that I frequented each morning during the Alliance Francaise days. I went in, expecting to be greeted like the prodigal son with ficelles aux lardons et fromages handed to me from every direction. But no, I ordered the same thing I had for months and we went through the same routine just like the old days. Gone, and well and truly forgotten with no attention paid to the fact that I had kept the place afloat for months.
The Sorbonne is a very different environment to the A.F. It’s more formal: I was made to sign a contract basically saying I would behave, dress respectfully, respect other cultures and sit there and swallow the conditional like a mute. I will never find out if the prof is a devoted admirer of Jean-Jacques Rousseau or his thoughts on French politics as that would be showing a viewpoint which is dangerous... Having said that, there is a nice balance to the course which should lead to me progressing quite quickly in more of a university environment.
I trained this afternoon like a man possessed. Sometimes I find myself in this mood when the air feels easier to run through and the weights just feel lighter. I have heard that this may be what is commonly known as not being overly tired but it’s hard to tell. Best to cash-in on days like these and train hard to make up for the inevitable days when it just won’t be there.
I once wrote about the frustration of French infants who babble away in French in front of me, before I remember it’s their mother toungue. Well, at the bus stop this evening a very cute pair of 3 year olds decided I was the pere noel (Santa) and were pointing and chatting away. Their nanny crudely mentioned my lack of white beard. I managed to babble something back about shaving after Christmas so no-one knew who I was which they seemed to giggle at. Or they were laughing at this silly foreigner trying to speak French and pretending to be Father Christmas.
Next week is technically a week off from the rugby at the club, except a couple of training sessions with the Crabos. With the lectures beginning, it’ll be good to have more flexibility to fit in the gym sessions when I want. I’ve a plan with which I hope to set about finding my side-step again, sadly gone missing in amongst all this ‘French Flair’. Last seen somewhere at New Field in the autumn of 2009, any information on its whereabouts gratefully received!
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