Est-ce que tu parles le Français?

Posted in Uncategorized. Written by admin on April 28th, 2009

France is sexy, I’m not breaking new ground there. This is the country of Moulin Rouge, lingerie and voulez-vous couche avec moi. Ever since American GI’s came back from the war from torrid adventures with liberated housewives the world has always looked to the French to see what is chic and sexy. Indeed the the allure is so powerful that to make something sexy one only need call it French, as evidenced by French Letters and the ever so famous French Kiss.

Naturally this also applies to the French language, a tongue that has melted the hearts the world over and where even the name for rubbish bin includes the word “beautiful”. As a native of the distinctly unsexed English language, one of the many challenges of getting to grips with French is understanding the logic behind why a pen is masculine whereas a house is feminine. Personally I think it makes more sense for an “it” to merely be an “it” and reserve the concept of sexuality for things more deserving. One notable exception is that the French resolutely refer to boats as “it”, a notion that shocked my Grandfather who, like all Anglo sailors, lovingly refer to his boats as “she”. To be fair, there are parallels. They are both expensive and have the potential to break ones heart.

A prime example of how French is pas logic is the medium of my work, water. I had hoped that a single substance, having gained a sex, would hang onto it but that that would be too much to ask. Rain is feminine whereas fog is masculine. A puddle is masculine whereas a stream is feminine. Continuing the trend, a river is feminine as is the sea, but again flows into to the masculine ocean. Thus, on its way from rain to arriving in the ocean, poor water goes through more sex changes than a transvestite cabaret singer like Robin William’s partner in The Birdcage!

What’s going on here? All that’s different is the addition of a little salt. When I add salt to the pot when cooking pasta is doesn’t don a frock and start batting for the other team. The only thing I can think of where an increased dose would change a sex is testosterone. This is after all the hormone that turned an Austrian school boy into Schwarzenegger and forces fish to change sex when it leaks into rivers. The bastion of all things masculine should be simple, even in French. The French word for testosterone? Feminine! I give up!

In spite of the above, I have been learning French quickly and am loving living here. Only five months after I started learning it in earnest I can communicate effectively, carry out all of the boat paperwork and checks in the home language and, thanks to a brief stint on a Open 7.50 team in La Trinité I know enough sailing vocab to be useful as race crew.

There is still a lot of work to do regarding the finer points of the language, as there appear to be 1345 conjugated forms of each verb and there are obviously the masculine/ feminine and singular/ plural issues to deal with. I can blunder forward with enthusiasm and hand waving, although the recipient on the other side of the conversation probably receives my offer with the same guarded delight as a pet owner who receives a dead bird on the doorstep.

Its the thought that counts.