Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Anglo-Saxon Remembers
In my three years of single days between my two marriages I rented a gorgeous large heritage home with my sister and two other flatmates. One of them was a Frenchman. Probably not the Frenchman you would imagine, this one looked more like a hobbit. But he was still French so my sister and I chose him over all the other people who had come to look at the room.
At the time we had just started attending French night class lessons at a local school so we thought it would be helpful to have someone French around. It wasn’t; he laughed at our trying to speak French rather than help. We quit the lessons halfway through.
One good thing I do remember about our French Hobbit though, was from one Sunday lunchtime when I was sitting at the big antique table which ran along a wide window-seat, with bi-fold windows the length of the wall which had sun streaming in. It was lovely to warm my bones.
I had my lunch there, and from what I was eating I was possibly hungover, possibly. A big bowl of mashed potatoes and peas, with plenty of butter, and a large glass of Diet Coke (obviously I hadn’t been told about Sweet Poison yet).
I was a single girl after all and my Saturday nights involved high heels and cocktails out. No wonder I never had any money...
So sitting there with my hangover lunch and Diet Coke, the French flatmate shuffled past shaking his head. ‘Ah, you Anglo-Saxons, always drinking Coke with your meals' he spat in his French accent. And continued on his way.
Wisdom from a French person - it doesn't come wrapped in pretty words. But I am glad to say I haven't had a soft drink with a meal since.