I’m so proud I could burst.
France et moi
France and I have always had a romantic friendship. My aunt and cousins are French, and I studied French in high school and at university, certain that I would become fluent, move to France and live a romantic French life (like the amazing Amy Plum).
One day my French professor told me I had developed a ‘Parisian accent’ and I practically fainted from happiness.
Then I graduated and reality set in. I got a job and went to work like everybody else and soon my French got rusty. There’s not much call for French when you’re a crime reporter in America, although once when a French couple lost their camper van and didn’t speak English and nobody on the police force spoke French, I acted as translator until we found it.
That was awesome.
Pas pour moi
The chance to live in France never happened, although the opportunity to live in England did, and for many years now I’ve been happily in the English countryside. From here I can travel to France easily. Every time I go, my French comes back just a little more.
I love my life in England but I always look at France a bit wistfully, in a Sliding Doors kind of way.
Because, as countries go, it’s the one that got away.
Vive la France!