Je suis en France. (Actually, je suis dans un Club Med in Italy, but it seems that Club Meds are in fact tiny French outposts; veritable arrondissements in fact, but with water aerobics set to house music and all you can eat buffets throughout the day.)
I'm in heaven, actually. I can scowl and shrug and blow the smoke from a half-ashed Gitane into an elderly neighbour's face to my heart's content; I can glower and threaten and yell at my kids, then wrench them by the arms into a naughty corner without anyone batting an eyelid. No one thinks I'm a nutter for my reliance on, and devotion to, routines; and a glass of kir at 11am isn't just acceptable, it's (as they say here) de rigueur.
Not everyone is so content, malheureusement. The Man cannot get used to eating every component of his meal separate to the other, although is quite taken with the array of bosom on display (you don't get that in Florida, I can tell you). The Boy has his 'pfffft' to a (un) T, but refuses to accept the authority of the GOs. This morning he happened to mention in passing that they didn't really much like it when he spat. 'You did what??' 'I spat. But only on the ground. And only because he spat at me first.' The Girl, when instructed to greet her minder with a cheery 'bonjour!', primly informed me that, 'actually, my French isn't so good, Mummy. But, actually, my English is excellent.' And the Baby -well, she's just delighted to get any attention. Although now that I think about it, reactions to her have highlighted that in general, the English are indeed more polite than the French. Popular euphemisms for 'fat' in English include: 'bonny''; 'healthy'; 'sturdy'; 'solid'; 'advanced'; and -my favourite- 'compact'. The woman in the crèche, on the other hand, took one look at her, exhaled deeply, and said, with a disgusted shrug of the shoulders - 'mais elle est grosse, non?'.
Tant pis. There's no insult that a fag and a glass of kir can't quell.
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