Voyage au bout de la langue...

So, back for part II of my languages journey posts. It's an epic journey of heartbreak, self-discovery and joy. It made me who I am.

It's a journey I started aged 7, back in primary school when I signed up to French class, the only problem being that I was the only one. So it didn't go ahead. And I didn't learn any French.

...Until I received a Dorling Kindersley French set for birthday. I learned a few words. I was kinda interested, but not as interested as I was in reading my DK Children's encyclopedia from cover to cover, and feeling very naughty reading the 'reproduction' pages, and learning my dinosaur books by heart. (Apatasaurus: 'imagine you are up a tree. A head the size of a giraffe's pokes through the leaves...'). I was a cool child.

I continued to not learn any French for several more years.

French struggled to get a hold. All I knew of French back then was that Mum had been on a French exchange to Paris when she was at school, and obviously this made it the coolest thing ever. My budding linguistness had to wait to reach its full expression until later, at secondary school, I was on the receiving end of that glorious thing known as French class with a certain Mr Wild, who had the epic-est, French-est goatee beard I have ever seen. He caused much outrage/hilarity with his habit of pointing at people with his middle finger, seemingly telling small children to 'f-off' every time he said 'Et toooi?'. He was so epic, we even wrote the incredible 18-verse hit 'Mr Wild is weird... since he shaved off his beard' on the subject. (I continued to be a cool child.) Punishment for non-participation in French-learning songs was being sent to junior choir. I probably continued to learn very little French.

My students are constantly surprised that I learned French just like they are - starting in year 7 and continuing to climb that ladder for the next 15 years. They keep asking if I'm French, as though it's impossible that anyone from the next borough over might have any desire/ability to speak another language. I sometimes agree. But learn I did. And that, mes enfants, is a story for next time...