Our House is Definitely Not in Paris Read Online Free PDF Page A

— their béret s tipped at a jaunty angle, a freshly baked baguette tucked under their arm.

    Café scene, Paris

    Lunch in Martel

Faking French
    Our petite maison is now a well-known part of our life and everyone we know assumes — of course — that I must be taking French lessons. I know that I should be. After all, do I not have another French life now? However, as with everything in my crowded life, there simply does not seem to be the time for such a luxury. Mind you, many would see it is a matter of necessity, as I do also have a house in a little French village, where I do most definitely want to be accepted and a part of life once a year. My ineptitude with grasping the intricacies of French means that I turn to the internet in an attempt to gain an insight into how I can perhaps feign some degree of familiarity with French.
    First, I learn that the first and most important part of how to ‘fake’ the French accent is the ‘ r ’ sound. Apparently, according to my research — for research is certainly part of my skill-set — you push your tongue to the back of your throat as if pronouncing a 'gee' sound. I attempt to practise this aloud as I drive to work at home. It seems to be the only time I can find to devote to such essential activities. I listen to the results and can only conclude that I truly can’t get the hang of it.
    The next internet research lesson that I decide to devote myself to, on my drive to and from work each day, is that the ‘ h' in words should always be silent. Since I know so few French words, I struggle to think of any with ‘ h ’. Ah, haute couture . That should do the trick. Not that in my other French life I have occasion to even contemplate haute couture . Let’s remember that at the end of the day, it is a life of rénovée .
    Next lesson. I find out that when you pronounce ‘ e ’ you draw them out for as long as possible. It is again fortunate that I am alone in the car. Memories of the squealing pigs at feeding time in Cuzance are the closest I seem to be able to manage. Strike that attempt off the list.
    Right, what’s next on the unique how-to-fake-French accent that I have cleverly devised for myself? I learn that in French, it is imperative to always stress the last syllable of a sentence, or before you pause, with a rising intonation, as if you are asking a question. Since I can only manage the most basic and essential of phrases and requests, like ‘ Où est la boulangerie? ’, ‘Where is the boulangerie ?’, perhaps I can just manage this. Then again, perhaps not. It’s one thing practising alone in my car, and another thing actually attempting this in Paris.
    I move on to my next self-created petite French language guide. I now learn that ‘ th ’ is pronounced as a ‘ z ’. Once again I struggle to recall a single word in my very limited vocabulary that may fit this particular linguistic trick. Perhaps I will check with Stuart on this exacting requirement. As with the myriad of things I always seem to be pursuing, he is puzzled by what I am up to now.
    I decide to move right along to the next trick I am attempting to learn to fit into my French life. I hasten to add it has now been a matter of weeks to and from work that I have been conducting my secret French lessons. What an ambitious dream it now seems. To step off the plane in Paris and engage in scintillating repartee. Perhaps this is a ploy that I can cunningly incorporate into my ever-stumbling French attempts. To fully assimilate into the French way of life, apparently all you have to do is toss in a lot of ‘ euh ’s . This seems to be the clinching key to faking French. I learn from the master of all knowledge, the internet, that it is the equivalent of inserting lots of ‘ umms ’ or ‘ ahhs ’ into conversation. Ostensibly, it fools people into believing that you are