It's more fun this way (London / France)

It was a Sunday in 1985 and a group of us were invited round to Adam’s for lunch.  After sitting at the table for a few hours, someone suggested we go and play croquet in the garden.  As it was winter, the days were short and it was very dark outside, so I said, “But it’ll be impossible to see in the dark.”  Someone else said, “It’s more fun this way!”

This is the approach I adopt with my visits to the French farm.  Not knowing the language (and to tell the truth, even if I did, their strong local accent would render all that knowledge practically useless anyway) means that I have to guess what they might be saying, waiting for key words to confirm my conjecture.  This makes eavesdropping a very interesting exercise, because they think I have zero French so they are quite free with their comments (about me or otherwise) and also because I have to learn not to give the game away when I do understand certain bits (cf. my other blog entry: The Italians in Prague) by remaining poker-faced.  When the phone rings at lunch time, I immediately surmise it’s someone who knows them well, someone who will know they’ll be sitting down to lunch.  When the phone rings late’ish at night, I know it’ll be one of the two daughters, and the bisou uttered by Jeanette at the end of the call will provide confirmation (and double-confirmed when she then informs me it’s Colette or Isabelle).


(London, 1985; France, 1996-2011)