Just a quick one as I’ve suddenly realised how many minor administrative tasks I haven’t dealt with this week, having just dropped my friends off at the airport after a great week (Yeah, I have friends. Who paid money to come and see me. Got this life business sorted.) Naturally, rather than doing anything remotely sensible, I’m going to beat the post-visit melancholy by lounging about in my PJs, drinking flat Orangina and sharing my inane thoughts with the internet. However, as I’m genuinely pretty short on time, actual news will be dispensed next week.
Given that this blog appears to have sneakily become language-themed, I’m going to post the finest examples of hilariously mangled English which I have collected throughout the semester. This is not intended to be catty, as my French no doubt contains a lot of extremely bizarre mistakes (and I still have to avoid saying any words that could potentially be mispronounced to create an innuendo. This is why ‘queue’ has become ‘ligne’ now). Still, I do sometimes wonder whether it might have been a good idea to run the slogan past a native speaker before going to print… I think these can speak for themselves.
Posters for club nights:
‘F*ck me I’m student’ soirée
An absolute horror titled ‘Come to Daddy’
Boobs are future
On the menu of my favourite crêperie:
Overheard in a bar:
‘blah blah french french french Let’s go to the mall!!‘
(This makes me realise how strange the French phrases I use for jokes must sound to Actual French People).
Said to me repeatedly by the very lovely but otherwise incomprehensible little old lady I recently visited on a volunteering scheme:
‘I am a little boy’. I did not fully get the context for this, as she had the strongest Southern accent I have ever heard.
My two favourite interpretations of my apparently unpronounceable name:
“Brauwen” and “Ron, spelt R-o-w-n.”
|I mean, it looked kind of cool but when you read it in your head it’s… odd.|
|Dramatic pictures of animals seem to be big here.|
|The picture does not do justice to the dazzling choice of colours on this one.|
There will be information and profound thoughts next week! (Probably). For now, I would like to leave you with a rendition of parts of ‘Danny Boy’, as sung by my new choir of almost exclusively non-English-speaking French people. I was asked to correct pronunciation errors but I’m just enjoying them too much…
Oh Danny Boy, ze pipes, ze pipes are cooling
From glen to glen
And down ze moonteen side,
Ze summer’s dead, and all ze rosies falling
Tissue tissue, must go and I must bide.