Foot in Mouth Disease

And the nominations for this year's "Please Just Let The Ground Open And Swallow Me Up" award for most embarrassed student are:

- The student who, when I asked for an example of a song that uses franglais, piped up without thinking, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?". To which I simply grinned and told her it was very kind and we'd talk about it later.

- The lad whose so-called friend had told him that the English word for soudeur ('welder') was, in fact, 'blowjobber'. He had just announced to the class, during a discussion on future careers, that this was what he wanted to be. I'm not sure who was more embarrassed, me or him, when I had to explain to him what the word actually meant...

- The student who told the class that his biggest complaint about his parents is that his mother is a dominatrix. Another of those occasions where it's difficult to decide if it would be worse to explain what he just said, or not to...

- The lad I saw this afternoon in the lingerie section of a large department store in Rennes. My students always seem amazed enough as it is when they see me out of school - as if I sleep upside down from the rafters like a bat when I'm not teaching - but the look on his face was priceless when he realised he'd been caught traipsing round looking at bras and enormous knickers with his Mum. That's the last time he'll be asking for my phone number in class.

French Drivers

It's common knowledge that the French regard zebra crossings and pelican crossings as pretty stripes on the road that are there for decoration and little else. Even when the green man is lit up, cars are still allowed to drive over the crossing if they're turning right, so they're fairly pointless. You can't rely on any car to stop for you, regardless of whether you have right of way or not.

Of course, there are exceptions. I almost always have cars stop for me if I'm wearing a skirt; I have done several experiments and my findings are consistent on this one. Also, when my mother is in France with her walking stick or in a wheelchair (she's disabled rather than old, I hasten to point out), the cars always stop courteously for her. You're treated well in this country if you're disabled or a young female; everyone else can va se faire foutre.

Which brings me on to the single most French experience I've had in my four months of living here. Having finished teaching this morning (long live the French system of no school on Wednesday afternoons), I was on the bus back to Rennes when I saw a little boy, about ten years old, hovering at the side of road next to a zebra crossing. Holding two French baguettes, he was clearly trying to decide whether to cross or not. The bus driver had no intention of stopping - indeed she seemed to speed up - and she tutted, moaning, "Bloody pedestrians!" Then, suddenly, she noticed the baguettes, slammed on the brakes, saying, "Oh, wait, he's got bread," and smiled at him as he crossed the road.

I swear this is true. Only in France do vehicles stop for bread, not people.