Recently, during my travels, I have had far too many comments regarding my nationality. I keep saying that, yes, I am French-born, but I now have a British passport, to no avail. Once again, whatever I do, I am ‘the French one’. That said, we French are the envy of the world, right? We also have the reputation to be rude and arrogant. I have therefore decided to make the most of it. Here is how…
Let’s start with the obvious. In order to be true to your reputation, don’t check in online, turn up as late as possible and change the seat a few times. That will teach them, right? Stay hydrated: this means that it’s OK to arrive at the airport already drunk, and continue the party onboard. Make a huge fuss to be upgraded -we French moan all the time, so just go for it… Jump the queue, and argue that it can’t be possible that all these people are travelling business class anyway. Just do it. There is always someone who does it. Why not you this time?
Let’s face it: there’s nothing glamorous or exciting about commercial air travel, especially if you have to go to Stansted airport at the crack of dawn. That said, that’s not an excuse to dress down. High heels are a must, and will amaze your fellow passengers. And don’t forget your sunglasses at all times to complete the look.
As I am in a good mood today, and as I have had enough of the doom and gloom, I thought I’d share with you the accumulated wisdom of my many years spent travelling the world – a definitive guide to make air travel palatable for you, but not necessarily for those around you. After all, if I am the French one, warts and all, I need to act like one…Every cloud has its silver lining, right?
I have already told you: we French are special. We French are different. Of course we are. That’s why there is such a strong anti-French sentiment. Love it or hate it, we want the world to know that we do things our own way. It’s in our genes. So, what do we do differently? Here are a few examples…
The French cultural exception of course: we have our own singers and movie stars. Of course we accept that most global culture is in English, we just want our own to get funding too. To cut a long story short, the anglo-saxon world considers arts as an industry making profits, whereas we French consider culture as the product of ideas that extend beyond strict commercial value. We are a bunch of idealists.
The food. French gastronomy was added by the UNESCO to its lists of the world’s “intangible cultural heritage”…We French have a very high opinion of our cooking. We explained to the whole world how things should be done. Not to mention that nothing tops up the Michelin guide. In short, don’t you ever try to explain to us what food is about. Especially when the bread this side of the Channel is systematically under cooked. Just saying. And do not dare to mention a straight croissant to me.
If case you haven’t noticed, right now it is freezing in London. If, like me, you are not used to it, well, it’s time to do something about it. Let’s be positive about this, right? Anyway, it’s not as if we have a choice, so let’s make the most of it. It feels like Christmas has come in advance this year. Let’s just accept it, and make the best out of it. So what to do?
Buy a reindeer jumper. I have found some very nice ones for the little ones. Have a look here: kids knitwear. In fact, I am even thinking of buying one for myself. After all, if you don’t wear a reindeer jumper when it’s cold, you never wear one.
This morning there was a car waiting for someone in the middle of the street where I live. A black cab wanted to drive through, and could not overtake it, because the street was too narrow. The driver started honking his horn, lowered his car glass window and profusely shouted at the car. It was a colourful exchange. I witnessed the whole thing, and asked myself:
‘What happened to British good manners ?’
Seriously, I thought that this country was all about gentlemanly behaviour, fair play and the likes. Now I am not so sure. Come to think of it, British athletes want to win as much as any other athletes. In fact, young people I talk to are unable to make eye contact and speak to me without incoherently mumbling (Maybe it’s old age. I might be becoming deaf?). I don’t want to name and shame, but this morning at the coffee shop someone didn’t mop up after himself in the loo. And the neighbour’s dog keeps peeing on my porch.
Very. Bad. Manners.
I might be French but I have brought up British daughters. This stark realisation came yesterday evening when my younger daughter was taking far too much time to go to bed. To speed things up I decided to switch the light off (otherwise she would probably still be reading -or playing-) in her bedroom. That’s when she protested with a loud
What? Did she just say ‘Oi’? I couldn’t believe it. A well-behaved French little girl would have said
‘eh oh, I still need the light’ or
‘Mummy, can you please switch the light on?’
It happened again today. What am I talking about? Well, I received another dick pic on Twitter this morning, as a DM. I deleted it, and blocked the account, as I usually do. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t like it, but, frankly, it didn’t bother me. I am used to it by now. I still don’t understand what men expect me to do when they send me such pictures. Do they want me to reciprocate(No way!) ? Shall I admire them? What is the point exactly? I don’t understand but hey, we are where we are.
I then opened my email box, and this time found a love declaration (not from the same guy, I think). It’s amazing how people believe that they have a special connection with you when they don’t know you at all. I ignored it. That’s not entirely true: I thought of forwarding it to my agent to see whether we could publish all the love declarations I have received at some point. It could work, couldn’t it?
It happened during a race. As you know, I sometimes run ultra marathons. What can I say? I like to push myself. Anyway, one of the (many) things I love about races is that I don’t have any filtering system when I run. It was the end of yet another long ultra, and I was exhausted. My running watch had died a long time ago, and I had no idea how much longer I needed to run. Which is why, when I saw a fellow runner, I asked him how far from the finishing line we were. He said something like ‘about a mile’.
I was delighted. I was almost there. I had made it. Which is why I blurted out:
” Oh really? I love you for this!”
You British are so nice. Seriously, how can you guys be always so kind? You will have to tell me what your secret is. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. What am I talking about? Well, let me explain: I happen to be a non-exec for a local bank in France, and we had a board meeting the other day. After 45 minutes, one of the other participants said that he needed the loo, and never came back. I was shocked. Nobody looked surprised, except me. What had happened?
I did what I had to do: I took the issue to Twitter and asked for advice. What did we do before social media existed? I wonder…In no particular order and without having to move, I was told that:
It happened when I was going through airport security, in Nice. I couldn’t help noticing that the older gentlemen right before me had suppositories in his plastic bag. Then it downed on me: I had completely forgotten about suppositories. You see, nobody uses them this side on the Channel. In fact, I hadn’t missed them at all. And I am pretty sure that my (British) daughters didn’t miss them either. Hmmm, I am not sure I will ask them. Some things are probably better left unsaid.
My daughter received her GCSE results a couple of weeks ago. Needless to say, there was no need to worry. That said, my biggest surprise came from the fact that she got A* both in English literature and English language. Why? Well, because, as you know, we happen to be French. The thing is, at around 95% in both subjects, she had better grades than her British classmates who want to study English at university. What happened? Why did none of her teachers tell us that she was bright in English? Believe me or not, I had always thought that it was her weak point. Now I wonder what I should believe. How could I get it so wrong? How could the school get it so wrong?
Every time I had to meet her English teachers I had a lecture on the fact that her punctuation was not up to standard. I have asked them to clarify, but never managed to understand what they meant exactly. To be fair, I always felt as if that they were trying to fob me off. I came to the conclusion that she needed to decorate her essays with more semi-colons, and add a few comas here and there. The fact that punctuation rules are slightly different in French obviously didn’t help her to comply with the strict English way, and probably prevented me from understanding what the problem was really about. Frankly, I wonder if there even was a problem in the first place. Well, clearly, I overanalysed the situation once again. I feel like I should have ignored the whole thing (but how can you when this is the feedback you get year after year?).