Lurky Seelvairr

I can still feel very self-conscious from time to time when speaking in French. It’s increasingly rare but it still happens. It’s usually when I’m talking to someone who knows me quite well but, around us, there are people who’ve never encountered my version of French before. As I’ve said, those who know me are wonderfully patient. I think it’s just that I’m not the kind of bloke who courts or craves attention. When I was a kid, I used to be in every dramatic production the school ever put on and I even once appeared in a play on one of the most famous stages in Britain but, these days, I’m happy enough to be out of the limelight and, usually, fairly invisible. If I had to choose a Super-hero to be, I’d probably choose to be something like “Wallpaper Man”, there and listening but seldom noticed.

The sound of half-decent French with a thick English accent is usually enough to turn heads here and that sometimes makes me a little uneasy. It’s attention I don’t really want, even though there’s rarely any menace or mocking attached to it. I was having a meal with a friend last night in a nice enough brasserie (“3 Brasseurs”, opposite the front of Gare Lille Flandres) and, as we chatted about the usual Saturday night dinner table things, you know, population reduction, near-extinction asteroid strike events, lunar eclipses, (same old same old), I was extremely aware that I was turning the heads of the people at the adjacent table. It’s the same if I’m talking to someone in the smoking room at work. The buzz of noise in the restaurant or smoke room means that a conversation with me cannot be held at a whisper – I need my friend or colleague to speak audibly and clearly so as to compete with the buzz and, as such, people are usually able to listen in. Maybe, over dinner last night, it was as much the content as my “Jane Birkin” delivery which was causing heads to turn but, either way, it makes me feel like some kind of centre of attention and I don’t particularly want that.

As with any of the problems associated with the language, it’s gradually fading and, being someone who, from time to time, will step onto the soap box and deliver a diatribe on some “dangerous” subject or another, I’m looking forward to a time when neither my skill in the language nor my self-consciousness stands in the way of my love of debate on subjects which really matter. In any language, you’ll rarely hear me expressing a zealous opinion on Britney Spears’ coiffure or whether it was “really a penalty kick” in last night's match. I just don't care. This stuff is impossible to avoid as even the BBC stoops to broadcast it these days but, as much as I see it in the corner of my eye, it’s automatically filed under “information of no use” somewhere dark and damp in my skull. One of the things I’ve really missed over this last year has been the opportunities which, in the past, were ever-present, to engage in detailed debate on serious subjects whilst, at the same time, injecting ladlefuls of nuances and mischief into those exchanges. It’s not that there’s a lack of French people with the cerebral sophistication to indulge me. Not a bit of it. “Real” French people are very politically-aware and can frequently be driven to passion by, among other things, their desire to maintain the French cultural identity – I’m right behind them on that one. What’s missing is a level of available sophistication in communication between me and my French friends and that missing element is, of course, for me to remedy, not them. I’ll get there… eventually!

All that said, the most self-conscious I ever feel is as a result of something completely whacky and altogether different. If I wander into a Tabac to pick up a pack of fags and if I ask for “Lucky Silver” (the “street name” of my brand of choice – Lucky Strike with a silver circle around the name on the packet, denoting the fact that they’re relatively mild In comparison with other varieties of Lucky Strike), the vendor will look at me as though I’ve asked for a porcupine on a stick. I have to ask for “Lurky Seelvairr”, an Englishman pronouncing English words in a French manner! It’s bizarre and embarrassing to do but at least I get my cigs! (Porcupines are so difficult to light)