Lost in Translation
By GlosKat
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Not long after my mother was widowed (not my father, this was two husbands in), I persuaded her to come on a short holiday with me. We decided on Paris.
My mother has a dog, although it not my idea of a dog (I lean to Staffies). I would call it more of a hand muff, or perhaps a pyjama case. White, fluffy. Difficult to tell the front end from the back end, were it not for the collar. The collar itself is worth a mention. If Barbara Cartland had a dog (which I believe she did), it would have worn a collar such as Mitzi's. (And if Barbara Cartland had a dog it would have had that name too). This collar was pink with large rhinestones. In the sunshine it flashed for miles.
We were in the square in front of the Eiffel Tower, when we were approached by a French family – Mère, Père, and two little girls. The children were drawn to Mitzi as they would be to candyfloss.
They pointed at the collar and squeaked excitedly. Mitzi squeaked excitedly back which triggered an ouroboros of squeaking.
My mother belongs to a generation and class who believes that when abroad, all one has to do is to speak English very loudly, and foreign people will understand. Pointing at the collar she said loudly, 'Very fashionable !'. The children appeared non-plussed and looked at their parents for help. Mère and Père shrugged (nobody can shrug like the French). My mother tried again 'In England ! Very fashionable for dogs !'.
'Eet is a dog', said Père, pointing at Mitzi. This was an improvement but not the breakthrough my mother had hoped for.
Suddenly, from the depths of the memory of Mademoiselle's French classes at Cheltenham Ladies College circa 1960, a brainwave struck. Fixing the now nervous looking family with an impaling stare, she bellowed 'All the rage ! Tous la rage !'.
'Elle a la rage ?'. The family stepped back as one. 'Oui, oui', smiled my mother, before I could stop her.
The family took to their heels. My mother watched speculatively as they receded rapidly across the square, waving their arms and alerting passers-by.
We went quiet. I didn't know what to say. I was too busy wondering what to do when we got arrested.
'Funny lot the French', said my mother ruminatively after a couple of minutes, 'very excitable'.
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Comments
some mutts don't speak the
some mutts don't speak the language, including me.
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Very funny GlosKat. People
Very funny GlosKat. People really do just raise their voices don't they!
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brutal honesty
Once I told an old friend of mine that "I have a girlfriend now". He just said "what is wrong with her?" Can you handle it, even buddies from school already. Well I did a lot better than him in the end. Old JP.
What do you call a widower remarrying? "The triumph of hope over experience".
Good story Gloskat! Cheers! Tom
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Vive la Différence
From the days when I worked in Barking (a place that strangely has nothing to do with dogs) with an office full of Essex meatheads, I vaguely remember Mitzi being the name of a page three model. I hope your mum’s dog kept its top on.
There’s a French woman I know very well who shouts at me when I don’t understand what she’s saying. She’s also prone to shouting at me when I do understand what she’s saying. I tell her I learned my French from Marcel Marceau and then pretend to be trapped in a glass box. It takes the sting out of any awkward situation.
Turlough
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could just picture the
could just picture the situation, and your mother's non-comprehension. When I put 'rage' into 'translate' into English, it gave 'rage', but when I put 'rabies' into translate into French it gave 'rage'!! Rhiannon
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Guide dogs for the deaf
I’ve been living with the French lady for almost seven years and I’ve never seen her using hearing aids. Together we speak a combination of English, French and Bulgarian coupled with a few words from the language of whatever country we might be on holiday in. Some of those guest fourth language words stick if we like them so we continue to use them long after we’ve returned home.
She always speaks French to our dogs. They have also lived here seven years so they’ve got used to my own mixed-up language / dialect arrangement. It irritates her at feeding times when they don’t respond to her ‘Allez mange!’ but they do respond to my ‘Do you want yer tea?’
Turlough
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Albert's t / tea
Aye, cats are like Britishers abroad. They'll make a big noise without ever deviating from their mother tongue but miraculously they're understood and/or fed.
Have you tried not pronouncing the 't' at the end of Albert?
Turlough
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