Another week of amazing linguistic errors; provided this time not only by my ever-amusing students, but by a couple of well-established English teachers who quite frankly, should know better. Allow me to elaborate. Last Thursday for instance, it was decided that the topic of the lunchtime English club would be ‘Groundhog Day’. Now, I recognise it as a film title (which incidentally I’ve never actually seen), but aside from that my knowledge of the concept is very limited. What I’m fairly certain of however, is that when printing out a themed wordsearch from apples4theteacher.com or some such lesson plan-cheating website, it is normally a good idea to double check the vocab list before dolling it out to unsuspecting eleven year olds who, bless their hearts, have no idea whatsoever of the meaning of half the words anyway. ‘Gobbler’s Knob’ for example, had me in silent stitches for a good ten minutes before one teacher noticed and asked for an explanation. ‘Knob....means....willy’ I managed to chortle, all professional etiquette instantly vanishing. My fellow staff member’s response to this mature utterance? None other than this: ‘I am very happy to know this word’. I’m not quite sure what she meant by this, but needless to say, it nearly finished me off. Those poor clueless children.
Now, I've always scoffed at those over-confident year abroad students who brag about how they’re SO enriched in foreign culture now that sometimes they just CANNOT remember a word in English....anyone remember the Armstrong and Miller sketch? (See previous blog entries). ‘What are you calling yourself to yourself’, ‘My head is so much in the France now that my English is very very tiny’, etc. I never in a million years thought I could ever become that much of a ponce. Yet, after asking if English has a subjunctive (true story) and announcing to my bemused assistant friends how I planned to ‘mount’ the midnight bus, think I’m going to have to reconsider my stance. Whilst of course some people (namely lecturers and Oxbridge graduates) may see these faux-pas as significant linguistic leaps in the direction of full fluency, I tend to just loathe myself that little bit more each fois (oh, sorry, I mean time) it happens. Why in order to reach native level, every languages student seemingly has to go through this phase of sounding like a complete fool, I’ll never understand. ‘Galerie Nationale, Galerie Nationale, Galerie Nationale.....ahhh yes, the National Gallery!’ (Another classic Armstrong and Miller gem there).
However French I may think I’ve become, it was all taken away from me last week with the arrival of two Canadian exchange students. For some reason, they found my British accent a never-ending source of amusement regardless of which language I was speaking. Constant demands that I repeat such phrases as ‘Harry Potter’, ‘Expelliaramus’ and ‘More crumpets please guv’nor made for an incredibly unproductive lesson, particularly when my compliance led to fits of convulsive laughter, and one boy rolling on the floor clutching his stomach in a mildly alarming manner. Don’t worry though, he wasn’t in pain, it was simply all down to his ‘ADD’ (Attention Deficit Disorder?) apparently, something which he delighted in explaining to me at least fourteen times during the 30 minute class, to the point where I began questioning if he was using it as an excuse to behave like a total moron (he definitely was).
This particular class was certainly one of many ‘interesting’ characters. Another fourteen year old boy spent the entire session (in between the Canadians’ cries of ‘God Save the Queen’ that is) desperately attempting to accquire my address, my phone number, or, failing that, a date. Now, I’ve encountered flirtatiousness before, as is only natural when a twenty year old female comes across a group of testosterone-fuelled adolescent lads, but never had I seen this level of persistence. After the old ‘is not for me, is for my brother, he 20’ (classic), this ingenious child then moved to new heights, telling me in French how my eyes sparkle like the sun (can’t deny it) and even requesting ‘bisous please’ (kisses) when leaving the classroom, pointing to his cheek and giving me what can only be described as puppy-dog eyes. A definite charmer in the making....I just hope it wasn’t truly for his brother otherwise I may have made a terrible mistake....
One-liners and language barrier aside, I’ve recently derived a seamless technique for quietening the most raucous of classes. Simple yet effective, it is simply this: a sudden outburst of garbled and rapid English forcing attitude-infused French faces to drain of all confidence as previously-gabby mouths to widen in genuine fear....still think you’re ‘trop fort’ to listen in my classes little boy? Think encore. You’ll have to try a lot harder to outsmart this tough teacher. Wait, what’s that you say? My eyes sparkle like the sun....?
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