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1-4 Yrs: The Buggy Blog - Gallic Bred
Les enfants disent les choses les plus drôles… J cracked me up this week asking if the French Polisher who’d arrived to touch up our woodwork came ... good lateral thinking this … from France. (I think he came from Enfield.) And this got me thinking what a junior European J is turning out to be. Or specifically, a little Frenchman. How so? Well, he’s a keen amateur winer and diner. He guzzles down his beverages with gusto (today Ribena, tomorrow a little vin rouge per'aps Monsieur?). He requests croissants with a knowing savoir-faire that'd astonish his 'spade's a spade, mine's a full English' Great Grandpa. And he eats 'ghost' cheese and Brie like they’re going out of fashion. Not sure what French gastronomes'd make of his penchant for teaming them up with Branston pickle and cucumber though – nouv'elle-what-a-combo cuisine? Away from the dinner table, the French are also extremely intellectual. And though J doesn't know the word yet (a bit long and complicated) he could give that Sartre a run for his money when it comes to French literature. He's read at least one Barbar book (or was it just that he's eaten off one of his Melamine plates?), he loves the story of Madeline having her appendix out (there you go, those intellectuals love a bit of passion and angst) and he's a sucker for that Frog Prince guy.
When he drags his nose out of a book, J also earns his Gallic stripes as a charmer amongst the ladies. His ears prick up with interest on hearing Myleene's 'Music for Romance' radio ads. He curiously scrutinises scantily-clad billboard beauties ('but Mummy, isn't she cold?'). And he freely doles out the compliments: 'Mummy, you look nice', 'I like your skirt', 'I love you, you're the best Mummy-Tummy in the whole world' (hmm, need to teach him to quit when he's winning. The dodgy pet-name at the end rather kind of scuppered it for me…). And then of course there's also all that stuff you see in the movies. A true Frenchman is … of course … très sexy. And consequently can't help indulging in a lot of uninhibited bed-hopping. Fortunately, my not-quite-five year-old is way too young to be thinking of all that. But then again, perhaps he *is* a bit of a rover in the making. After all, though he's openly betrothed to his best friend SB, he occasionally professes he's going to tie the knot with his Other Woman M. Playing the field at 4, the cad, Gérard Depardieu'd be proud. That said, I've news for you J. If you think you’ve got all it takes to glide through life as Monsieur Suave le Lady-Killeur then you'd better think again. You may have the gastronomic, intellectual and womanising credentials to think of yourself as a young Gaul. But … most gallingly of all … it's in fact your baby brother who scores the jackpot on passing himself off as one of them. Because – mouth wide open, saliva dripping – S is the true king of French Kissing hereabouts. |
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