The Frenchman has come up with some more things he likes about London.
These are: a) How “sympa” (nice), polite and helpful Londoners are. b) How numerous and well-equipped the children’s playgrounds are. c) How parks and commons are filled with kids playing football at 8am on a Saturday morning. d) The pubs (which are not called something like 'The Frog and Rosbif' as they are in Paris, but have proper names like 'The Queen Victoria' or 'The Bricklayers Trowel'). e) The pubs (again, even though he is no longer allowed to polute the atmosphere inside with his filterless Gitanes). f) The pubs (yet again) g) Salt and vinegar crisps.
Talking of Frogs and Rosbifs; I may just get away with England beating France in the Rugby World Cup if England beat South Africa tonight. Then the French can salvage some national pride after being trounced by Argentina yesterday evening, by claiming they were knocked out by the world champions. Mixed marriages can be very complicated.
The move to France was only supposed to be for a couple of years, not forever. Then I met The Frenchman. Then I had La Fille. Now there's no way back. But La Fille, to whom a horse is a cheval and a frog is just pond life is still half English. So before the Gallic nation claims her for its own, sprinkles her with garlic, sautés her and swallows her up whole we make regular escapes on the Eurostar. And we have discovered the grass is various shades of green either side of the Channel.