La Fille has been reading and watching too much Charlie and Lola. For those in a state of blissful ignorance of these storybook characters, Lola is a precocious little girl whose brother Charlie says is "very small and very funny". She is also fond of overusing words like 'absolutely', 'very', 'ever so', 'really' and 'actually', often together as in: "It was absolutely ever so really very funny". This sounds like posh nonsense and is amusing on first reading.
So there we were, La Fille and I, trotting along to the nursery. As she has spent most of the last three weeks with me I thought I would reassure her I wasn't abandoning her. I worry too much. She was skipping along happily and seemed pleased to be going.
Me: "I won't leave you there long today. I'll be back to get you before you know it."
Fille: "It's OK, Mama."
Me: "No, I promise it's just for a couple of hours."
Fille: "Really. It's OK, Mama. I absolutely will be very fine actually."
I hope this has come from Charlie and Lola otherwise La Fille has been actually mixing with absolutely the really very wrong type of English people.
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.