My efforts to ensure that La Fille has a grounding in English culture - whatever that may or may not be - before the French bodysnatchers get to work on her, continue apace. Evidence of successes notched up so far:
* La Fille insists on being called Snow White since our trip to the pantomime. Not, you note, Blanche Neige, but Snow White. The Anglophone and the Feminist in me are slugging this one out.
* Conversation between La Fille and her new best friend, the French boy from school. La Fille: "Come on speak English." Boy (wailing): "Mais je ne parle pas Anglais." La Fille: "Yes you do."
* Imaginary discussion between La Fille and one of her dolls in her bedroom. "Shall we watch the television?" Silence accompanying imaginary look at imaginary television. "Oh no there's only football on. That's boring."
* "Mama, please may I have some tomato ketchup in my carrot soup?" (Hmmm. The jury's out on that one too.)
* La Fille: "Can I watch Oui-Oui?" Me: "He's not Oui-Oui he's Noddy. He's a little English boy who lives in Toytown. And his best friend is called Big Ears not Potimarron." (What AM I saying?) La Fille: "Well can I watch Noddy?" Me: "No."
* La Fille: "Bloody hell." Me: "Sorry, what did you say?" La Fille: "Bloody hell." Me: "What?" La Fille: "Bloody hell." I don't know where she got that from.
* After watching the inauguration of Barack Obama together she now says: "Barack Obama" and "God Save America". I realise this is straying from our Sceptred Isle but it is at least English and will serve her well in France until the Barack-adoring French realise the new President of the United States may know where France is - unlike his predecessor - but this does not necessarily mean he cares.