Mad Doug Biker
Banned from every bar in the Galaxy
- Location
- Craggy Island
Imagine the nasty rashes he must get!
For at least a decade, which ended somewhere in the mid 1980s, all British schoolchildren were taught not just French, but Longman Audiovisual French, ...
I used to fancy Marie-France... grr....
Je ne suis pas français, je suis irlandais, je ne parle pas français, le français est la langue de fous, d'ail-mangeurs, pédaliers, qui ont probablement assassiné leurs grands-mères et vu les cadavres de leurs chiens ..
Suppose french is easier to understand than one of the regional dialects that changes with the postcode hereHover Fly has printed this on a card to show to anyone who tries to speak to me when we go to visit his ex-wife (whom I am quite friendly with) next month. I hope it stops any misunderstanding.
Hover Fly has printed this on a card to show to anyone who tries to speak to me when we go to visit his ex-wife (whom I am quite friendly with) next month. I hope it stops any misunderstanding.
And that's your charm!je ne parle pas francais !!!!!
Don't forget the dog, Bruno.For at least a decade, which ended somewhere in the mid 1980s, all British schoolchildren were taught not just French, but Longman Audiovisual French, a cutting edge combo of green illustrated textbooks and ‘slide tape’, the technologically cumbersome combination of a strip of celluloid with pictures on, mounted onto an overhead projector and manually wound on from one picture to the next by the teacher at the sound of the ‘bing!’ on the narrative soundtrack played on a big old blocky cassette player with integrated speaker. Stars of this low-tech son et lumière were La Famille Marsaud, a rather starchy small town petit bourgeois nuclear unit, drawn in an appropriately stiff manner with lots of awkward sideways-on posing. Sadly, Les Marsaud never seemed to get up to the sort of racy activities The French were supposed to (at least, according to Tom O’Connor and BBC2 film seasons). Monsieur Marsaud was always dans le jardin, Madame Marsaud perpetually dans la cuisine. Scallywag son Jean-Paul was forever en retard pour l’ecole, and the Jane Birkinesque Marie-France spent a suspicious amount of time hanging around with Monsieur Lafayette, le facteur. Then there was Claudette, who, er… skipped a lot. Life in provincial France was, the hapless student couldn’t help but conclude during a long Thursday afternoon of ecoutez et repetez travail, rather dull.
Seeing as this thread has turned into how much French you speak, mine is about zero.
However the only thing i know is how to count to five.
I told this to a French lady i knew a few years ago and she liked it, so......
There where 3 cats, their names, une, deux, and trois.
But try as they might, none of them could swim.
One day they all fell into the river
And
Une, deux, troix cats sank.
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