Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Mother knows best

When I was little I used to ask my mother all sorts of questions about the world. She was the fount of all knowledge and it never occurred to me that she might not know the answer to a question. 

Things haven't changed much now that I'm all grown up. I still expect my mother to know the answer to everything. The only thing that has changed is the kind of question I ask. Where it used to be "Mom, what's under the floorboards?" (The foundations of the house - and lots of spiders) or "Why do dogs eat grass?" (It's their vegetables) or "Look at this green stone I found! Do you think it's an emerald?" (No, darling, I think it's a piece of green glass), I now ask infinitely duller questions like "Mom, do you think I can contest this parking ticket?" and "How do you go about choosing a pension plan?" and "Why has Microsoft Excel changed this list of numbers into obscure formulas?"

And she still always has the answer. 

Calvin's dad says that fathers get a book. I think mothers get one too. 

This is what it says in my mother's book: 

1. Do you have a tissue in your pocket?



2. Do you have your keys?

3. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just take it one step at a time.

4. I'm just going to let this one ride. I've learnt in life that you have to choose your battles carefully.


5. A year from now, will it still matter? (And if it won't, then there's no need to get stressed over it now.)

6. Don’t wear yourself out. It’s much more productive to have a rest and recharge, then continue later.

7. Hey – where did you learn to eat without laying the table properly first?!


8. Why are you sitting in here with all the windows closed?

9. I need to tidy up here before I get down to work. I can’t concentrate with all this clutter lying around.

10. What’s mine, my darling, is yours.

11. Networking, sweetheart, networking! 











And once you've made contacts, you have to groom them. 

12. Insomnia is when you are lying in bed with your eyes closed and sleep doesn’t come. Sitting in front of the computer reading Wikipedia at 3 in the morning isn’t insomnia.


13. Don’t you think you should have something to eat before you go out? No, not a biscuit, I mean proper food.

14. Now, let’s be organised about this.


15. Write yourself a list.


16. Take a pen from the cupboard in the hall – there’s a whole pack of them there. There are also paper clips, rubber bands, bottles of Tipp-ex, rolls of Sellotape, and all manner of things that are just there and have always been there and will always been there.

17. Come on, focus!



18. Sometimes you can tell just by looking at people what they are thinking.













19. You can roll your eyes all you like, but what I’m telling you comes from the lofty heights of experience.



20. You may not understand now but one day you’ll understand.



21. Never volunteer information. If they need additional information they will ask for it.



22. You must put moisturiser on your face. Because otherwise when you are 40 you will look like a dried-up old prune, and you will come to me and say, “I wish I had used moisturiser”, and I’ll be so upset and I won’t be able to do anything about it. But I can do something about it now, so I’m telling you, please use moisturiser.


23. I have no patience with the way children are mollycoddled and indulged at school now. In my day, there were none of these games and fun activities and brightly-coloured textbooks with pictures on every page. We sat quietly, you listened to the lesson, and we didn’t give the teacher any nonsense. And we learned.


24. No, I didn’t drink the cup of tea, but it was nice to have it sitting there.



25. Of course I’m ready for my trip next week. My suitcase has been packed and waiting at the door for the last two weeks.


26. There's time to do anything, but always at the expense of something else. 


27. I’m doing it like baking a cake. (When my mother bakes a cake, she puts the flour and sugar out on the kitchen counter one day and the butter and eggs the next day, then the following day she mixes everything , she bakes it the day after that, and ices it the day after that. It takes a week to make a cake, one step at a time.)


27. Tomorrow is another day.





Friday, 3 January 2014

Wishing you well

One of the things you learn in France is how to wish everyone well. French people are very keen that everyone around them should be constantly enjoying themselves. You can tell this by the way they end their conversations:

“Well, goodbye and bonne journée” (Have a good day).
“Thank you very much. Bonne soirée.” (Have a good evening.)
“Well, I’m done for the week. Bon week-end.” (Have a good weekend.)
"Bon week-end à tous !"
A French person worth their salt wouldn’t dream of finishing a conversation without wishing their interlocutor a good something – a good day, a good evening, a good weekend, good holidays, a good journey home, etc. If there isn’t an immediately obvious good something to wish, the speaker will go into a slight panic, scrabbling around for a solution.
“Well, have a good… have a good… have a good… rest of the… time… until we see each other again,” they will force out, hovering nervously by the door, unable to leave until they have finished the sentence.

It’s a remarkably contagious habit. Although it is not really a feature of anglophone culture, English speakers are influenced startlingly quickly when they arrive in France. They may never have wished anyone so much as a good day in their lives, but within days of arriving in France, they are spouting “bon après-midi”, “bonne fin de journée” and “bonne semaine” with the best of them. It becomes so ingrained that English-speakers start using it on each other, and sometimes end up tying themselves into terrible knots when English simply doesn’t have an appropriate equivalent expression:
“OK, um, well, have a good what’s left of the day” or “So, enjoy the, um, the time until I next see you.”


To be sure, we in the English-speaking world do wish people well on occasion – “Have a good weekend” is heard frequently enough – but the difference between us and the French is the sheer variety, not to mention the unexpectedness, of some of the wishes.

The ticket-seller at the cinema hopes that you enjoy the film: “Bonne séance!”  she says as you walk off clutching your ticket.
The waiter in the restaurant hopes you enjoy the meal: “Bonne dégustation!” he says, as he places the dish in front of you.
Your friend hopes that you enjoy your journey home after visiting her: “Bonne route!” she says as she waves you off.
Your housemate hopes you enjoy preparing dinner. "Bonne cuisine!" he nods as he wanders into the kitchen to find you chopping onions.
Your colleague hopes you enjoy reading the document he has just given you: “Bonne lecture!” he says as he places it in your hand.
And my personal favourite: the girl working at the fitting rooms in the clothes shop hopes you enjoy trying on the clothes:  “Bonne essayage!” she says as she indicates a cubicle.


The list goes on. When someone is about to start a day of hard work, you wish them bon courage. If the work is not too hard but is work nevertheless, you simply wish them bon travail. As your colleagues announce they have had enough for the morning and they’re off to find some lunch, you wish them bon appétit. When you say goodbye to someone before they go off on holiday, you wish them bonnes vacances. If your friend is getting ready to go on a night out, you wish them bon divertissement.

Times-of-the-day wishes are particularly useful because they are so multipurpose and can provide a neat end to any conversation if you can’t think of anything original to wish the other person well on.
Bonne journée” (have a good day)
“Bon après-midi” (have a good afternoon)
“Bonne fin de journée” (have a good end-of-the-day)
“Bonne soirée” (have a good evening)
“Bon week-end” (have a good weekend)
“Bon dimanche” (have a good Sunday)

Steven Clarke, author of the merciless caricatures of French life A Year in the Merde; Make Amour, Not War and Talk to the Snail, noticed it too. When they were guillotining people during the French Revolution, he comments, the executioner probably wished his victims “Bonne exécution” as he manhandled them onto the block.

The equivalent compulsion in England is a deep-seated need to end a conversation by referring to the next time you will see the person.
“OK, see you next week.”
“Have a good weekend. See you on Monday.”
“It was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you the next time our mutual friend has a party.”
“See you again soon.”
Or simply “See you.” Even if the person who says it is working in a shop and will probably never see the customer again. “See you.”

The average English person has a pathological horror of pronouncing the word “goodbye”, except on the phone. It sounds too final, too definitive, too much reason for sentimentality. It amuses me to toy with English people by ending conversations with “OK, bye” and waiting for them to respond with a disturbed “Yeah, seeya”.

The English language could do with an equivalent to the handy French phrase that you use if you are saying a definitive goodbye to someone who you know you will never see again. In this way you can cut the awkwardness of “We must stay in touch” or “Let’s exchange contact details” when you know full well that neither of you has the slightest intention of staying in contact, by simply wishing the other person well for the rest of their life with a neat “Bonne continuation”.