French Colonisation

My house is a complex mix of nationalities and languages. Maud is French and speaks French, Spanish and English, Robi is German and Fleur is Dutch, they both speak German, Dutch and English, and I am Australian and I speak English. I would like to take this moment to point out that I resent not being raised bilingual.

Thus far, the common language in the house has been English. And life as an English speaking house has been good. Admittedly, Maud speaks a somewhat unique dialect of English, but on the whole, we all understand each other and when anyone except me wants to talk to someone in private they simply speak in a language that only they understand.

Just like a marginal electorate full of bogans, this simple, homely life is under threat from immigration. But recent immigration has completely changed the dominant language of the house.

Our first immigrant was Maud's father, Serge. Serge is a French extreme skier with worn out knees, which makes him the second coolest thing you can possibly be. Unfortunately for me, Serge speaks no English. Serge's arrival tilted the linguistic balance strongly in favour of the francophones - Fleur speaks a little French, so in politeness we have all tried to speak French.

Speaking French is a good opportunity for me to refresh my limited French. I can ask where the pool is, recite some of the bus stops in Chamonix, and wish people a happy day's skiing. Believe it or not, this has been suprisingly useful.

But it turns out the Serge is just the tip of the iceberg. Today, Maud's sister Marie arrived. And within days we expect the arrival of more francophones from a ski hill north of here. Soon we'll be overrun with French people, and we'll all be forced to eat baguettes, wear berets and enjoy mime.

This mass immigration presents more than just a threat to our language. The new housemates are already displacing the previous inhabitants. I usually sleep in a massive room, so I have vacated that to give our guests some space. I have in turn displaced Maud, taking her nook at the top of the stairs. Maud has ended up sleeping on the couch. There is perhaps some small justice in this outcome.

Originally, I though there would be numerous advantages to being the subject of French cultural imperialism. I was expecting a dramatic increase in croissants, arrogance and extreme skiing. Sadly, none of these has occurred. So far, all we have seen recently is a significant rise in middle aged men walking around the house in underpants.There may be an rise in the rate of fondue, but on the whole it appears that my stereotypes of the French are less accurate than television has led me to believe.

At least no one has tried to take my job, although Serge did offer to help out at work after we gave him the corporate ski pass for a few days. Duurka Derp!