Lingo

I’m about to hit a 2300 day streak on Duolingo, which is about 6 ¼ years. Learning French. Every day. You’d think I’d be fluent. You’d think I’d reached the point when I could be part of Paris café culture, sipping coffee on the left bank, wearing a beret, and discussing philosophy and art with my fellow intellectuals.

 

Well, one part is true. I’m in France, near the Seine. But not in Paris. I’m in a little town called Jumieges and I’m watching a man and his dog. The dog is still only a puppy really. Still frisky. Perhaps two or three years old. The man throws the ball. The dog chases. The man shouts some commands. The dog obeys. The dog rolls over in response to some verbal instruction.

 

Here’s the thing. The dog has been learning French for two, maybe three years. It understands what’s its master is telling it to do. I, on the other hand, have been learning French for 6 ¼ years and I understand none of it. Not a word. If the man told me to roll over, or fetch, I’d stand there with a gormless expression. I understand less French than a dog.

 

So, I will celebrate more than six years of persistence but accept that I have failed. Goodbye Duolingo. Enough is enough.

 

I will roll over.

The Annual Mackerel Run

I'm getting excited about my upcoming caravan holiday in France. I'm not going as far into France this year because, well, there have been hidden costs: Insurance is more expensive, breakdown and recovery insurance is way more (it was free last year because we took a gamble on not breaking down, which we didn't, but I've lost confidence in Ada, my car.) And then there's the cost of putting fuel in the tank. Let's not go there.

So what's with the title, the Annual Mackerel Run? It's to do with diet. Mononsaturated fats. Omega 3. Lowering Cholesterol. After a year of miserable salads based around tuna, salmon and mackerel, I'm ready for something exciting in the food department, and for this, France is the place to go. No, no, not wine — I don't drink, not anymore. Not cheese, either because cheese is right at the top of the no-go, too-much-fat list. But one thing the French do way better than anyone else (at least as far as I'm aware) is Mackerel. 

Here in the UK we have a tiny choice: tinned mackerel in tomato sauce or tinned mackerel in, well, some sort of oily liquid. And the last time we tried to buy either, they were out of stock. But in France... well, take a look. The photo shows the mackerel aisle in one of the smaller supermarkets (this one was in Nemours). So many flavours. So many varieties. Mackerel in mustard sauce, Mexican mackerel, Mediterranean mackerel... My favourite is Mackerel in white wine with olives. Love it!

While we're in France, mackerel will be the focal point of our diets. What's more, we'll be bringing back cases of the stuff. When we pass through post-Brexit customs on our way home, and we're asked, "Anything to declare?" they're expecting us to say wine or tobacco. We'll have Mackerel. Tins and tins of it. Maybe there'll be a special line for Brits with car-loads of Mackerel. There should be.