L'universite d'Oxford, c'est magnifique

I've spent the last two days studying French at the University of Oxford. Ants doesn't give a rats, cos he doesn't really get linguistics, or just how big a deal this university is amongst academics, but I'm jubilant. Exhausted, but ecstatic.

I always envied you Finn, with your five languages - three of them mastered before you ever left primary school. It's definitely the time to learn, when you're a kiddie.

I've worked hard these last two days, putting myself in a class that was probably a touch above where I was when I started, but one where I could more or less keep up by the end. I've filled in the gaps in my grammar and tested my vocab and found it better than expected.

My new job considers 'a second UN language to at least intermediate level' a distinct advantage, and after this weekend, I'm confident that my French is indeed intermediate. I reckon now you'd be envious, because you always struggled with this one tongue, though everything else came so naturally to you.

I know it's dreadfully daggy to be so happy about studying, but I'm rather chuffed, and I think you'd be proud of me too. I will always remember your encouraging smile and deep belly laughs when I ventured into the realms of Finnish. Especially when I improvised and didn't quite get it right. "Lenseni ovat rikki omdat minulle on oikein iso puulu'.

So far as I know, I've never got French quite as wrong as that night in Lapland when I asked the barman for a dick and milk, instead of kahlua (you pronounce the 'h' in Kahhh-lu-a, apparently, to avoid this booboo). But i press on undaunted.

Now all I need is to get my mouth around some Italian...