Ah! The flora and fauna of suburban Ottawa

One of the most important things I learned while being a teacher during my brief but glorious three-year stint in Palmerston North, New Zealand (there is no Palmerston South, but there is a Palmerston, in case you were wondering), was the ability to recognize when you are losing an audience.

 "Ah!" I hear you say. "If only you had that ability when you write!"

Teaching French out there was a bit of a challenge. First class. "How many people have been to France? Raise your hands." Right. Thankfully, French has numerous words that allow you to giggle. And some of them (unlike the time, during my first visit to France as an assistant, I called my boss a tw@t when I meant to say hello: "salaud" and "salut" were very similar to an unskilled 21 year old's tongue) are safe to tell my son.

The word for dandelion, for example, is "pissenlit" or "pisse-en-lit" (I can never remember). A word guaranteed to bring an 8-year-old's attention back to the table. "WHAT?", he says, eyes-a-sparkle. "Pissenlit," I repeat. "But doesn't that mean... wet the bed?" "Hmm," I nod.

Another one is the verb "péter", the conjugation of which, for some reason, has enabled him to remember how to conjugate the word for "repeat" - something of which he was incapable for a while. But as "péter" means "to fart" - and "répéter" therefore also means "to fart again", he has immediately assimilated everything connected to the word and is using it, with utmost politeness, it must be said, during his online classes.

I hear him from my upstairs office: "Madame XXXX, pouvez-vous répéter, s'il vous plaît," - followed by endless giggles.

Poachers make the best gamekeepers.

Take