Water Relief...

Photograph: Meredith, flatmate, co-survivor our flat's deep freeze this winter and (former) St Andrews student.

Tomorrow will be the last time I ever have to write in French and the first of the three of my last ever exams.

As much as being able to write (or speak) in another language sounds impressive on paper, putting it into practice often frustrates me to no end.

Imagine, if you will, a dam in your brain. On the English side of the dam there is a swirling reservoir (ooh- how ironic!) of ideas ready to be put forth, however, filtering these ideas through into coherent French, for me, proves problematic. Put simply, sometimes (most of the time) what I'm trying to say, in English, becomes misconstrued through my mental language barrier.

For instance, the other day in my final French oral exam, when the examiner asked me my opinion on immigration, I sat back in my seat, confident with the strength of my topical examples. In English the sentence went as follows:

- I don't think it is particularly necessary to enforce cultural appropriation on those coming into the UK, the definition of culture is a mere Western construct and is so elusive that enforcing laws about what it is to be British in the first place is simply totalitarian. Different people come together in a way that shared culture evolves and co-exists with private, long held heritages.

Which came out, in French, as something close to.

- send 'em all home, I say!

And this is why it frustrates me.

But, then again, all this is no fault but my own. Perhaps I spend too much time justifying my (in)capabilities in with these whiny cop-outs instead of actually studying for my exam tomorrow.

p.s. I also suggested that children have no morality, to which the examiner grimaced and rolled their eyes as if to say really? wow... who invited this racist, belittling man to the exam?...

...But in hindsight I stand by that point.

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