There will be even fewer words than usual on these pages while I spend a few days in London and then a week and a half in Paris, where I will be hoping with all my might what every American hopes for in such circumstances: please, please let there be someone who speaks English.
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I recall nothing from Mr. Porters French class or else I would come with you to help translate. Have fun and be sure to try the frog legs!
You might have more luck in Paris, where they just sigh heavily, roll their eyes, and then speak English better than you do, than in London, where they think they apeak English, but keep using crazy words which are obviously wrong and horrifically garbled in pronunciation. For example, when directed to the trolleys, I’m looking for a train-like people-carrier, not a luggage cart. And what those folks call “pickle” has never encountered a gherkin.
Also you can accidentally be quite offensive, thinking you’re being completely polite, and not know it till the nice elderly lady you were asking for directions whacks you with her brolly and shuffles off with her Zimmer frame.
Bring it?
It’s already been brought-en.
(I love blogs with birds in their title).