The Pride of Being English

The pride of being English is also the shame of being English. I am proud of the fact English is the lingua franca (isn’t that a lovely irony) for business and science. I love the fact it is a language of inifinite complexity. That there is no central institute of control is a truely wonderful thing.

However… I hate that the pride makes us crap at speaking other languages. I can kind of get along in French, and just survive reading German, but I can’t speak either really. It is hugely embaressing to always arrive in a new local and have someone else speak my language. They are all so good at it. How in heavens name did they learn? I mean I can’t imagine reruns of Mash and Fawlty Towers are quite enough, are they?

I’m on the road travelling yet again, and everyone around me speaks English. Yet again I’m telling myself to get off my duff and do something about it. Yet its just so easy to let all of them speak my language. Most positively want to speak English for the experience. Which makes it worse, of course.

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