Those who know nothing of foreign languages know nothing of their own.

Goethe said this. Now I'm getting into the realms of super-intellectuals. Forget Astrid Alauda. (You already did?)

I'm not even going to START with German, Goethe. That would be too, too embarrassing. Mind you, French is bad enough even though we lived there for a couple of years. I can get by but could hardly be called fluent.

Here are some family examples of linguistic prowess:

Me, when son Laurie was in hospital in Grenoble following a snowboarding accident. (Note to snowboarders everywhere: Sambuca + snowboard jump + friend videoing so you want to show off = disaster)

Me: Mon fils a une douleur dans sa poignée!

La poignée = door handle. Le poignet = wrist.

My son, in the same hospital, when asked if he spoke French:

Un petit pois!

Un petit pois = a pea. Un peu = a little bit

My brother when lost in Paris, late for a train:

Où est la guerre?

La guerre = the war. La gare = the station

Well, at least we made Le Effort...