Linguistic creativity

Very ladylike
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

Our recent holiday in Italy brought home to me what incredible creatures small children are. Catriona, who at the moment speaks more French than English, nevertheless seemed to know that she had to speak to us in English - so would demand "book" of her Grandfather every morning before breakfast, leading him by the hand to the sofa in the morning sun which streamed through the door. And by the end of the week she had learned to say "Ciao" to all the Italians who greeted her as "bellissima bambina", though her preferred greeting remains "Hi!"

But the most memorable of her words is one which is all her own. Catriona hates having sticky hands or a dirty face - indeed, does not like anything to be messy, wet (mouillé - including the pool!) or untidy (brings on the need to "rangé" - arrange - the books, toys or whatever). Because of this urge to be clean, she is always demanding a damp wipe, like the one which which she is daintily dabbing ice cream off her face in the picture - in a cafe in Colle di Val d'Elsa. The French word for these wipes is "lingette". But usually she uses them for her hands - "mains" in French - and so she demands a "maingette".

I love it. In fact, whenever I feel my fingers sticky - like after picking up jam in Tesco - I feel the urge to wail "maingette!" Perhaps we ought to patent the name for future use. Ciao!

Cool!

It certainly is a distant land, this Eastern realm. We left Dunoon yesterday in 21º of warmth, and two hours later the car said 13º in the shade. (OK, Mal's sheltered garden was really warm, and after a glass of bubbly I wasn't caring - happy birthday, Mal!) And today it's greyish and still cool, so that coffee and croissants in Ocean Terminal seemed a safer bet than sitting outside. (I learned the French for greyish quite early in my career - there was an old horse called Grisatre in a book we had to read in S2, Jean Bonnard, Petit Ecolier)

And talking of French, it's fascinating to watch the development of a bilingual child. At 21 months, she counts un, deux or one, two, apparently depending on who's listening. She knows all her features in French, and nose in English (it's running just now). She was trying to say mouillé about her damp face, but I'm afraid I corrupted this by saying mingin' (her mouth was rimmed with jam at the time) and now she's saying mingin' with glee. And she says mine firmly in a passable Edinburgh voice and clutches the desired object equally firmly, just in case there's any doubt. And I expect her to break into the Marseillaise when we set off on a walk, though so far she shouts marcher rather than marchons.

All great fun, and totally knackering. She's just fallen asleep and I feel a little peckish again. A spot of lunch, I think, before la petite wakens again...