a fish called choun

A few days ago I watched A fish called Wanda. It had been such a long time.

It’s one of those movies you can never get tired of. Both the characters and the storyline are so atypical you can’t help having a good laugh.

British humour is at its best, and the performance of Kevin Kline is unforgettable.

But my point is not to praise a movie that doesn’t need to be.

It’s more the eroticism of language I want to write about, and I’m getting very personal here, for a change.

Italian (however basic it is – gorgonzola and margarita) and Russian make Wanda melt in a delightful way.

To a certain, more reasonable extent, I’ve got a similar relationship with the English language.

Not that I wet my pants as soon as I hear it, which would be embarrassing in my profession.

(although a nice British accent kind of pulls my trigger)

But when I am intimate I think in English and would spontaneously speak in English.

Which usually means I don’t talk much, for fear of freaking the other one out.

Isn’t it odd?

There's a bit of Cleese and Curtis in me.

Comments

[dissertation]

I thing you are going to go right way.your post is very good and helping us lot thanks for share this useful information.

[Youri L'ourson]

Apparement, il n'y a pas que les ours qui hibernent : les blogs aussi :o)

[anne]

Could you please find the Kline in you?

[amélie]

ouhouh ! chaleur ! I'm going to look what "trigger" and "odd" mean in a English-Fench dictionnary.