winning words - 02/27/02 10:27 AM
Thought I'd post this winning piece of writing (200 words) which borrows as many words as possible from French, German and Spanish. I'm sure many of you would fancy you'd do pretty well, in all liklihood with a tendancy to use one language more than the others, as is the case below. Anyway, it reads like this:
My lover went en famille to the Mardi Gras fiesta, cancelling our restaurant rendezvous, tete-a-tete a deux. As the maitre d'hote and chef discussed the a la carte menu, my cafe au lait petit-four and eclair lay untouched on the balsa patio table.
He is my raison-d'etre, my confidant. A dancer par excellence, his tango a tour de force, the rumba his piece de resistance. A raconteur with bonhomie, bon-vivant with savoir faire. We visited cafes, bistros and delicatessen, exploring tapas and nouvelle cuisine. He bought me lingerie (ecru brassiere), a cerise poncho (fashion faux pas), eau de toilette and papier mache object d'art (how outre!)
A chauffeur driven entrepreneur, he sells pretzels and pumpernickel, clothes a la mode (never pret-a-porter!). He predicts the Zeitgeist, is au fait with ballet, apres-ski, croquet and salsa. He breeds dachshunds, chihuahua and iguana.
A chauvinist roue, he loves risque double entendre, yet I ended up au natruel at his pied-a-terre - j'accuse the cognac and liquer.
Was I a femme fatale - a paramour, coquette? Or a naive kindergarten child? My ersatz amour is kaput, my joie de vivre and amour-propre gone. Au revoir France, croissants and crepes. Manana England.
Lesley Kelly, 2002
Please excuse that the dialectic, er, diacritic markings are missing - I could be bothered with them - they couldn't be bothered with me.
My lover went en famille to the Mardi Gras fiesta, cancelling our restaurant rendezvous, tete-a-tete a deux. As the maitre d'hote and chef discussed the a la carte menu, my cafe au lait petit-four and eclair lay untouched on the balsa patio table.
He is my raison-d'etre, my confidant. A dancer par excellence, his tango a tour de force, the rumba his piece de resistance. A raconteur with bonhomie, bon-vivant with savoir faire. We visited cafes, bistros and delicatessen, exploring tapas and nouvelle cuisine. He bought me lingerie (ecru brassiere), a cerise poncho (fashion faux pas), eau de toilette and papier mache object d'art (how outre!)
A chauffeur driven entrepreneur, he sells pretzels and pumpernickel, clothes a la mode (never pret-a-porter!). He predicts the Zeitgeist, is au fait with ballet, apres-ski, croquet and salsa. He breeds dachshunds, chihuahua and iguana.
A chauvinist roue, he loves risque double entendre, yet I ended up au natruel at his pied-a-terre - j'accuse the cognac and liquer.
Was I a femme fatale - a paramour, coquette? Or a naive kindergarten child? My ersatz amour is kaput, my joie de vivre and amour-propre gone. Au revoir France, croissants and crepes. Manana England.
Lesley Kelly, 2002
Please excuse that the dialectic, er, diacritic markings are missing - I could be bothered with them - they couldn't be bothered with me.
