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01-03-2013, 07:26
Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/03/correction.html)
Learning a foreign language as an adult can be a nightmare. I should know. I've done it a couple of times.
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cjwgLdej5UY/US8hg93DABI/AAAAAAAAQhs/WXZiwjx3r9c/s400/Falcon_Beer_1954.jpg (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cjwgLdej5UY/US8hg93DABI/AAAAAAAAQhs/WXZiwjx3r9c/s1600/Falcon_Beer_1954.jpg)
Amsterdam has one particularly difficult moat to swim: the overly-good mastery of English of just about everyone in the city, except the poor expats desperately trying to learn the language. They won't let you speak Dutch here if there's the slightest whiff of uncertainty. Like wolves, the locals smell fear and pounce on any chance to showcase their English language skills.
I'm glad I kicked off my Dutch experience in Rotterdam. By the time I got here, my Dutch was good enough to apply the hammer and tongs technique. Named after the joke bridge bidding method. I said something in Dutch, the reply was in English, I replied in Dutch, English reply back . . . and so on until I eventually get a reply in Dutch. It often took a while.
Given my natural level of torpor, I'm shocked I could be arsed to go through with it.
The accent, though. I've never quite cracked that. My inability to properly pronounce the name of the street I live on, never fails to amuse Mikey. Mister bloody parrot. He can pass for Dutch. Bastard.
I can remember my Mum drilling me in the pronunciation of the "th" sound in the word "the" when I was a child. I must have got it right eventually, because she stopped correcting me.
Correcting an adult is impolite. No matter how bad their grammar or pronunciation. So no-one's sat me down and made me pronounce the rolling "R" sound until got it right. As a result, I struggle to make taxi drivers understand my address. It's a curse.
It may have seemed a little harsh when I pulled up Mark Dredge about a point of beer history (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.nl/2013/01/why-i-dont-read-beer-magazines.html). I should have been milder in my words. But I swear by the principle.
Sometimes you need correction to improve.
I reserve my right to correct*.
* When I have evidence to back up what I say.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/03/correction.html)
Learning a foreign language as an adult can be a nightmare. I should know. I've done it a couple of times.
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cjwgLdej5UY/US8hg93DABI/AAAAAAAAQhs/WXZiwjx3r9c/s400/Falcon_Beer_1954.jpg (http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cjwgLdej5UY/US8hg93DABI/AAAAAAAAQhs/WXZiwjx3r9c/s1600/Falcon_Beer_1954.jpg)
Amsterdam has one particularly difficult moat to swim: the overly-good mastery of English of just about everyone in the city, except the poor expats desperately trying to learn the language. They won't let you speak Dutch here if there's the slightest whiff of uncertainty. Like wolves, the locals smell fear and pounce on any chance to showcase their English language skills.
I'm glad I kicked off my Dutch experience in Rotterdam. By the time I got here, my Dutch was good enough to apply the hammer and tongs technique. Named after the joke bridge bidding method. I said something in Dutch, the reply was in English, I replied in Dutch, English reply back . . . and so on until I eventually get a reply in Dutch. It often took a while.
Given my natural level of torpor, I'm shocked I could be arsed to go through with it.
The accent, though. I've never quite cracked that. My inability to properly pronounce the name of the street I live on, never fails to amuse Mikey. Mister bloody parrot. He can pass for Dutch. Bastard.
I can remember my Mum drilling me in the pronunciation of the "th" sound in the word "the" when I was a child. I must have got it right eventually, because she stopped correcting me.
Correcting an adult is impolite. No matter how bad their grammar or pronunciation. So no-one's sat me down and made me pronounce the rolling "R" sound until got it right. As a result, I struggle to make taxi drivers understand my address. It's a curse.
It may have seemed a little harsh when I pulled up Mark Dredge about a point of beer history (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.nl/2013/01/why-i-dont-read-beer-magazines.html). I should have been milder in my words. But I swear by the principle.
Sometimes you need correction to improve.
I reserve my right to correct*.
* When I have evidence to back up what I say.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/03/correction.html)