Why the French hate the British

OK, we're a few weeks behind the posting schedule (there is no schedule), so here we go:

You might think that the English-French rivalry is due to their long history of warfare (Napoleon, 100 years war etc) or the fact that a French dude (William I of Normandy) came in and kicked the Anglo-Saxons around and founded modern Britain.

You might think that, but you'd be wrong. The primary cause behind the rivalry is language.

Specifically: The French revere their language. There are strictly controlled rules that define what constitutes proper French, from the grammar to the pronunciation.

The English on the other hand have absolutely no respect for anyone's language. We witnessed this firsthand a couple of weeks ago at beautiful Castle Belvoir.

Any Francophiles among you (lucky bastard, that Frank) probably know that Belvoir is French for "Beautiful View". And Castle Belvoir's view is indeed beautiful (more on this later).

The English, however, couldn't be bothered to learn to pronounce Belvoir as the French would (think au revoir). Instead the English decided it was easier just to pronounce it as "beaver".

That is not a joke. Castle Belvoir (going forth referred to as the English pronounce it) sits atop a hill at the edge of the Vale of Beaver. The view is stunning. From the castle's grounds you can see miles and miles of English countryside... rolling hills and quaint villages with old Norman churches.


Anyway, the castle itself is quite lovely - much nicer than Nottingham Castle (which does have a better cafe). It's much larger - Beaver is actually a castle-looking house built on top of what used to be a 14th century castle. The current building is much newer but the interior boasts a nice collection of 16th century paintings and recovered 14th century tiles and the like. I'd post pictures of the gorgeous sitting rooms and dining rooms but we forgot to charge the camera and it died about 30 seconds before we hit the really nice areas inside. I did however manage to waste battery power on a couple of pictures in the Queen's Royal Fusilier museum.

Outside was nice too, once you got used to the half-dozen peacocks wandering around. I guess it beats pigeons. The grounds include a really big terraced garden that leads down to a woodland path. The woods have clearly been there a while, because we saw there the single biggest oak tree ever. The trunk must have been over 7' in diameter. Again, no pictures.

The kids had a good time romping in the nearby playground and trying to climb into the 17th century bedrooms. Mallory was scared of the peacocks, which I can understand because 6 peacocks begging for breadcrumbs is probably really intimidating when you're smaller than they are. Quentin had a great time running amok and didn't even seem aware of the time that he almost fell off the 20' ladder at the playground. It was a moment of glory for me, as I caught him in midair as I climbed up behind him. I expect my official action-hero badge in the mail any day now.