Bildungsstandards für die fortgeführte Fremdsprache (Englisch

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Bildungsstandards für die fortgeführte Fremdsprache (Englisch / Französisch) für die Allgemeine Hochschulreife
source:
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Martin, moody scumbag that he is sometimes, is always bemoaning
my lack of native culture. It must be disappointing for him; there he
was, thinking he was getting the genuine article, looking forward to
spatting with my family and having forbidden encounters in borrowed
places, planning a romantic tour with me around the one-hut, dungfilled
villages he visited as a student, and instead he gets someone
who can drink him under the table and belch the alphabet as a party
piece. I know a lot more than he knows I know.
Anyone with a bit of sense would guess that a comprehensiveeducated
kid from a blue-collar family in the East End is force-fed her
language and rituals as a matter of survival, our defence against the
corruption outside our front door. Anyone Asian, that is. Only anyone
not Asian would assume that wearing mini-skirts and liking Italian
food meant I was in ethnic denial. The roots go deeper than that, honey.
Ask most of my girlfriends, ranging in hue from tinted copper to Dravidian
blue-black; between them they run business empires, save lives
on operating tables, mould and develop young minds, trade in nonexistent
commodities with shouting barrow boys, kick ass across
courtrooms and computer screens. In the outside world, they fly on
home-grown wings.Then they reach their front doors and forget it all.
They step over the threshold, the Armani suit shrinks and crumples
away, the pencil skirt feels blowsy and tight, the head bows, the
shoulders sag, within a minute they are basting and baking and burning
fingers over a hot griddle, they are soothing children and saying
sorry, bathing in-laws and burning with guilt, packing lunch-boxes and
pouring oil over choppy waters, telling everyone who will listen they
don't mind, wondering why they left their minds next to the muddy
wellies and pile of junk mail in the front porch.
I've seen it happen right before my eyes […]. One moment, my friend
Meena was describing how she'd sacked three of her staff and organized
a buy-out of a rival firm in her lunch hour, the next she was simpering
her way around her husband, who stood at the top of the stairs,
baffled by a piece of complicated equipment called an iron.
From Life Isn’t All Ha Ha Hee Hee by Meera Syal. Published by Doubleday. Reprinted by permission
of The Random House Group Limited, pp. 142 – 145.
Online Copyright © Meera Syal. Reproduced by permission of the author c/o Rogers, Coleridge &
White Ltd., 20 Powis Mews, London W11 1JN.
Annotations:
l. 4 Crimplene trousers - a certain kind of cheap trousers
(knitterfreier Stoff)
l. 20 SE postcode area - a rather underprivileged part of London
l. 23 gobs of phlegm - ‛Rotze“
l. 25 a well-aimed Doc Marten - a kick with a Doc Marten boot
l. 29 duffle-coated - here: dressed properly
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