French Knitting

Last night I had my final French lesson.  I've been going to a lady in Raynes Park for about six months for conversation practice, general telling-off, glasses of Ricard and a dish of Pringles.  I don't feel like I've improved that much in six months.  It's probably my own fault for doing no study at all between lessons.  I'm hoping that when I step off the train in Brussels a switch will flick and my brain will instantly be in French.  I realise this is not going to happen.  I will probably just speak my usual Franglais and point a lot.

Unfortunately I'm still at the stage where listening to someone speak French is like listening to knitting.  Not the act of knitting but actual knitting.  I know that doesn't make sense but it does really.  And when I speak French I feel like I am knitting, complete with slipped stitches, holes, and the wrong tension. 

The only time I speak really authentic French appears to be when I'm talking to my daughter and her boyfriend and I'm drunk.  The answer seems to be that I should stay drunk, all the time.  I'm not sure if this is a long term solution.