Florence Rossignol on a new French venture in Oxford

When I first arrived in Britain I must confess I was plagued with the usual stereotypes of the French towards Britain: bad food, atrocious weather, terrible teeth.

In the few episodes of Ground Force I had seen on TV before landing in Oxford, it struck me that Alan Titchmarsh was unreasonably cheerful for a man who seemed to be knee-deep in mud in every episode, planting exotic yuccas in rainy northern backyards.

It didn’t help matters much that when I finally arrived, it rained, hailed, snowed and was sunny, and that was just on my first day.

I am pleased to say that 10 years later, I have fallen in love with the place to such an extent that I don’t ever consider leaving.

Oxford is a cheerful and reassuring place, where one can catch a dreamy literature professor peddling absent-mindedly through modern times, or glimpse the student working late at night in the lab, presumably about to uncover a cure for a horrible disease.

It’s also a real place (unlike the Other Place, I am told) with a true farming and industrial history.

I feel at home in Oxford. Port Meadow is host to my lovely allotment and I have discovered I can buy delicious merguez sausages at Maroc Deli on Cowley Road (enjoying a good couscous-merguez is as essential to your average French person as a good curry is to a Brit).

But best of all is feeling like I have finally mastered the English language. Unlike a French friend of mine, who hosted her first drinks party on English soil recently and spent the entire evening saying “would you like some nipples?”, I feel I am well over these first awkward moments. I can now differentiate between a Mancunian and a Liverpudlian accent (life-saving if you find yourself in a pub near Anfield, I find), I can say Worcester Sauce without batting a eyelid and I can read the newspaper headlines without thinking I’ve mistaken the front page for the cryptic crossword.

When I hear my children (who learned to talk in Britain) playing on the beach in France with their quaint British accents (“Not like that, you twit”) I am very proud.

I still make a few mistakes, just to prove I am French.

The other day I made my Oxonian husband chuckle when I said I went to the chemist with an ordnance (“ordonnance” is a prescription in French).

Learning a language properly is immensely satisfying, as well as useful.

It is partly that experience that has motivated me to open a new Alliance Française in Oxford, with my colleague and French teacher Maeva Caminade. Our mission is to teach French and share the enjoyment of the language and culture.

French is the most obvious language for Brits to learn: you can hop on a train or a ferry and practise it within hours.

Another advantage is that French and English share a lot of vocabulary. When you don’t know a word, you can always try adding an “–euh” to the English one and see if that resonates.

But next time you ask with an innocent air if there are any “préservatifs dans la confiture?” (condoms in the jam), comfort yourself by thinking it could have been worse: you could have asked “d’avoir l’air-con dans la chambre” (to look really stupid in your room).

• Florence Rossignol is directrice at the new Alliance Francaise d’Oxford, opening in September. Alliance Françaises are charitable organisations offering French classes and private tuition for children and adults, as well as cultural events. Visit af-oxford.org or email courses@af-oxford.org