It's said that you are well on your way to becoming French when you walk into shops and restaurants while visiting the UK, flash a beaming, all-inclusive smile and say 'bonjour' to complete strangers [which I did at least once last week in a West London newsagents.] I would also add a few other pointers:
1 You panic on finding that the bakery is closed unexpectedly [if the baker has had the temerity to go on holiday, for example] and you can't get your hands on a baguette. This holds true even if you don't actually eat that much bread.
2 You look at snails in the garden and find yourself thinking how lovely they would be cooked in garlic butter and parsley, if only you could be bothered to purge them.
3 You know the names of, and can identify, at least twenty different types of cheese.
4 You feel a inexplicable rush of pride when you see a cluster of French flags fluttering above the mairie.
5 You think Zinedine Zidane was quite right to head butt the Italian player during the World Cup.
6 The idea of having to do any work in August just seems so wrong.
Et voila. The weather here, incidentally, is quite perfect at the moment: pockets of sunshine interspersed with sudden, monsoon downpours of rain, which means that I don't have to water my new pale pink hydrangea [yes, I cheated and bought a new one, which is why it looks like it's thriving.]