French Lesson

I have a French lesson today. I can speak French but because I learned while I was in France by talking to the Romanian owner of a junk shop about wardrobes and woodworm, my French is very ungrammatical. In fact I don't actually know what the conjunctive is in English and I feel that it may be vital. I am not sure what it might be vital for, but if I am to take on Francois Hollande's impots and learn how to work the new French central heating system we have had installed in France I think the subjunctive would be helpful.
Alors, voila, French classes.
 A taxi takes me to City University London. the taxi driver is North African. "Do you speak French?" I ask him.
"Non." He replies.
O well.
Anyway we arrive at  City University London.
 "Go upstairs, room 407," says a boy at the front desk.
I go upstairs. I am feeling very very shy. I am not used to this at all. I haven't had an academic class in anything since I left school. I have never been in a University. Several very clever people walk briskly by. I pass a lecture theatre. I can't find my French class. I can't find Room 407. I find Room 302 and 301. I am clearly going the wrong way so I turn round and walk past Room 329 which is full of intelligent, switched on people academically learning something. Much later I find Room 407. Room 407 is full of people sitting in a semi circle.
"Bon soir, bon soir," trills the professeur.
"Bonsoir." I say, taking a seat. Just then my mobile phone goes off. It gets almost halfway through the theme from Black Beauty before I can find it in the bottom of my bag and switch it to silent. I feel very very shy and my face has gone very very hot.
A very intelligent young man sitting next to me turns his head to stare incredulously. "Black Beauty?" He says.
"Oui." I reply. How shy-making.
"Alors," says the Professeur "Pouvez-vous vous presenter?"
"Moi?" I say.
"Oui." She says.
"D'accord." I say. "J'habite a Londres."
Then I forget everything else about my self.
The intelligent young man next to me says he is an IT consultant who lives in St Albans. The beautiful Spanish girl opposite tells us she is being seconded to Paris by Michael Cors and has to learn to communicate with other fashion houses. The older man tells us he has a friend near Marseilles and needs to learn better French but is actually quite happy speaking execrable French but can tell, when he is in France, that no one can understand him. The Scottish man says he is going to Burns night and knows the sex of the baby his wife is going to have next week.
"I have three children." I tell them all and my face goes really really hot again.
I think there is definitely room for improvement.