But to get to the countries where these languages are spoken - rich, exotic lands, with histories quite different to those of us of the English persuasion - you have to travel hundreds or thousands of miles by boat or plane.
What a pity there isn't a rich and exotic land with its own language and culture and history just a couple of hours' drive away. Wouldn't it be wonderful?
I know a lot of English people who can get by very well in one or two or even more of these languages.
But I know only one English person (I mean, when I say "know", known to me personally) who has taken the trouble to learn to speak Welsh - an ex-boy friend of Ann's, a good Lanky lad from Owdham, Melvyn, who moved to Mold, learnt Welsh, and became a local councillor.
Now there are possibly hundreds of English people learning Welsh at this very moment, and that is wonderful, if true. Very, very few English people (me included) speak Welsh. Yet English is either the first, or the second, language of every single person living west of that border. The last census suggested that there are no monoglot Welsh speakers left in Wales, at all.
I mention all this because on Wednesday next, Christmas Eve, I will be at Vivien's mum's funeral. Vivien is a very dear friend, even though I tease her by calling her Sister Myfanwy or Matron, and Vivien's life story (strong woman!) ought to be told, and even more so her mother's (d. 2008, aged 103).
And I am going to attempt to sing Ar hyd y nos, in Cymraeg. And I fully expect to be booed off.
So if there are any Welsh speakers reading this who will be there at St Oswald's at 11am on 24 December and who would like to take over - please do!
I'm not sure I have the hwyl
- being English.
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