Sunday, 30 January 2011

ET TU VAS FAIRE QUOI? QUOI?

It's quarter to six in the morning and Sam is not a happy bunny. More on that story later.


After sitting in the staff room on Friday for a substantial amount of time doing.....not a lot, I went to English Club (which was nice apart from all the intruders - I well need a new, better room) then to the principals office to ask about the timetable change. As I had asked her in the morning if I could talk to her later, she was clearly expecting some terrible news or a mass problem that I had. She invited me into her office, sat me down, closed the door, and arranged all of her paperwork out of the way, gearing up for some serious conversation. When I asked her what I really wanted, she was so shocked she was just like "Yeahhh sure! Don't even worry about redoing the hour elsewhere, just tell them you're not coming!"

Apparently though, they're gonna cancel that class because the kids CLEARLY aren't going to turn up for their extra, optional English lesson, at 4pm on a Friday when ordinarily they'd have finished by then. Well, would you?

On verra. They didn't turn up yesterday anyway, so I'm not expecting anything different next Friday. So I think I'll be working elsewhere. I really hope I can get rid of them. I've never felt such resentment for a group of twelve year olds before.

After this, I went into Paris to get Lauryn, Katie and Vicky. I arrived at Chatelet at half past five, as did Lauryn and Vicky. We found each other at quarter past six. Not good times, although we got there in the end. Did a quick wine and tampax run at Monoprix before going to Gare de Lyon to get Katie.

Plan was: go to Notre Dame, take a few pictures, go to the Irish pub next to it, eat some food, drink some drinks, relatively chilled out, well-behaved night. It got to about 11 o clock before we decided we wanted to eat, so we just went to the kebab shop up the road. Via Moulin Rouge, obviously. We walked past the bar I spoke about in a previous blog, where a friend of mine disappeared and I got very inappropriate advances off of two black men.  I DEVOURED a kebab before wandering back, halfway between chatting to my friends and dealing with IDIOTS trying to interfere with my relationship.

Okay, it's now 3pm, I kinda crashed hafway through writing. I'm stil not a happy bunny though, so the tone shall remain similar.

We went to bed and got up the next day. Went sightseeing, was kinda nice actually. I hadn't been to the Sacre Coeur before so going up there was pretty nice. Except I had raging period pains and when Katie introduced her friend to me I must have came across as a right miserable bitch. However, likelihood of seeing the guy again? Pretty small tbh, so I'm not going to worry myself too much. He's a nice guy though.We went to a bar by Notre Dame for lunch where I ate a beast of a burger and the nicest chips I've ever put into my mouth.Then I started falling asleep at the table, so it was coffee time. Why have I started liking coffee? I'm so French. Kill me now.

Upon arriving back at the Metro for our hotel, we were approached by a number of people trying to sell fake cigarettes and the likes. There were people everywhere. Each one trying to sell you something equally as illegitimate as the next. It was like Hell. This is how I imagine Hell to be. Once I get there, I'll start a new blog and let you know. Me and Katie bought the biggest stick of candyfloss in the world. It was glorious.

So we got ready and went out, met Lauryn and Vicky in Paris (they'd been to Disneyland) and headed to a bar, where a really good night started happening. We went to the one across the road because the queues were massive, then we ignored the Facebook event itinerary (rebels!) and went to Montparnasse. Couldn't get into the club we wanted, so we then went to...

...Folie's Pigalle.

The bar we'd walked past the previous night. Where it went horrendously wrong last time. Oh well, I thought to myself, maybe it'll be a bit better this time around. And it was, for a while it was really nice. I wasn't drinking in there because I just couldn't be bothered, but the conversation and the company were really good.

Or so I thought.

It got to a point in the evening where the girl in our group who I didn't know became so horrendously drunk that she was slumped in a chair, passed out. We got her up and out of the club and were planning to get her home somehow before making our way to bed.

My friend, however, came out without his coat. Went back in to try and find his mate to get his ticket, we didn't see him again. Katie went back in to find them both, couldn't, then tried again, found them, and they said they were coming. The whole time I'm being approached outside by police officers hungry to arrest some non-French people, and pervy old men offering to give this girl a "lift home". Managed to stave everyone off, this girl managed to get herself up off of the piss-soaked pavement, and starts telling me she's getting a taxi.

Good luck to her. She couldn't even tell the driver where she lived.

Katie came back out telling me it was all okay, and that Kyle and his friend were in the queue for the cloak room and were coming out as soon as they had their coats. Awesome. I was gonna have a go at them for ignoring their phones, but then it would have been fine. We'd have all got back to the hotel, found beds for the other three and got some kip. Except they didn't come out.

A group of several men started bothering Katie and this drunk American. I was on the other side of the road, so I could see the exit from the club, so I could call Kyle and his mate when they left. It was at this point where the woman who had been trying to make conversation with me for the last half an hour asked me to wait elsewhere.

"Why?"
"Because this is my bit"
"What? No I'm waiting here"
"No but this is mine"
"What?"
"I work here! So move, you're stealing my clients"

Apparently me in jeans and a hoody makes a prostitute successful enough to steal clients from this woman. I was a bit insulted, and told her, in English, to fuck off. She then accused me of not having a girfriend, to which I went back into French, to tell her "actually yes I do have a girlfriend, and I don't have to pay for her, so..." She continued telling me to move saying I was affecting her work, despite the fact that every potential client she approached was responding to her advances by calling her a dirty whore. She became quite rude and threatening to me, but I wasn't scared of a stick-thin slut holding a cigarette and a can of Desperados (Oh, the irony!) so I asked her what exactly she was going to do.

Next thing I know, she's all up in my face, demanding to know what my problem is with her and why I won't just move. I continued to ask her what she was going to do, eventually she backed off and said "absolument rien".

I could have moved, granted, but whores don't own these streets (Not even in Pigalle) and I had friends to look out for in two separate places.It was 5 o clock in the morning and I was fucking cold. Maybe I should have told her to pay me if she wanted me to move. That's how capitalist society works isn't it...you want land, you buy it?

Kyle still wasn't answering his phone, neither was his friend, and they'd been in the cloak room queue for an absolute age. Katie asked me to come stand with our acquired drunken American whilst she went back in, yet again, to find out what was going on. The security guard informed her that he couldn't let her back in for a third time, but that her friends had gone back into the club.

Left us out in the freezing cold with THEIR drunk mate, for over an hour, in a less than safe district of Paris, staving off police, leching old men, groups of blokes who wanted to "take her home" and prostitutes who are angry because a fat lesbian is risking demand by standing on her corner. This girl couldn't get home, she didn't know where she was, what bus she could get, she couldn't even tell a taxi driver where home was. Thanks guys, thanks.

We couldn't exactly leave her. So we walked in a bit of a zig-zag back to our hotel where SOMEHOW we snuck her into our room. She passed out on the bed, I started to write this blog post, Katie went to sleep then I eventually managed to grab a couple of hours cuddled up to the radiator after failing to sleep next to the coldest draughtiest window I've ever known, on the makeshift bed that Katie had kindly constructed for me out of towels and spare bedsheets when she felt bad about me not having a bed for the night. Wasn't her fault.

I'm still not decided if I'm glad that I was sober through all of this.

Now I am at home safe and sound, waiting for my lasagne to cool down, waiting for my lady to come on Skype, and waiting for my explanation.

Saturday, 29 January 2011

Two Weeks to Vacances - I'm getting impatient


Had a bit of a funny old week, have I.

The powercut lasted all night, so I was in bed by 11 as I was bored. When I woke up at 6.30, I lit the candle again, and decided to lay down in my oh-so-comfortable bed just chilling out somewhat, seeing as I didn’t have work until half 11. After 15 minutes of laying there, my room suddenly flooded with light. Thinking the candle had fallen over and set fire to my entire life, I flew out of the bed ready to start screaming. Nothing to see here chaps, it was just that the power was back and therefore my light had switched on.

Monday I went to work, where I was informed that my Year Eight dreadfuls are no longer available on Wednesday mornings. Get in! Result! Lay-in Wednesdays and no more flying children! But no. “Instead you can take them on Friday, at…… 4 o clock.” 

WHAT?

So in saving myself the hours walking for a 55 minute lesson on a Wednesday, I have now inherited an extra three hours at work on my Friday. This interferes with my life. I have to go and ask the headteacher if I can change that hour for the 11th of Feb as it’s going to risk me missing my train home for les vacances. Either way, I will not be doing it.

Wednesday I went to Reims, well that was a bit rubbish. Apparently it’s where Champagne lives, but it was all so expensive and to be honest I can buy some in Carrefour. How capitalist and uncultured of me. Oh!
Work has consisted mostly of banter all week, just being mean to kids who are mean back, then everyone ends up laughing. The best way to do this is to take a really annoying kid, and when he makes a statement in English that isn’t exactly correct, translate it back into French exactly as he said it in English, and watch the kids do the rest of the ridicule. 

The best example of this was with a 3ème  class, who were working on writing angry letters in order to express themselves clearly in English. I read some examples from the previous class, one of which read; “to the people who swear when its not needed, it’s pathetic! Your such a looser! I have two words for you: FUCK OFF!”

Lol?

Anyway. These two kids decided to write an angry letter on the subject of a cheating girlfriend, and the writer had found out by seeing a video on the internet of the event. Harsh times. In his anger, the kid was going to smash his girlfriends car up. However, what he actually wrote was, “I fuck your car!” 

I took great delight in asking him if he really did want to stick his dick in his girlfriends car, to which that entire section of the room rolled around in hysterics for a good five minutes.

Today, I caused a bit of a situation. Year Ten were set the task to ask me questions. But questions with a bit of a meatier response than “what is your favourite hobby” or “can you speak French”, more like “what is happiness to you?” and “what are your best and worst qualities?”

One such question was “Who is your hero? But not a fiction one, it has to be real”.

So I told them.

The class, who were already pretty calm, sunk into silence, and the teacher couldn’t even hide her awkward face. But they asked a question and got an honest answer, didn’t they? Fuck Neil Armstrong, fuck Gandhi, fuck all those famous people, they haven’t affected my life. One person has.

For those of you who don’t know, my hero is Luke. He was my friend from school. He had cystic fibrosis amongst other things and he wasn’t at school very much, but when he was he was the happiest kid there, always smiling, there wasn’t a single kid who didn’t like him. Not once did he moan about his illnesses or the pain he was in, in fact I don’t think I ever heard him moaning about anything. But when we were in Year 9, he died. It was one of the most horrendous things I’ve ever gone through and I still miss him terribly, even if I didn’t see him that much. I know I’m not the only person who feels like this, the boy was just amazing.

Now I’m sitting in the staff room waiting for the headteacher to be free so that I can go and ask her if I can change my timetable on the week of the 11th – although I’m well prepared to lose an hour’s wages if it means I don’t have to miss out on the train that cost me a hell of a lot more than that. I’ve got English Club in an hour, then after that, two more hours of glorious nothing. Then to go see my Year Eight kids, who probably aren’t going to turn up as they’re meant to finish at four on Fridays. Would you be prepared to stay behind on a Friday night to do extra of a subject that you don’t like? I’ve only got one kid who works, and he’s the American kid. This class was such a bad idea.

Still, weekend with some cool people, it’s Kyle’s birthday so we’re going out to practise our liver-battering skills. I miss my lady. A lot.

Monday, 24 January 2011

The Most Romantic Blog I'll Ever Write


So I’m writing my blog by candlelight. There’s a powercut, and Samir has given me a candle so I can not be all in the dark whilst I mong out in my room. He and Colin are sat eating their dinner in the kitchen with a candle on the go, it looks like they’re having a date in there. At least they’re not singing any more.

So maybe I should tell you all about my weekend. English club was a success as the only two who attended were the two most hardworking ones and they were just asking for tips for their imminent oral exam. I spent a whole hour giving one girl an abundance of Zone 1 Tube stations “because everyone in the class is saying Piccadilly Circus and it’s boring” and the other girl loads of advice on how to keep being awesome at English. It was quite agreeable, as it goes.

After this, I was about to leave to go catch my Eurostar when the crazy office lady saw me in the corridor. She promptly launched into a tirade of condescending bollocks about some contract I haven’t signed for my new flat. Told me to go there IMMEDIATELY to sign it. When I explained to her that I couldn’t as I had a train to catch, she calmed down instantly and told me to do it “either Tuesday or Thursday” and it would be okay.

Bipolar much?

The thing is, I didn’t even know I had to sign the thing. I signed NOTHING when I moved into the flat at the school, and the flat I’ve moved into is also in a school – logic tells me that the rules would be the same. Besides, do we not think that I’d be more likely to sign documents if they were given to me, or if I was at least notified of their need to be signed? Their existence, even? 

Anyway. I went to Paris, checked in, went and bought some stuff (champagne, plug adaptor) before deciding to get me some lunch. It was at this point that my French bank card went “HAHA NO!” when I tried to buy a sandwich and a macaroon. I know there’s money in my account, my card was just being a bitch. I had to use my change to get a bottle of red Orangina and a bar of Milka. Nutritious.

I got on my train, and was chilling chilling chilling when a girl, aged about twelve, strolled down the train carriage. She caught sight of me as she walked past, and as she was walking, turned round to give me a dirty glare. As I caught her eye line, she promptly fell over. I literally had to look away, I laughed straight at her. Call me evil, but this girl had the face of a bitch. You know the type who bullies other kids at school.

Getting into St Pancras, I found my lady waiting for me at the arrivals door. We left, and had the most amazing weekend. Walking around London, acting silly, dancing in restaurants, lots of laughing, lots of soppy romantic stuff. I didn’t think I was the type…

Champagne for breakfast was a fantastic idea though. Nothing like going out at about lunchtime, already pissed because you didn’t actually eat all morning.

The weekend was over far too quickly, and we went to St Pancras to get a bit (a lot) of lunch and look around some of the shops before I had to go and check in for my train. Here I bought a stuffed toy of the very hungry caterpillar (I saw it and immediately felt as though I’d missed out on something in my childhood) and a fridge magnet that reads “Global Warming is my fault”. Amy says this is true because of the amount of hairspray I use.

There was lots of other stuff that happened that was funny, but I’m a bit paranoid that I’ll lose the power in my laptop before I get to the end of typing. That, or the candle will fall out of the wine bottle I’ve shoved it in.

Also, I am feeling pretty chilled out with my candlelit bedroom, my housemate playing guitar in her room and singing (she’s actually quite good) and the fact that I’ve just had an amazing weekend and get to go to London again in three weeks. All I need to make this night perfect is to have my lady here with me. Electricity is overrated anyway.

Sunday, 23 January 2011

Insolence and Scary Ducks (written 21/01/2011)


OH MY DAYS IT’S A THIRD BLOG POST WITHIN A WEEK

Well, Carrefour has what I’m looking for with regards to making sleep a less dreadful concept, but I have had the CBA’s since Tuesday night and so haven’t been to get anything. As such, I keep putting off going to bed as it is so uncomfortable to do so, then I end up even more tired and CBA-ridden . Vicious, vicious circle.
Tuesday afternoon at work was fairly simple, I was helping Year Seven to tell the time. I got MS Paint out, loaded up a picture of a clock face and told them to draw times on it. Major success. They’re still rubbish at telling the time, but their interest was maintained, plus my idea got called “genius”. Get in.

In the evening I fed myself Pizza again, and drank raspberry syrup until I could barely move. It was glorious.
Wednesday morning, I had my lovely half hour trek into work in order to do a single 55 minute lesson. And it was the kids that I don’t even like. However, after last week’s class went relatively well, I had high hopes, plus we were just going to revise telling the time again before making them compete again.

Wrong…

They wouldn’t stay in their seats.

They wouldn’t copy what I told them to copy.

They wouldn’t shut up when I told them to.

I eventually got them calm, and working, and generally being quite nice.

And as per usual, about twenty minutes into the lesson, another group of kids were brought to the classroom. 

But seeing as they’ve been brought up by a member of staff, there’s not much I can say to any of them.

So twenty minutes into my lesson, the kids stroll in, wander up to their mates, start chatting, running around, playfighting…

…and trying to throw someone out of the window.

We were on the second floor. If anyone did go out, they’d certainly have died. Imagine if I’d had to explain that? I stormed over to the window, slammed it shut, and turned round to roar at these little arseholes to sit down and shut up. Eventually thay did, except for one girl, who carried on chatting away.

When she did sit down, I stood at the front of the classroom, identified the kids who were prepared to work and managed to get a pretty sweet diagram of a clock. Next it was time to make them copy it.
No such luck.

One girl actually had the audacity to say to me “No, I’m not doing it. I’m not doing anything” then act offended when I said “well, fair enough, but you won’t be playing with your phone either so put that away now.”

She stormed out of the class. Lol.

One kid was trying to be a bit of a lad when the boys decided to do their playfighting thing and pushed his mates head down to make it look like he was getting some sort of sexual gratification. Yes, yes I did call him gay. 

As the “banter” continued, they were trying to tell me in English why each of them was such a loser. Their literal translations brought many a giggle as they explained to me that their Maghreb friend is a “butter”. Hahaha.

Needless to say, I was happy to get out of that particular disaster of a class. I went home, had a nap, then sorted out a few things for my upcoming weekend with my favourite girl.

Thursday was a much calmer day for me, although I did have one incident in a class of 6ème where some boys were trying to make me speak Japanese, telling me to have a conversation with the Japanese kid in my class. I don't know if he actually is Japanese but I will refer to him as such for the sake of simplicity. Then they started making those ridiculous stereotypical noises and waving their arms around as if to imitate Kung Fu or something, before debating as to whether he was actually Japanese and not Chinese. This upset the Japanese kid who responded by trying to stab the boy next to him with a pen. The boys reaction?
“Did you learn that in China?”

I had to stop myself from laughing, the kid deserved it, he was being a little shitbag and the Japanese kid was rightfully annoyed…but the timing of the comeback was just…perfect. I calmed the situation down before going on to have a pretty successful lesson with them, and then going home to pack for the weekend and get a vaguely early night (midnight…haha) 

Today, on my way to work, the ducks had all vacated the river again and were looking at me. It scares me when they all get out of the water. I mean every single one of them. It’s like they know something I don’t. 

I’m just chilling in the staff room now, after having two lessons where I did next to nothing, I’m probably gonna head out in a while to go find me some Lunch and travel snacks, before heading into Paris to get my train. That’s right, I’m going to England. I’m taking my lady away and it’s going to be awesome.

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

With my public speaking skills I will one day rule the world

Two blogs in two days!
Aren’t you lucky?
I guess we can safely assume that I’m back on the regular blogging ting. The first two weeks back were quite shit, and I guess that’s all you really need to know. Life is good now. Funny how swiftly things can turn around isn’t it?
Anyway. By the time I got my post onto Blogspot last night I’d already done my soiree business, but couldn’t be asked to add it onto the post, so I’m gonna talk about it now.
I finished writing, then went to wander about the officey area like a little lost lamb as I actually had no idea where this damn thing was supposed to be. Eventually a teacher found me and herded me into this large room where I was made to sit at the front, looking at all of the people I was going to be speaking in front of. There were well over a hundred people in the room. I was trying to remember everything I’d said to my Euro classes on Friday about how to speak well in front of an audience, but I couldn’t. I had nothing prepared, I had no idea what to say, and I sat there wanting to cry like a twelve year old who’d just been sentenced to death for stealing sweets.
The kids got up one at a time, and said their piece that they’d learned by heart, and I was really pleased to see that they’d taken into account everything I’d told them on Friday about standing up straight, looking at your audience, speaking clearly and with confidence, it actually made me quite proud that they’d gone from nervous little wrecks in front of me to speaking really well (and in a foreign language too) in front of a large group of people, within a couple of days :’)
Then it was my turn.
The teacher introduced me as the assistant, told them a bit about the work I do, then said “oh she’s going to talk in English now”. So I stood up. I opened my mouth, and hoped that whatever came out didn’t sound too stupid.
After all, why would it matter if they’re all French?
It turns out, a lot of them understood me pretty well. It’s a good job I pulled it off. They laughed at the things I said that were funny (“as part of my degree I have to spend seven months in a French-speaking country so I thought – why not France?” “OUAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” – OK maybe an exaggeration but the laughing was definitely there) and the English-speaking sister of one of my students told me at the end that I did really well.
GET INNNNNNNNNNNN
Once all the speaky stuff was over it was time to go and chat to people, which was when one of my students approached me with her older sister who wanted to have a bit of a conversation in English with me, as she’s an English student studying in Paris. I bigged up the concept of doing a year abroad and told her that as long as she was near London or an airport the issue of missing her family wouldn’t be so bad, as she could always get back pretty easily. I gave advice on becoming a language assistant to someone’s Mum, oh and I drank champagne. And met one of my flatmates, interestingly – I hadn’t seen him in the flat before and actually he doesn’t even work at the school.
All in all, a pretty good day.
Today, being Tuesday, I had work this morning at half ten, and once again set my alarm for nine. Once again, I was up at 8.25 because of the FUCKING BELLS at the lycee.
Anyway.  I went into work where I had my horrible Year Ten class, the ones who never do a scrap of work, the ones who talk about the size of my chest and indirectly call me gay. They actually did their work! I was amazed.
Now I’m going to go on the school internet, see if Carrefour can help me out with regards to getting something that is going to make sleeping a less painful process (this mattress is making me want to die) then I’m going to finish work at around 4 and go and actually buy some food, before going home to do some washing. I did not know it could be so fun to do washing.

Monday, 17 January 2011

"C'est un restaurant Chinois?" "Non, c'est un temple bouddhiste"

Well, I’ll start this blog post by letting you all know that I have cheered the fuck up! The last two weeks were stressful to the point of wanting to kill everyone, I hated everyone, and yeah I was being a bit of a miserable bitch, lol.

I believe that my last post was onnnn Tuesday? Yea, cos I was feeling sad. Wednesday was horrible, there were good memories, bad memories, feeling sad, and just as I finished my crying spree I got a knock on the door of my apartment.

“Can you have your stuff ready by tomorrow at 5pm?”

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

So for the rest of Wednesday I didn’t even have time to cry about my Nan because I was too busy throwing my life into suitcases and carrier bags ready to move to my new apartment.

Which is shit, by the way.

Thursday was a slightly ridiculous day. I saw my teacher on Facebook in the morning, she’d even WRITTEN a status about her child being ill. Still, I went in for 2pm when I had a lesson with her, and quelle surprise! She wasn’t there! So I gave myself a glorious hour of staff room nothingness before going to my class with Year Ten.

Which didn’t go so well.

No fucker listened to me, no fucker did their work, I shouted at them (I was feeling stressed on Thursday because of my impending move to the lycée and there was some bad news at home too and I couldn’t really make sure that things were okay with everything I had going on here – I just took it out on the little bastard kids and felt great about myself after) and after that I went home to finalise my “packing”.

I moved to the new flat, where my internet doesn’t work properly, I have very little storage and my bed resembles that which you would find in prison. You know, with the gym mat mattresses and the super-duper comfort thing.  The flat is surrounded by classrooms, so regardless of what time you WANT to wake up, you’re up at 8.25.

It’s a really rubbish flat.

HOWEVER.

My flatmates are really nice.
There’s a supermarket across the road with an “espace fraicheur” which I find awesome beyond comprehension. It’s a massive fridge that you walk in! England needs more of these.
There’s a MacDonald’s a piss away.
THERE IS A WASHING MACHINE
THERE IS A TUMBLE DRYER

And it’s much closer to Corbeil-Essonnes Station, which is much better for me with regards to getting to Paris when I’m doing my “escape” thing at the weekend.

Overall, I think I can put the rubbishness of the place aside purely for the benefits of having people to talk to, a faster escape out of Corbeil-Essonnes, and the ability to wash my clothes.

At the weekend, I went to Dijon, and I must say I had the best weekend I’ve had since I arrived in France. I took the TGV where I was sat next to this man who, frankly, was a little bit weird. He kept playing with the armrest between us, and guess what? He broke my camera. I can still take pictures, but what they look like is anyone’s guess until I get them onto the computer. I wish I’d seen this before getting off the train. I’d have mugged him for his designer clothes. Idiot. 

Katie met me in town after coming round from a drink-induced coma and showed me about the place, we did the “parcours de chouette” and I swear to god if she ever says the word chouette to me again I will cry. Haha. I met some of her friends in the town, all of whom were lovely, we went to the cinema to watch “Le fils a Jo” (which I’d rate at about 5/10) before going back to her flat for dinner and whatnot. Then we went out. Had a great night. Managed to get a pint for €3. There was a definite link between the price and the name of the beer (Grimberg or something), and it was definitely the barman who was making the prices up as he went along, but it was a €3 pint nonetheless. This is itself makes the night a success.

Sunday, I booked some train tickets to London because I’m taking my lady away from shite Dagenham for the weekend. This made me massively excited, then I went home.

By the way, I forgot to tell you all about my Maille purchases. Funky flavoured mustard, and raspberry vinegar. RASPBERRY VINEGAR. It’s the best thing I’ve ever bought. Better than Electroboy, even. I was so proud of myself.

Sunday I washed some clothes and let me tell you, my clothes were grateful. I chilled out for the evening before getting me a semi decent night’s sleep.

Today, being Monday, I have met the teacher from Leeds who is going to be here for two weeks, and it turns out he used to work at Barking Abbey. Small world!

Hes a cool guy though. In between all our official engagements, tour of the town hall, meeting with the conseil general, he was still laughing at the swan that was having difficulty in the river, and the old tramp outside the Conseil General who was necking beer and looked like he’d had his face busted in. I’m glad he brought some humour with him.

Now I’m writing a blog before going to a “soiree” where I apparently have to speak in front of people. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I think the theme of my speech is going to have to be “improvisation”. I swear, if they want me to say it in French. I will die.

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

Miseryguts. Quoi?


I cant be arsed to finish that blog below. So I’m not going to. Instead I’m going to start from today.

Today is Tuesday.

Work involved Year Ten getting told off for talking about if I am a lesbian or not. I didn’t even hear them. Their teacher went mad though. I swear everyone else cares more than I do. However, the comebacks were good.

A Year Nine kid told me his favourite part of The Grinch was when the kids started crying because there were no presents. Why? Because he likes it when kids are sad. Legend.

Year Seven gave me a shopping list of things to bring back for them next time I go to England. No.

On my way home I was approached by a child who recognised me from school, and asked me what year I was in. FML much? I’ve worked there three months and they still think I’m a student. Lol. 

Today I am sad because it is Grandad’s anniversary and tomorrow it is Nan’s anniversary. I think this is the loneliest I’ve felt so far in the whole time I’ve been here. There’s nothing I’d like more than to be around my family so we can look after each other but I’m stuck out here on my own. It’s the first one for Nan as well so things still feel pretty horrible. I’ll just have to settle for leaving her a message on Facebook (my Nan was a G) and being miserable to anyone who’s prepared to put up with me.

I promise to cheer up after this week. On the plus side, one month until I’m home and get to see the above-mentioned family and my friends and the girl of my dreams J x