Wednesday, 9 February 2011

Kangaroos, Two More Sleeps

So I left you with me bitching about how I want to come home after taking my cold meds and getting a little bit high.

Thursday afternoon I did my class, went to sign my documents and went home to my glorious bed. Lots of sleeping occurred.

Friday I went to work, where the kids were working on New York and they had an activity to do based on the famous Frank Sinatra song. Their final task was to sing it. The kids weren’t happy. One girl piped up, with the clearest voice imaginable, “What is the English for mal a la gorge?”  After three attempts, they still weren’t having any of it. So I joined in. Got the kids singing, kids thought I was funny, teacher thought I was insprational, all in all I should sing more often. Got major cool points for laughing at a boy who was pretending to throw his pen at the teacher. I was laughing because he was too pussy to actually do it. Amateur.

English club was…different. They are working on Australia in class, and working on telling a story. One girl was really enjoying telling me all about koala bears and marsupials whilst the other one was getting on with some exam preparation. Next thing I know, my class has turned into a theatre company. One girl is narrating a story of a mother and baby kangaroo getting separated in the long grass and the other two kids are acting it out. Repeatedly. I thought I was on drugs. Nope, they were definitely pretending to be kangaroos.
Year eight didn’t turn up AGAIN, so I’ve officially sacked them off, and taken on two new classes who I see every other week. This means that I can use my lesson plans twice. Awesome.

Friday night, I do believe I was ill. Still, casually popped to Lyon on Saturday to commence the best weekend I’ve had in France. I arrived there, did a bit of strolling about and being amused by the cheekiest bastard begging kids I’ve ever met. Do I have a pen? No. A euro? No. Two euros? No. A note then! FUCK OFF! Trying to get me with the disabled charity scam…shitbags.

I met Lauryn in the station when her train arrived, and on the way out we were approached by a very tall, very funny looking black man. He didn’t even hesitate before grabbing my arm and telling me he loved me. Wow mate, with chat up lines like that, I’m sure your success rate is somewhere near 100% right?!?!? He tried following us out of the station, me telling him to fuck off, Lauryn laughing at me. Thanks Lauryn.

We walked round Lyon for a few short hours, casually falling in love with the place (I’m so bringing the lady here in the summer) and finding a shop called Little Britain. Full of ENGLISH STUFF. I was in my element. We walked in, and it was like Hitler had just walked into a room full of Aryans. Amazement. Wonder. Surprise. I ended up buying two glorious litres of Dr Pepper, some Extra Old Marmite (which I’d never even seen in the UK before but is really nice – yeahhhh I relented and opened it, sorry Lauryn) and a couple of Pepperami Firesticks.

Then it was time to leave our new found favourite city (after London ofc) and head black to Clermont Ferrand so we could go to a house party. The train was one of the comfiest things ever. It was, however, such a bumpy ride that I felt nauseous and developed indigestion. And a sudden hatred for trees. And described our surroundings as “bollocks” several times.

We arrived in Clermont, dumped our stuff in Lauryns lodgement, I had a quick facebook chat with the lady I’m a little bit in love with, then we headed out for dinner in an Indian restaurant (yeah, after indigestion. Clever me!) before meeting Dan (our friend from uni who is in Clermont for the next few months studying) and heading to a flat party in what is known amongst the English speaking contingent of Clermont as “The Ladpad”. 

I soon found out why.

I walked through the front door of the flat to be greeted by a shopping trolley FULL of beer. I was glad of this, as the bottle of wine I had bought was pretty rank. I got talking to Dan, and then a load of other people, and in general the night was going really well. Everyone thought I was a little bit G when I recounted some of the stories I’ve got from working in the BANLIEUES, and yeah, I was just really enjoying myself. Got chatting to someone from Leytonstone (East London REPRESENT) before going back to Lauryn and Dan.

Then there was a noise.

A big noise.

Then some more noise.

Then the noise of hundreds of empty beer bottles smashing all over the kitchen floor.

That’s right; the cupboard had fallen off the wall. There’d been loads of empties on top of it and the thing had decided that enough was enough, so it made its bid for freedom. 

Everyone in the flat ran to the kitchen to see what was going on, and in true flat party fashion, proceeded to take pictures of the carnage.

After this, the chaos seemed to continue, with one girl creating a bit of a vom monster by throwing up and falling over at the same time, poor cow. Someone else was sick in the sink, the beer ran out, and I lost my voice. The flat stank of booze and puke, one guy cut his hand to shreds trying to clear the kitchen up, and it was eventually concluded that not bothering to furnish the flat was a good decision made by the 3 guys who live there.

After this it was time to go home, where it transpired that Lauryn had outdrank me by about three and a half miles, and my throat was going to be sore for the rest of the weekend.

Sunday, we were up and out of the house by about midday, and Lauryn showed me the city centre. The city centre, lol. We got all around it within thirty minutes, except for some garden thing that Lauryn forgot about. That’s what you get for 1) being a rimming bitch and 2) drinking half a bottle of vodka on a night that I stay relatively sober, hah. But it’s okay I forgive you.

I went home, where I became MISERABLE to be back in Paris. Such a good weekend was quickly turned sour by the mere thought of being close to the RUBBISH city in which I live. Still. I got home, chilled out, and sat on Skype (my favourite evening activity)

Work this week has been a bit, well, non-existent. Had my first class with my new year 8s on Monday morning, where I found the bitchy gay kid from my English club. The thought of having an extra hour in the week with him is making me think about demanding a payrise. They seem okay though, in general. Tonnes nicer than the wankers I was working with before.

After that, I had my class with my Year 7s, the really cute ones who I really like working with. Their teacher had forgotten to take a list so I was to go to the Permanence to find some kids who fancied a bit of a chinwag. They all refused. Rebels! I didn’t mind, I went to sit in the staff room for an hour having a slight panic over the fact that I couldn’t access my train tickets to print them out. It’s sorted now though, Leanne’s going to print them for me, she’s nice like that. 

English club was once again HORRIBLE with year eight, I sat there for an hour literally talking to two kids. Who were too involved in speaking French for any English to be spoken. Feeling a bit pissed off with them all for point blank ignoring me all lesson, I have set them a presentation to prepare over the holidays. If they don’t do it, I’m throwing them out of English Club. HAH!

Tuesday, I only had one lesson. Year Nine. Decided to get them to prepare a small piece on what they would do during their holidays if money were no object. Theyr ideas were great, ranging from buying a lifetime supply of Italian ice cream, to trips to Miami, Playstation games and…enslaving the world, “muahahahaha”. I love this class. They are definitely one of my favourites.

Wednesday, I’ve had an I HATE SAM day, which normally consists of crying and hating myself and not doing anything or wanting to speak to anyone. I’ve made a conscious effort to spend as much time as possible in my room. My lady has cheered me up 1000000000fold, because she’s amazing. I do feel a lot better now. I haven’t  seen any of my housemates today though. It’s been quite nice, actually.

Tuesday, 8 February 2011

Under the Influence (written 3/2/11)

Just ate the dirtiest sandwich ever.

Monday was pretty typical, woke up with onset of cold and started to feel steadily worse through the day. When it came to English club I was feeling pretty rough and pretty miserable so I decided, who better to take it out on than the kids? We were talking about English music we like, when the Spanish gayboy started putting his Spanish songs on. And dancing like a queen. I stood there staring at him rather unimpressed, when he changed it to a Celine Dion song (you know that pile of wank from Titanic). I took great delight in telling him that Celine Dion is for girly girls and queers. Amazing what you can get away with in French schools!

Tuesday was a sort of uneventful day, except for 6ème being completely in love with me and racing to my desk to come and work with me. All so keen, I’d finished within half an hour and they were all working really hard too. I spent the rest of the lesson staring at English kids dictionaries. Bliss. 3ème worked quite well too. Tuesday night I bought myself some food and some whiskey because I was feeling tellement HORRENDOUS so I drank hot lemon and whiskey from a mug I found in the kitchen.

Colin’s mug. His blue mug.

Wednesday morning. Yeay, woo, day off, etc. I was still up at 9 because I felt like rubbish. On my way back from the kitchen, Colin saw me strolling around. He asked if he could talk with me a bit. Could I use headphones for Skype after 11pm? Yeah, sure I can mate, sorry I didn’t realise I was so loud/you were always asleep at 11pm despite the level of noise you manage to make pottering about and playing playstation late at night.  Still, yeah, course I can use headphones. Also. There’s a massive pile of washing up that keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger. Is it me? Because the others say it’s not them and it wasn’t like this before.

Oh really? Despite the letter pasted on the kitchen door dated September 28th 2010 detailing the horrendous state of the communal areas, in particular the kitchen? Despite the fact that I rarely eat breakfast there, I never eat lunch there and probably have my dinner there about three times a week? And I only ever have stuff that goes in the oven, so none of the pots or pans could be my fault?

Averaging three plates a week apparently makes me responsible for everyone else’s washing up, it would seem. I told him – I had three plates to clean that I had put there the night before and forgotten about whilst I was tidying my room, and the rest was down to someone else. He doesn’t believe me. I don’t care.

Third thing. His blue mug. I cannot use his blue mug. It is his. It’s precious to him. His blue mug. Funny how he didn’t tell me the blue mug belonged to him before I used it though.

After a couple of hours chilling in my room I decided to go do my “devoir” for the week which is the kitchen. I did EVERYONE’S washing up before cleaning all the surfaces, inside the microwave, a vinegar splat from the wall, and the passive-aggressive note Colin had left about his blue mug. He thanked me whilst I was sat in my room. Cheeky git. I’ve half a mind to buy all my own shit and keep it in my room.

We had a room inspection, which consisted of “is your sink alright?” then I went out. I bought myself a mug so my weirdo housemates can’t bitch at me for drinking out of the wrong one, and some headphones for Skype. Wednesday night was spent playing with my new headphones and mic on Skype.

Thursday, my cold is still really bad, so I’ve been to work first thing and after having a lesson cancelled I went to a pharmacy up the road and bought some medicine. It had made me drowsy, hence this blog is bare shit. Bear shit. Rargh.

I need to go AGAIN to find the lady to sign these damn documents for my flat what I hate. I tried looking on the bright side, then it got a bit cloudy over there too. The only good thing about it is that I’m not often there.

I want to come home.