Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Caen, and knife-wielding eleven year olds


I woke up at 8am last Wednesday, and was really struggling to get my eyes open. I toyed with the idea of staying in bed again, but eventually dragged myself away from my really comfy blanket that was given to me by the school (which I am definitely keeping, by the way)

Got myself to St Lazare where I was very confused, the layout of this station is awful. I found a ticket booth outside, and got myself a first-class one-way ticket to Caen, departing in half an hour.

Eventually found my platform after standing there scratching my head like a monkey with nits for a while (out of confusion, not a nits-ridden head), sat myself down in one of the places isolées (isolated seats, you can has window and aisle at the same time and don’t even have to sit next to someone! Win!) and commenced chilling for the next two hours.

When I arrived, it was foggy as though a cloud had formed three feet from the ground. Balls, I thought. These pictures are going to suck.

I wandered about a bit, trying to find the town centre, and sat down by the river to email my lady for a while before going in search of lunch, waiting for this fog to clear slightly.

I hate lunchtime in France. I’m not a particularly patient person and if I want food, unless I’m cooking it myself, I want it now. Only, at lunchtime, it’s nigh on impossible to get anywhere to buy anything resembling nutrition. I couldn’t even get into the door of McDonalds.

Allow this. I’m not getting into this part of French culture. I’ll wait until all you dicks have gone home or back to work or something, then I’ll stuff my face. The fog was already starting to clear so I got a few semi-decent images (well as semi-decent as you can with a camera with no screen) before I luckily found a “sandwicherie” with not a lot of people waiting and bought myself a chicken curry and mozzarella Panini and an Orangina. It was fit. I still maintain that I hate French lunchtime though.

As I strolled about some more, I found a branch of “Le Comptoir Irlandais” – the shop in Paris that I’d been into on Monday and got a massive Irish flag from. I strolled in to see if there was anything that this place might have.

I found what I’d been looking for.

An Ireland Rugby shirt.

GET IN! I was so excited that I didn’t even look at the price tag and had to act unsurprised when the woman told me I was about to pay 55€ for this thing. It’s not even an official shirt. Worth it though.

So I had clothes to wear for Paddys Day.

As I strolled around, getting some amazing pictures of this rather pretty town, I noticed that the people were a little bit dickish. I lost count of the amount of people who shouted something at me for one reason or another. I thought it was just the Parisians who are arseholes.

I sat by a harbour of sorts to relax for a while as my feet were beginning to cause me a remarkable degree of discomfort, I looked at the boats and I played with my phone some more. Then it got cold, so I went to the café across the road to get myself a coffee to warm myself up a bit.

It was pure dirt.

Warmed me up though, and I spent the rest of my time in Caen bounding along the pavement like a 90’s kid with ADHD and a blue Smarties overdose.

Thursday was also rather non-eventful, I went to work a bit later than usual as my first lesson was cancelled and spent all day telling Year 10 about how awesome it is to drink on St Patricks Day. Then moaning at more annoying year 7 kids.
One of my year 7 boys has been excluded for bringing a knife to school. Legend.
Thursday I was emailing my mother in between getting drunk as it was St Patricks Day and her birthday.

On Friday I went to work, delivered two pretty good lessons on Comic Relief (thanks G) then sat chilling in the staff room for two and a half hours before going to my English club.

Before this, there was something going on in the staff room involving cheese, peanuts, tomatoes and champagne. I stole some of this and nattered to a few teachers (who told me my French was awesome – quite nice of them seeing as I’ve recently been feeling quite demotivated as my French doesn’t appear to be improving anymore) before wishing everybody a pleasant afternoon and heading to my class.
The kids had all gone home.

I really should learn to read the crap that gets put in my newly-discovered pigeonhole.

Oh well, never mind, I never had anything to do anyway.

So I left, and headed into Paris, where I ate the nicest lasagne in the world EVER, then proceeded to get onto the Eurostar to go home for the weekend, to see my beautiful girlfriend and to surprise my mother by showing up at her birthday meal.

The man next to me on the train was very pissed off to have to give up the plug socket to the person who had booked the seat with the plug socket. Should have reserved a window seat then, dick. I might have shared the plug socket with you, but after huffing and puffing over putting your cables away, you didn’t stand a chance. I plugged in my phone, cuddled it and went to sleep for an hour, snoring loudly. Haha. Poor miseryguts. No computer, no peace and quiet. Learn to be a nicer person, arse.

Saturday night I went to the restaurant to wait for my mother after going to see Daddikins at his house. He gave me a lift (mostly to be nice to me because he’s an awesome dad, but I suspect partly because he wanted to show off his sexy new car) and I booked the table, bought Amy and myself a drink and waited for mum. Mums workfriends hid me as Mum strolled into the restaurant. She said her hellos as Amy turned to me and said “I’m waiting for her to actually notice you”. I replied, “yeah, me too.” Then she saw me as Kerry and her partner stepped aside. She cried. Apparently she was happy? I hope so.

In all, awesome weekend. I saw my girl, saw my mum, fed my craving for various items of food, and got to drink Dr Pepper.

Then it was Sunday and therefore time to go back to gay France. We said our goodbyes in the station (for the last time – next time I leave for France she’s coming with me) then I got on my train, back to Gayland. Nothing untoward, I got back to Corbeil, fed myself and chatted on Skype for a bit before heading to bed.

Monday was nothing untoward, until I got home to be told that I hadn’t done my share of the housework last week (erm, yes I had) and also to be told by Colin (in English, actually!) that somebody is using Skype too much and the technician is getting pissed off. He cut the internet off this morning and “has warned that he will do it again”. Awesome. The only thing that makes living here bearable is being cut. Still, three more weeks, I suppose…

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