Well I didn’t make it to Lille as I was MALADE. So I spent my weekend in bed complaining to myself and my girlfriend about how terrible my life is. Sorry, not much else to report on this story.
Monday was relatively uneventful, except for getting scolded by the headteacher for using the staff room whiteboard for non-administrative purposes when I asked for teachers to participate in a survey (like she thinks I can’t read French – never seen an administrative thing on there in my LIFE). I think she just wanted to scrub my writing off so she could write some bullshit about a cake sale. Maybe she’s having it off with the mayor and doesn’t want us to have an opinion on how his election win was a complete farce.
Tuesday I got to go into school late and finish early, as my colleague had to look after her baby who wasn’t feeling too good. One kid in a 3eme class (who is a DICK) refused to touch the oyster card I passed round the class during a lesson on London Transport without his glove. After the lesson his teacher was explaining to me the extent to which this boy is a DICK, when another kid burst into the class and the pair started fighting. Definite DICK.
Tuesday night I had a tantrum with my rubbish internet and took myself to Evry to buy some new bedding and such like. I found a shower mat that was decorated with the word “DOUCHE” written across it in large letters. To any French person, this is completely acceptable, as douche means shower. I, on the other hand, had to stand in the corner of the supermarket to minimise the amount of people who could see me laughing hysterically. Needless to say, I bought it.
Wednesday I still wasn’t feeling great so I stayed in bed once more. I planned to get on with my Cultural Report, but it didn’t really happen.
Thursday I strolled into work, the first class pretty much didn’t fancy doing any work, and the second class got to listen to stories about squirrels. Then it was time for an all-nighter to get the Cultural Report done.
And what an all-nighter it was too. It took AGES.
At around 5am, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep, having sorted out my references and only having a small amount left to write. I planned to get up to my alarm at half seven, and caffeinate myself through Friday.
I woke up at 9am. My first class started at 8.30.
I pretty much ran to work, luckily grabbing a train for the one stop that saved me about 15 minutes walking.
When I rocked up at the classroom door at 9.45 I was expecting the bollocking of my life. I’d missed one class and was late for the second. But nothing! I just helped them correct some work and was asked to have a lesson prepared on Red Nose Day for next week. Fair enough! The teacher was really nice about me being so late. I still told her about how ill I’d felt the night before though, just for good measure.
I spent my 2 and a half hour break in the staff room, putting the final touches on my Cultural Report (which is rubbish, by the way).
The headteacher wandered into my English club today (at a particularly productive moment – I had one girl practising grammar on the board – I must have looked right professional) and asked me if I was going to “portes-ouvertes”. I’m not too sure what this is, although it sounds like an Open Day sort of thing. I didn’t know a thing about it, so she informed me that she had placed an invitation in my pigeonhole.
This is the first time in the history of my employment at this school that I have known about having a pigeonhole.
Never mind, said Mrs Headteacher, if I was otherwise engaged, that was cool.
Which I was – with Kronenbourg and facebook and otherwise doing NOTHING to celebrate having submitted the most (oh my gosh I’m doing that dickish thing where I’ve got an adjective in French but can’t find the English one that works here…) the most, painful 3000 words of my life. (Painful isn’t the word I’m even looking for, oh gosh, I hate bilingualism)
This weekend, I stayed in bed, too tired from enduring the all-nighter to get out anywhere to explore anything.
Monday was fairly uneventful, apart from noticing that my year seven children have stopped being so small and cute and are starting to grow into the horrendous Year 8 kids that every language assistant hates. I still detest my Year 8 English club, but they seem content with having presentations to prepare. I’m getting bored of the special needs boy who brings me something printed out from Wikipedia every week though.
Monday afternoon I went into Paris to buy some Irish merchandise for Thursday. I got a BIG flag. I love it. Then I met up with Leanne and after a bit of searching for some hotels, we went for a drink, which was nice.
Tuesday I’ve had a day off work as for various reasons all my classes have been cancelled. I’ve tidied my room and gone on something of an eating Spree. Caen tomorrow.