So much brie it hurts

Bon après-m tout le monde. 

I've just made the tastiest courgette and brie soup, with a swig of wine and eaten so much of it that it hurts, as is evident from my title.

It's now only 3 days until I return to the land of baked beans (even though I did find some this afternoon in Leader Price. I became quickly angered though, when it suggested to cook the beans in a bain marie. What on EARTH are you thinking France? Bung them in the microwave), pubs with English beer, tea time and trains without the SNCF jingle, which will now be ingrained into my memory until the end of time. Which apparently could be just 3 days.

Last weekend I made the brave and treacherous journey to Albert to see Mary. This was made all the more treacherous when I decided to take a liking to the wrong train station, a rather pitiful place called Longueau. Added another hour to my journey, as well as a bus ride, complete with staring cailleras and some rather interesting graffiti. Having arrived in Albert, it was lovely to see Mazzle P and we wasted no time in having a good chin wag and trotting off to the shops to get some dinner (nom moussaka). Although I thought Albert might be quite similar to Nogent, it had a completely different vibe and I came to the conclusion that the statue in the town depicting a woman holding up a child definitely bore a striking resemblance to The Lion King. The next day we shot off to Amiens to peruse the Christmas markets and I ensured that I forked out plenty off euros. Bought a few cheeky Christmas presents, some delicious food (including tartiflette and the classic vin chaud, nom nom NOM) and even a couple of bits and pieces for moi-même. As the evening drew in, we popped to the cathedral to watch the light projections there, something which seems quite popular in France. The long and short of it is, is that they project a load of images onto ancient monuments, in this case, to show what it was like in the "olden days" when each statue was painted. Really quite beautiful and a nice experience.

We headed back to Mary's and got a nice kip before I whizzed off the next morning. All in all, a really lovely weekend, especially good for getting in the old Christmas spirit. 

This evening, I am off to do a bit of tutoring followed by dinner chez la famille. Hooray for no cooking!

I feel like I am really starting to settle in here. Even this week, I have noticed that people at the lycée have been shooting the old bonjours out left, right and centre. Maybe it's because people are feeling particularly generous at this festive time of year but it definitely makes a huge difference to how accepted I feel. I really feel like my French is improving too. Sure, I have days when I feel like I'm communicating in the same way that a toddler would, but I'm mostly pretty proud of my progress. I'm certainly noticing that it's taking less effort to strike up conversations. And perhaps in turn, that has led to a better level of acceptance.

Enough of this self analysis now, I'm off to teach French kids about English Christmasses for perhaps the 40th time this week.

Bisous!

We wiSH you a merry chriSSSSStmaSSSS

Noël is officially here. That's Christmas, and not in fact, Noel Edmunds, before someone gets too over-excited (probably me, let's face it. I bloody love a bit of Noel). Christmas means blasting out Christmas songs left, right and centre until I feel sufficiently festive.

It's been almost two weeks since I last blogged, which to me, sounds crazy. Time seems to be flying by now, and soon I'll be halfway through my brief stay here. Last weekend, some lovely people from Chartres came up to visit and we perused the "Christmas market" in Nogent. I say Christmas market in the loosest term because it was actually just a few wooden huts and the most creepy blue elf thing that insisted on terrorizing us all with a feather and the promise of a hug. Okay, so, doesn't sound too petrifying, but you should've been there! Scarier than the Saw maze at Thorpe Park. Fact. And if you've never been there and enjoy the feeling of shitting yourself in public places, then that's the place for you.

Afterwards we popped to the chateau, which I'm ashamed to say was my first visit there. And what a splendid one it was. I especially enjoyed the fact that from the castle walls, you can see, shining like a beacon in the distance, Nogent's very own Buffalo Grill. Such a beautiful emblem.

So this week has brought along its new challenges and it's safe to say I can't wait to get home now. Heating without worrying about the bills, my own bed and home-cooked food, that I don't have to make. Could it be any more parfait?

Tomorrow I'm off to go and see the beautiful Miss Palmer, and we are going to storm the Amiens Christmas markets. So ridiculously excited about it.

Oh and to clarify the title, I remember when we used to sing Christmas songs at school and we had to stop singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" because we all used to elongate the S's and end up spraying the entire assembly hall with spit. Charming!

Until next time (cheesy wink).

Lemon

It's been another challenging (and at times, rewarding) week. Had a student refuse point blank to play a game, I would've leapt at the chance at that age. I don't think that children know what they've got coming to them at the age of 15. Good luck in the real world! Then, tutoring the little kids who refuse to do anything except play with the MILLION toys they have in their play room and shout completely unrelated and irrelevant words at me. Fabulous.

However, another weekend is here, thank God!

Yesterday I spent an absolutely awesome day in Le Mans.

Toute seule, I tottered off to the train station in Nogent and found myself in Le Mans by half 11. An ungodly hour for the weekend but nonetheless..

Off I set, on my quest to find the tourist information centre, vital for us voyageurs if were going to have any hope of knowing where we are. An hour later (Le Mans is definitely bigger than I thought), I arrived at the Office de Tourisme and hastily found myself a map. The town itself is absolutely stunning. There is a mixture of Roman and Gothic architecture which really is awe inspiring. So much so that I began snapping away at everything in sight. However, it was a shame I didn't capture the most dramatic shoelace tying I have ever witnessed in my life. It really was a sight to behold.

I went into a cute little brasserie for a spot of lunch, tagliatelle carbonara followed by a crème brûlée, don't mind if I do. Slightly concerning however, that my carbonara came with a raw egg just chilling on the top. Delightfully full and glowing with the prospect of the day ahead, I made my way to the Musée de Tessé, which features a recreation of an Egyptian tomb on the bottom floor. Turns out I was the only one there and had no shame in taking a picture of myself doing the best impression of Lara Croft in The Last Revelation that I could. Then glanced at the ceiling to see, in my horror, a little CCTV camera and made a swift exit, carrying my new found shame all over my face.

Following this, I had a holy moment and decided to visit the beautiful cathedral in the city. My first thought was "how on Earth do I get in", followed quickly by "They definitely need to sack the organist", once I had worked out how doors work. I marvelled at the stained glass windows and even took the liberty of lighting a candle, and almost setting myself on fire. Holy moment (and potential burning) over, I headed back out into the fresh air, where I could escape the bum notes of the organist and the possibility of a spiritual discovery.

By this time, my legs were crying at me to stop so I hopped on the train back to Nogent.

In the evening, I ventured out to the crêperie with Ara and Bertrand, sampling a galette with camembert and jambon de pays (kind of like parma ham, all smoky and that) and the classic lemon and sugar combo for afters. Delicious. Following that, we popped along to Vista Verde for another beer fuelled evening, peppered with mockery of me because last week some moustachioed man got all leery and gave me the creepiest bise on the cheek I have ever experienced, complete with a slow motion grope of the neck. Lovely. So now, everyone who works at the bar leers at me with a faux finger moustache, laughing at my expense. Excellent!

All in all, though, a wonderful day.

I've just got back from a trip to the market in the centre of town. Seeing dead rabbits and peasants, complete with head and fur/feathers is enough to make my stomach churn in the morning but in all fairness, the market is pretty incredible. I came home with a bag of chicken wings and more oranges than I could have hope of eating in a year. Not too bad.

So on to today, I'm going to relax on my bed this morning, mainly because its -1 degrees (say waah?) but also because I feel ridiculously lazy and am again popping out to Vista Verde this evening, just so I can be ridiculed yet again. Because I love it so much.

Big bisous from France

ça fait longtemps

So, it's been a while since I've written a blog, but I promise that there is a real reason for this (not just being ridiculously lazy). Long and short of it is that I basically haven't had a laptop until now. But now it's here and SO SHINY AND NEW!

I guess the good news is, is that I'm a hundred per cent less mardy than my last blog post, which hopefully should make it a more enjoyable read.

So last weekend I whizzed to Paris to see Sabrina, one of my housemates from last year. On the Friday night, we started off with a lovely dinner of baguette and cheese. Parfait. I must admit I was a bit overwhelmed by Paris. I felt like a lost little country girl in a big looming grey city. Everybody seemed to have a purpose; somewhere to go, someone to see. Reminding me that I definitely wasn't in Nogent any more.

That night we popped to "Danger Bar", so affectionately named because unlike almost any bar in Paris, they offer a pint for 3 euros (which free garlic chips, which unfortunately I think we were a bit too late for, sob).

The next day Sabrina kindly brought me some KFC and I indulged in that sweet chicken-y goodness that I have now been craving for some time.

Following that, we took a stroll around Paris, as I snapped happily away on my camera. Then we visited the Centre Pompidou, which I'd never been to before. I really enjoyed it (photos to come when I work out how to software works on my computer. Damn yoou Windows 8!). 

Then I went back to chez moi, exhausted but filled with the glow that you get when you visit a beautiful city like Paris.

This week has been pretty tough, although surprisingly quick. Had a few more no-shows this week, but have resolved not to take it personally and feel smug instead, that I've already done my college education and they have to suffer through theirs, haha.. ha. ha. haa. 

Last night I had my first raclette round Rosslyn's, with her son, Ara and another woman who works at the school, Melinda. For those of you who don't know (which I didn't), a raclette is essentially a hotplate, on which you place cute little shovels with cheese and meat. The cheese melts, the meat cooks through and you eat it with buttery potatoes. My fave. (Which brings me to a little side note, I miss jacket potatoes an alarming amount).

Anyway, I am off to play with my new toy, hopefully this will make blog updates more regular!

Bisous!

Crabby

Well there's no point beating around the bush, today has been a pretty shit day.

Started off this morning with a casual spot of paranormal activity, my kettle fell off the side for no apparent reason.

Things then actually picked up a little when I had my 8 o'clock class, I was confident, the kids were chatty. All good on that front. And then 9 o'clock came. And so did just 1 student, out of 15. BRILLIANT! I'm so happy that the French teenager has shown so much interest in learning to speak more English. Great job on your enthusiasm, France.

Things got worse. I spoke to the mother of the children I am doing conversation classes for the other day (the ones who are like 6 years old) and essentially told her I can't do these classes anymore because I have no resources with which to teach them. She responded saying "Okay, I'll speak to the other parents and we will sort something out". I wanted the feedback on that and so today, went into her office to speak to her. It's generally known that she's a bit of a bitch but when I entered her office today, all she could say was "I don't have time to speak to you right now". I smiled shyly and backed away, fearful that she would breathe fire at me. I then made my merry way to the canteen to eat with my fellow colleagues and she was sat there, chatting and laughing with her friends, clearly very very preoccupied with what appeared to be stuffing her face. What a friendly dragon.

Next up, the least tactile insult I have ever received. Whilst happily minding my own business during lunchtime, a conversation began about a colleague's hair. She happens to have very long hair and said that she thinks it's "sensual" to have long hair. Fine, so far. She then went on to say she thinks short hair is ugly and is a thing for men. When someone pointed at me as if you say "you stupid bitch, there's a girl next door with short hair" she continued to push the knife in deeper by saying she doesn't think it's sexy at all. Way to play up to your audience, France.

To top it all off I just got back from shopping to find that my washing up liquid spilled in my bag, covering everything with what I can only describe as "lemon slime". Great job on your packaging, France.

Hopefully things will pick up later where I'm off to dine in a Nogent restaurant.

Apologies for a massive case of The Grumps today. We all have days like this.

Safe.

When I was young things didn't last. My only care stemmed to the price of sweets, now I am older I can laugh.

I'm sat at my flat pack, deep mahogany desk (took me a full two hours to assemble, why is it so difficult?), surrounded by paperwork, scrummy chocolate and a cup of tea. Oh, and enough stationery to provide the entirety of France with a pen each. It's lesson preparation time, and therefore, blog time. 

I'm getting back into the swing of French life, having been here a day and a half now, but my feet are already itching to travel. I'm thinking Strasbourg for a pre-Christmas mini-break. Something tells me I'd regret it if I didn't make the most of this year to see as much of France, and indeed Europe, as I can. 

Strangely, perched at aforementioned desk, I am sort of missing university life. Settling down at the weekend to do some reading or write an essay at the last minute. It's weird, and come fourth year, I know I'll be taking that comment back straight away, but it's a routine and something I know how to do. Lesson planning on the other hand, has proved more of a nightmare than I thought. One of my tasks is to prepare a presentation on British heroes. This would be easier if I actually had any heroes. Which led me to think that we as English folk don't really have much of a grip on the notion of a hero, unlike the French, who harp on about them all the time. I've gone down the "David Attenborough is a legend. So is Stephen Fry" route. 

Other than that, I have to prepare a bit on Great Expectations, a book I accidentally volunteered to talk about because I'm helping out with a literature class and it was one of the only books I've actually studied or read. Which makes me think about how incredibly uncultured/ignorant I must be, that French kids know more about English literature than I do. It's been a while since I read about ol' Pip and his endeavours to become a gentleman. Good to see you again, Dickens.

Otherwise, my days have been filled with watching "Dorset Ghost Investigators", a series of 45 minute long Youtube clips by a couple of guys from Dorset, who travel their area and the country searching for proof of ghosts. The premise is that they turn up to places that are rumoured to be haunted, and try out a bunch of techniques to detect ghosts, such as equipment which tests changes in temperature, motion sensors etc and a camcorder and Bob's your uncle. I don't recommend it, as such, but I do find it interesting and boy, is it addictive. I love the way it's so home video, gives it a great sense of authenticity.

Yesterday evening, I popped to a bar with a few colleagues which was nice, but you know, nothing beats a good English pub. I am fortunate enough to live in a village which almost has more pubs than inhabitants (slight exaggeration, if you'll forgive me). The pub is an atmosphere which you can't quite get with a bar. It was a good evening, nonetheless but it definitely lacked a certain je ne sais quoi, which ironically is something British. MIND EXPLOSION.

Anyway, I'm definitely going to stop dilly-dallying and actually get back to my lesson planning. Yes, SIR!

Laters potatoes
(Which reminds me, what does one have to do to get a decent sized potato, suitable for the exquisite jacket potato round here?).

Charles de Grewl

It's been a while since I've blogged, mainly because the start of the holidays arrived and all I wanted to do was sleep and untie myself from any responsibility whatsoever, but also because the creative part of my brain decided to shrivel up like a prune. But I'm back now so what the hell.

Anyway, we're halfway through the second week of the Toussaint holidays, and as you may have guessed from the title, I'm sat in Charles de Gaulle airport waiting for my next train back to Nogent.


The last week at the lycée before the holidays was pretty tiring and it was clear that the kids wanted nothing more than the end of the week. They were restless and tried their hardest to test my patience. Suffice to say that when the end of the week came, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.
It's not just the students who enjoy the holidays you know...

The first few days of the holiday were spent wishing I'd left earlier for England. Why is it that when you want something so much, the hours seem to dribble by even slower?



Anyhow, the day arrived when I had to leave so I packed my things and made my merry way to the station, a handy two minute walk from chez moi.

Ten hours and several journeys with numerous patronizing air hostesses and screaming children later, I arrived in Cambridge.


I realise that some may question my decision to go home so early and don't get me wrong, I'm loving my experience in France, but in my heart I'm an English girl through and through.


Not only was it nice to get back to Angleterre (Rule Britannia), it was great to see my boyfriend, Damien. The distance is tough, especially knowing I moaned and totally took the measly two hours it takes from Nottingham for granted. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone?


All in all my week was lovely. It was laced with its ups and downs, which seems to be the theme of this year. My darling boy spoiled me rotten with dinners and a few cheeky presents here and there. And of course there was bonfire night, which I utterly adore and I daresay was a big part of the reason I wanted to come home. There's something magical about wrapping up in all your finest chunky knitwear and huddling up to loved ones with a big old firework display overhead. Call me soppy, I don't care.

Hopefully all my money will start rolling in soon and when that day comes, I'm going to start planning my trips around France.

Now I've officially been up for 12 hours so apologies for a somewhat lackluster post but I must now retire to my bed.

Do you have a wife?

Just one week until I jet off to sunny (haw haw) England. 

It's been almost exactly four weeks since I've been here, but now brain is starting to say STOP.

This week, the students seem to have been more daring in their questions for me. The first week was full of "how old are you?" "where do you live?" etc etc. There's only so many times you can say "I am 20 years old. I live in Cambridge" and not feel like a listening exam. But this week, see below for a list of more interesting and amusing questions;

- Do you have any children?
At which I just burst out laughing, and replied with "Good god, no, I'd be a terrible mother".

- Do you smoke?
When I responded no, the student said "that's very good, smoking is bad for you". Thanks for the lesson, chump. Later on, when I said that I like Bob Marley, he then said "But you HAVE to smoke when you listen to Bob Marley". Which reminds me. The weed culture here is genuinely insane. Every morning as I skip my merry way to school, bright eyed and bushy tailed for the day that lies ahead (well, actually it's more like, 'Every morning as I drag my sorry self to school in the dark, slightly resenting the day ahead because half past 7 is such an ungodly hour to be walking to work'), I arrive at the school gates to be embraced by the smell of weed. Turning a blind eye, I teach my lessons as usual, and the fact that half the students are stoned doesn't really concern me. Except today, when one student asked me "can you tell us something that has happened to you in your life". I responded with a witty tale of humour and then asked if he could tell me something. The best he could say was "No, I can't right now, because I'm high. This morning I was tired". How on earth does one reply to this?

- Do you have a wife?
No, French children, I do not have a wife. Nor am I married, or a lesbian. Thank you. 

Other than work, a bit of fun and generally trying as hard as I can to speak French, another major part of my life so far has been administration. I hate to say it, so I'll say it very quietly. I think I might have done everything in terms of admin. Bank account? Check. Social security number? On its way in the post. CAF? Check. Soon to be paid into my account. Insurance? Check. Erasmus stuff? Check. New SIM for my phone? Check.

The result of all of this admin is that whenever I say the word RIB, I sort of screw up my face and say it like I'm imitating myself, because I'm so sick of saying it. For those who don't know, a RIB is a Relevé d'Identité Bancaire, and you find yourself giving it to almost every company you could think of. To attach such importance to a piece of paper with your bank details on it seems slightly ludicrous to me, but there we are.

Onwards and upwards, I have a class at 3 which somehow I think will feel a little more like babysitting than teaching.

Never mind, eh.

Betty

Dear blog readers,

Another week already over and it's safe to say I think I deserve to be chilling on my bed.

After my first week of "proper" teaching, I feel exhausted. As with all of my experiences here, it was an inevitable mixture of the rough and the good. Some classes turned up bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to learn and speak more English. Some classes refused to say anything. Others never turned up...

On Friday I helped out in two classes which were aimed more at the literature side of English. The teacher called me variations on my actual name, including Vicky and Betty. Betty, I have decided, is my old lady alter ego, the Becky who gets to bed by 9 o'clock in a pair of bed socks after a spot of light reading before bed. It's my idea of occasional bliss to behave as though I've aged half a century overnight. Living la vie de retirement.

I am in the midst of planning next week's lessons. I'm not sure if I'm just being massively lazy but preparation so far has been pretty easy. Although all of my classes aren't on the same level, they will all benefit from learning about the same topic and I think I will always have more complicated stuff to hand for the better students.

On Thursday I bit the bullet and did something I was dreading. Yes ladies and gentleman, I got a haircut. It turns out that the vocabulary wasn't too difficult, and "the same, but shorter" turned out just fine for me. And I don't look like a Russian lesbian (as is often the case with poorly cut short hair), another bonus, I'm sure you'll agree.

Friday, I took the train up to Chartres to meet up with the lovely other assistants residing there. Copious amounts of alcohol was drunk, including "La Pazze" (at least I think that's how it was spelt), which included vodka, creme de peche and tabasco. An interesting combination but overall enjoyable. Saturday came round and it's safe to say that we assistants were in dire need of some serious gastronomy. Off we trotted to a lovely pizza restaurant where the pizzas were massive and also scrum-diddly-umptious.

Today, I think I will be doing some slow teaching prep, as well as eating more brie than is generally advised and maybe topping off the day with a good film or something like that.

I can't believe I'm coming home in 9 days, I really can't wait!

Miss Wilkinson

Well, one thing is for sure, I don't think I'll ever spell my name wrong again after writing it about a million times on the board.

I've sort of been a fail at all this blog pavlova, mainly because quite often I can't think of how to sum up this experience in the space that a blog post gives me.

Anyway, as with everything, this week has been a melting pot of highs and lows. Lows; my oven broke, and then my boiler, which meant I was a day without hot water. Then a whole group of kids didn't turn up to an 8  o'clock class (which I got up especially for. Somehow hearing "they must have forgotten" doesn't really wash with me). Highs; I've had some really really successful classes, with students who genuinely seem interested in what I have to say and I get a huge buzz out of grabbing students' attention for a whole hour.

On the whole, classes have been "interesting". Yes, that panacea word which covers all possibilities. I haven't had any nasty students, but let's just say it is sometimes difficult to motivate certain members of the class. My stance on it is to try and get them to work, but not to burst an artery if they simply refuse, because I'm not there to discipline. If the kids want to work, they will. A few of the teachers seem to have got the wrong end of the stick as far as 'language assistant' is concerned. Language assistant does not equal child minder for the kids you don't want to teach. It's difficult to stand your ground with a woman who has twice as much experience, is twice as old and about four times as scary as you are. When you try and explain that you are not comfortable with actually teaching classes, you are met with advice on how to teach them, rather than them taking them back off your hands again. My response, a slightly pathetic "d'accord" and a limp smile.

It's fair to say I've had my challenges for this week. I've had kids who sit in stunned silence at me as I try to fill each awkward dragging minute by gabbling in English, hoping that they will understand at least something. I had one boy tell me all about the problems with his knee, when frankly, I couldn't have given two peaches. I've had kids screw up a worksheet that I had just given them (but hey, technically it's not my class to teach and I probably would've done the same, given the chance). I asked a girl numerous times to get on with her work and her response of "je réfléchis" worked for the first 5 minutes of the lesson, but somehow I don't think her brain was capable of thinking for the entire 40 minutes.

A few years ago I really would've taken it upon myself to worry about these kids, to force them to do work, but if they don't want to be there then there's not really much you can do. If the teacher doesn't even care about them then why should I lose sleep over it? Sure, if I was a teacher then yes, I would motivate them because it would be my job.

Difficult students aside, I've just spent some time in my favourite place, Carrefour. Rosslyn took me out to get a snazzy little oven with the capability to do rotisserie, hello roast chicken! This means that I can fulfill the ultimate French dream, a real nice camembert baked to perfection, served with a crusty French baguette. Bliss.

Anyway, I am truly turning into a little old lady and need my beauty sleep. 8 really is an ungodly hour to actually start work so I'm really exhausted.

Off to bed I go! Before long, I'll be donning my frilly nightie and drinking Horlick's before bed.

Dinner parties, mate and boursin

Good evening dear friends and people who have just stumbled across this blog.

So much seems to have happened since I last blogged, but I fear if I don't write one now then I will feel swamped by the things I have done and writing another will make me want to hide in a French hole for all eternity.

We have some news on the bank front - finally! Went in with a stroppy face and said very firmly that I do NOT live in an apartment, thank you very much Mrs Bank Lady and that I had received a letter to confirm my PIN number. So fingers crossed, I'll be sorted on that front soon. And if not, then I shall wage WAR!

This week has been full of dinner parties. It's great being a) new to the area and b) English. I have been inundated with offers from the lovely people here. Isn't it nice to feel welcome eh?

Besides eating my weight in French cuisine, Ara and I went to the big centre commerciale and spent a ridiculous amount of moolah there and basically felt like we had walked across the whole desert. Afterwards, we went with a teacher to see Dangerous Liaisons. It was extremely confusing but interesting nonetheless.

I've also met up with a few people for discussions about conversation classes, which has been quite revealing. One family was lovely, welcomed me into their home for dinner, spent hours trying to get to know me and seemed genuinely fascinated by the British culture. Another group of women simply sat me down with a coffee, sent their children upstairs and talked business with me, telling me I could not speak any French to the 6 year olds I would be teaching and when I told them where I live, they responded with "ah, that'll be good for the accent". I wanted to turn to them and say "well, thank you for taking such an interest in my life as a whole, I will definitely enjoy working with your darling little children", but instead I laughed melodically and kept my sarcastic comments to myself.

I start at the lycee tomorrow which I'm pretty nervous about. I hope I don't crumble under the pressure of 15 French kids staring dazed and confused at me.

Anyway,
Time for bed as I start ridiculously early tomorrow.

Tara for now.

P.S. I LOVE BOURSIN.

Est-ce que c'est urgent?

So yet another week has passed when I have been a complete failure in writing a blog.

I have been a busy little French thing, scurrying to and from the lycée and going through the ridiculously long and painful administration tasks. I've had a lot of fun too, don't get me wrong but today, oh today, my blog is traversing down a bitter route.

The first day I was here, I made my merry way to a bank which had been recommended to me by several people. Société Genérale. My skin crawls at the mere mention. On arrival, I was extremely surprised to see that, unlike in the Cambridge branch of HSBC [and indeed in any self-respecting bank in England], with its high-tech machines in which you can do almost anything and people in suits almost begging you to ask them for help, there were just two chairs and an important looking secretary behind a desk. In my broken French, I explained that I needed a student bank account, please can I have one, thank you very much. Alas, my dear ladies and gentleman, as most things in France, it is not quite so simple. The question followed which I have begun to loathe "est-ce que c'est urgent?". My brain pulsed with sarcastic retorts, but all I could muster was a false smile of exasperation and a "oui". The receptionist smiled at me with the air of understanding my situation and gave me an appointment for the Saturday.

Saturday came and again, off I toddled to set up my bank account. I was greeted by the same, smiley receptionist and whisked away into another small office. It was all pretty standard stuff, which I won't trouble you too much with, except to say that they actually have a catalogue of cards you can choose from. I smiled politely as she flicked through each glossy page, showing me cards with images of horses, of tiny islands across the world, of giraffes, of cartoon characters. Hell, I probably could have chosen one with the Queen Mother on it [god rest her soul]. My selection complete (for anyone who actually gives a crap, as I'm pretty sure I don't), I went for the 'Collection Chez Elles'. Card chosen, most of the terms and conditions understood, I stepped out into the fresh air with a smile on my face.

This afternoon, as I left the bank for the third time, I left the bank muttering "the [insert swear word ici, if you wish] French".

See grievances with Société Genérale;

The amount of hidden charges
On my first encounter with the Société Genérale, as I sat opposite the lady with chic clothes and shiny hair, she asked me if I would like to choose my own PIN. I responded with yes, why not? Who wouldn't want to choose their PIN? People who don't want to pay 9 euros for this privilege my friends, that's who. Then there's the amount that they charge for the card. Yes, you have to pay for a bank card, which you use to spend your money. Then there's all these other little charges for setting up the bank account, as well as the add-ons that you can get which could cost you a fortune. They probably charge you for sitting in their swanky seats.

The sheer amount of time you have to waste to get things done
So, almost two weeks after I opened my bank account, I am still without a bank card, surely the most important part of banking, no? I would like to ask these smarmy women at the bank whether they could live for even a day without their bank card. Mais non.

The ridiculous Catch 22s.
Okay, so to choose your PIN for the bank card, you have to phone a number. To phone a number you need, well, a phone. To have a phone you need a bank card... The mind boggles.

The staff in my particular branch
On telling the staff in Nogent today that I don't have a phone, they proceeded to look at me as though I had just rolled in a pile of dog shit and entered their bank to deliberately share the wonderful aroma. I'm not sure they understand that it's their fault that I don't have a phone... Secondly, listening doesn't seem to come very easily to these creatures. For example, on our first 'rendez-vous', I told them specifically that I live in a HOUSE which is ATTACHED to another house but is A SEPARATE HOUSE. House emphasized. This afternoon, I went in and said that I need to get insurance for said house. 'Venez à quatorze heures'. Okay, so I returned at 2 o'clock, only to have a huge wad of paper shoved in my face [I wasn't even invited into the office this time] and to be asked for my signature, without the time to read the conditions, because 'j'ai des clients qui m'attendent'. I AM A 'CLIENT' WHO IS 'ATTEND'ING. I made the mistake of making her customers wait a further 10 seconds to ask her (very politely) where on earth my card had got to. The response, you have to wait. Well yes, I believe that is the motto of France. Sod Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité. They should change it to Il faut attendre. Anyway, on returning chez moi, I decided to read the conditions of the insurance. It states that I live in an APARTMENT on the GROUND FLOOR with TWO ROOMS. They even bothered to add a veranda... Hey face, meet palm.


I'm not sure if it's just this branch in particular who seems fairly incapable of doing the most simplest of deeds, or even just because I'm a stupid English girl, but I am pining for a bank where I can walk in, get an appointment straight away and walk out 20 minutes later, bank card in the post and no charges.

Exhale. And publish.

Aquagym

Okay so it's been a fairly long time (in my world) since I wrote about my life in France.

A brief summary before I launch into my daily happenings. My house here is great, I have a lot of independence, but at the same time, I do have a surrogate mother here. I haven't had to faire any cuisine which is really nice and lets me experience the vrai French culture.

Last Thursday was the social with the teachers, in a village hall, where everyone brought food. So delicious, and so middle class. It was really nice to meet all the teachers and I'm quite impressed with myself that I can actually understand French. Clearly my £3,564 a year is giving me some benefits.

So Friday came around and I went back into the college, sat in on a few more classes and had that embarrassing "This is the new English assistant, take pity on her because she's new. Now ask her questions" [insert awkward silence here] moment. After that, I had my first experience in a French college canteen. Pretty impressive if you ask me. The French are so cultured that they give their kids brie and grapes at lunch time in schools, rather than the chewed up grey meat and random combinations one usually finds in British school dinners.

Friday evening swung around and I visited La Ferté-Bernard, a teeny tiny town near here with a pretty swell Church (research it if you wish, I give you permission). Lots of Gothic architecture and olde towne buildings. After that, a sample of a most delicious fruity beer and then back to Nogent for some dinner.

On Saturday we had a soirée, consisting of mainly crêpes and a really rather tasty cider, made by the cousin of one of the guests at said soirée. The woman who came over brought her children, who generally tend to look at foreigners as if they have an extra leg on their head. A nice evening nonetheless.

Sunday rolled round and I decided that, instead of getting up ridiculously early on Monday for our induction day in Orléans, I wanted to book a hotel. I was expecting the arrival of Ara, the new Argentinian assistant at 11 o'clock so off I toddled to the station to collect her. Alas, no sign. I returned later when the next train came in and alas, again, no sign. When I returned at 5 to make my merry way to Orléans, there she was, looking so tired and fed up. Apparently a broken suitcase in Paris can delay you for a few hours... Two hours [and a whole dose of guilt] later, there we were in Orléans, and after a few suitcase-related mishaps, we arrived at our hotel. A little later we met up with another assistant for pizza (nom nom nom) and then back to our hotel to sleep.

It's rather nice to hang with Ara because elle ne parle pas anglais, so we always have to speak in French. Which I guess is sort of what I am here for.

So, the induction day on Monday. The inevitable happened and all the English were magnetised together et donc au revoir le français! Anyway, it was nice to meet all the assistants and when I got back I was glowing with what lay ahead of me.

Today, I have been watching lessons all day. It was enlightening and I got to know what sort of thing I'll be helping with next week. Surprisingly, given that they're French and all, everyone at the school has been really good with the admin side of things. My co-ordinator is really nice and I went swimming with her this evening.

A little word of advice; aqua gym is the hardest thing ever. Okay, imagine tread mills, cycle machines, all your normal gym machines, but underwater. Now, imagine a minute on each of these machines, being shouted at in French to go faster, even though all your limbs are crying, then changing for the next machine for another torturing minute. For 45 minutes. Et voilà.

In terms of my French, I can already feel that it's improving. I think, however, I must have said the words "d'accord", "exactement" and "oui" about a million times since I've got here.

Tomorrow is my first day with nothing to do and I'm going to cherish the opportunity to be in bed for as long as is socially acceptable.

If you have read this far, congratulations, and I hope you have been enlightened to my franglais life.

Greetings from France

Well I am finally here.

I'm suffering from a brief attack of a disease commonly known as "writer's block". However, I need to take this chance to write a blog as I have not yet managed to connect to the internet in my little house. 

Wednesday was such a long day, I left my house at 8 o' clock and arrived in Nogent at 7 o'clock, absolutely knackered. 

Cambridge > Nogent le Rotrou in four daunting steps;

1. Cambridge > King's Cross
Fairly straight forward, train filled with self important businessmen.
2. St Pancras > Paris
Eurostar, best invention ever.

3. Paris Gare du Nord > Paris Montparnasse
Fairly easy to navigate the metro, although also slightly terrifying as little pickpockets try and take your things. More fool them though 'cause I got padlocks bitches!

4. Paris Montparnasse > Nogent le Rotrou
Pretty long train ride, spent hugging my suitcase and pondering the mental state of the woman sat opposite.

As I sat on the Eurostar, little bubbles popped in my tummy when I saw the brief outline of the Eiffel Tower. I had finally made it, after all these months of planning and wondering what my town would be like.

So Nogent itself is a typical little Northern French town, complete with men in flat caps and the nicest smelling bakeries you will ever encounter. Think of all the typical things you find in a town in Northern France, and it will be here. I've done a bit of exploring already and the town is small enough to walk around everywhere, which is great. I'm still in a bit of a culture shock, getting used to drivers on the right hand side of the road, even little things like the weird food you find here. It has all been a bit hectic, meeting the entirety of the teachers in ten minutes was frightening, but not so frightening as sitting on a chair in front of 40 French kids while they ask you questions.

Anyway, no rest for the wicked and I am off to a teachers' social in order to mingle with my future colleagues.

Bisous!

Day After Tomorrow

*Apologies that this blog has absolutely nothing to do with the end of the world, copious amounts of snow and ice, or Dennis Quaid*

Just checking in, because plenty has happened since I poked myself in the eye.

I got a reply from the woman who is giving me accommodation in France and the exciting news is, I have my own gaffe! A small house next to one of the English teachers at the school, with an upstairs and a downstairs (fancy, eh?). So my dreams of being so stereotypically French, wandering my house with a Camus book in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, can finally be realised!

I popped into the centre of Cambridge the other day, to get a few bits and bobs (onto that later), and to say goodbye once again to a city that has been home for 20 years. And boy, did Cambridge give the farewell I was expecting. I nearly had my foot run over by a lorry down Sidney Street (to anyone who is not native to Cambridge; ridiculous one-way street where it is impossible to walk without getting a cycle bell in your earhole), home to Edinburgh Woollen Mill, Sainsbury's, and the largest group of rude people known to man. Following this, I had an experience with a bunch of Chinese tourists (such experiences tend to be common in Cambridge), in which they proceeded to meander slowly in front of me, without a care in the world for girls like me, who are rushing around like a headless chicken actually trying to shop. All of this with a dose of typical snobbiness from passers-by, when you make an effort to move out of their way and they look you up and down like you are a piece of dog turd on their shoe. And finally, an additional dose of snobbiness (it's basically prescribed to everyone in these parts) from shop assistants in ye olde faithful John Lewis [Never knowingly undersold, always knowingly middle class], where anyone not head to toe in brands such as Estee Lauder or DIOR have been made to feel uncomfortable since 1864 [thanks to Wikipedia for this date]. All in all, just your average, middle class day.

I know I may sound like a miserable old hag but if the truth be told, I will miss it here whilst I am in France. Cambridge does have its fair share of idiotic morons but in reality, it's where my heart lies. I will miss slow Sunday mornings in the town centre, awash with musicians who line the streets. Yes, there is definitely an atmosphere in Cambridge unlike any town.

And now back to my purchases. I decided to spare any blog readers the boredom of reading about every detail of my days in France, luckily for you, whoever you are. But I wanted to record as much as I can, since this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and all.

Below is this beautiful creature, which took me precisely 40 minutes to choose;

Ever since I was a little girl, I was always fascinated by buying stationery. I would spend hours choosing pencils, pens, scissors, felt tips. As you can imagine, this cartridge pen got my heart racing.

Anyway, enough about my sad WHSmith/Paperchase adventure.

I'm off to start packing!!

Say goodbye to accommodation woes

Logement crisis over.

I discovered today, after a week full of sweaty palms and worries about being homeless in France, that the email address I have been using to contact my supposed host is broken. I am sending virtual fireworks into the air.

So now I've emailed her using an address that actually works, often helpful if one actually intends to read one's email. It all seems strikingly real all of a sudden. It's my last 7 days in Cambridge and something tells me that I will be fine in Nogent (although yesterday I couldn't resist poking myself in the eye.. It's a wonder how I look after myself sometimes).

Just finished planning my last weekend in Cambridge with my lovely boy, scary stuff! I have no doubt that we will be absolutely fine though, and it gives him the perfect chance to write me letters (wink wink hint hint).

Anyway, there is no rest for the wicked, and I set myself the challenge of reading all the Harry Potter books this summer (okay, yes I know I'm like 10 years behind everyone else but I'll read things in my own time, thank you very much).

TO THE GOBLET OF FIRE!

9 days

9 days and in the words of The Chairmen of the Board, give me just a little more time.

Though I'm not sure more time is really what I need. No matter how long I have left until I go to France, it could be 3 days or a year, I would still never feel ready for it. Brain seems to enjoy pretending I'm not going and then the day before I go, I'm likely to suffer some sort of panic attack.

I'm physically ready (sort of, I still need to actually hear from the woman who has kindly given me a home), but mentally I don't think I'm quite there yet.

Perhaps I'll just turn up to France like this little fellow;

Replace "bear" with "poor, lost English girl".

Between now and 26th September, I still have a long way to go. Piles of photocopying, feeling 'busy and important' doing several silly little errands. I even got myself a credit card* (squeal).  

More seriously, it's that time of year again. September is amongst my least favourite months. Summer is fading and people move on, move away. And time seems to have just evaporated. I wonder where these past 2 years have gone. It seems only yesterday that I was packing all my stuff up, ready to take on Nottingham as a fresh faced first year. And God, was I young. You do a hell of a lot of growing up when university hits you like an anvil on the head.

Would I do anything differently? Perhaps. I'm still not sure that university is right for me. Or even studying languages. But now I'm here and I will see it out to the bitter end.

* Only for use in the following situations; spontaneous laptop explosions, sudden need for French pastries + no money and hostage.

13 days

For those of you who don't know, as part of my degree, I will be jetting off in 13 days to a darling little town in North West France, called Nogent-Le-Rotrou (I'm yet to master this pronunciation, without sounding like I have a minor speech impediment).

In case you are interested to know where this is in France;

So a little bit of background on the lead-up to my year abroad.

Up until a few days ago, I didn't actually have anywhere to live. With two weeks left before I go, this was causing me some slight stress, and a facial twitch, as I'm sure is understandable. To my eyes, I had but three options;

1) go to France, and live out year abroad as homeless bum.

2) find slightly suspect, probably slightly creepy French housemate and spend year feeling uncomfortable, sleeping on sofa.

3) quit university, cut hair into mullet and go on dole/Jeremy Kyle.

OBVIOUSLY never considered any of these options seriously (except possibly the third, mullets are underrated) and luckily enough, I now have a place to live, with one of the English teachers from the school.

So between now and 26th September, I have a mountain of things to sort. I need to get myself straight into office bitch mode and power through all these silly little errands.

Anyway I hope you dear readers will enjoy keeping up with my travels, with all the little hiccups I encounter on the way. Apologies for the generic background, it's only temporary until I can take some photos in France.

Without further ado, I'm now going to start compiling my packing list.

Because without one, I'll probably forget my deodorant, or as I did on my last holiday, my mobile phone. 

CLEVER LITTLE MUGGINS.