I've come back to school with a vengeance this term. With one fellow English teacher substituted due to pregnancy, things have slightly changed, and I'm now finding myself more able to be creative in the classroom. I actually have favourite students! That means I actually like some of them! I feel like I'm making real progress. I am now taking smaller groups, and have targeted the ring leaders to either unashamedly humiliate them in front of their peers in an effort to force them into silence, or have taken out restraining orders against them. I.e. have had them BANISHED from my lessons. For like 2 weeks... (how much power do you think we realistically have?!) This week is already proving rather delicious, as all of my 3ème classes are doing mock exams and work experience, so my life seems a little more peaceful. But this does mean I have to sit in the staff room for even more hours, finding things to amuse myself... Like writing a new blog post... The highlight of my day today was lunchtime. For those of you who know me, this will not come as a surprise, BUT it was not simply thanks to it being a socially accepted mealtime. As I gingerly whipped out my large Poulet et Bacon McWrap from (just incase you haven't guessed) good old McDo, I caused quite a stir. I swear I heard actual gasps emit from several teachers. One asked if he could touch it. He said he was joking. But I could see it in his eyes. He wasn't. They were all jealous. With their carrots. And their broccoli. And their rice. While I will inevitably die much sooner due to my salty clogged arteries, they will die unhappy, and I, I shall be smelling of ketchup and grease with a smile on my face. But honestly, I'm getting rather worried about my intake of such stodgy (but tasty) nonsense, and so have been going for lots of runs as of late. This is also partly so I can cause myself maximum physical pain (in an effort to numb this emotional ache) without it actually being classed as self harm. . .
Saturday was a good day. I was recovering from a night out about which I would love to spill a heap of anecdotes of our goings-on, but I have little to no recollection of it, thus the escapade would be pointless. I did not however suffer from any hangover (a miracle considering my intake) and so caught up on the latest from Vampire Diaries, True Blood, and other teen vampire-related programs. Magic. In the evening, I was invited to a little soirée at Liz's (who from here on in I shall refer to endearingly as Lizbet). Jenni the Essex gal, Jane the New York Yankie, Daniel 'Hurricane' Welsh and myself made our way to the house of little Lizbet. We were in for a night of candid banter, snuggling in a bed far too small for 5 people, and pushing boundaries in terms of how much flatulence is acceptable in an intimate social setting (IN WHICH I TOOK NO PART). We movie watched (there's nothing like 2 hours of Penn Badgley to warm the cockles of your heart), we Brownie baked, we Camembert devoured. This made it even harder to fit in the bed, as by the end of the night, we'd all gained about 46 stone. When the morning came, we decided it was more than OK to have cheesy nachos with salsa for petit dejeuner, and due to my depression, I must admit, I forced the issue.
My beautiful friends have managed, fantastically and with flare, to thoroughly take my mind off the rain cloud following me around (cue Travis Why Does It Always Rain On Me). Couldn't ask for much more. Coming home to check Facebook is now an actual event for me: finding little (Or MAHUSSIVE) messages from my friendies containing uplifting music videos and pictures of the various men in my life - Patrick Swayzee, Colin Firth, ETC - who can make me feel snugly whatever the weather. Thanks so much y'all (I'm trying to pick up this American drawl - let me know if it's working).
Yesterday evening, even washing my clothes was penciled into my social calendar. I bought dinner to head on over to LavCity with the aforementioned Daniel (he couldn't believe I'd brought bread and cheese to the laundrette) and while I was held up as a security guard searched me after accusing me (rather rudely) of shoplifting (!), I eventually made it, and we settled down to chew the fat and air our dirty laundry in public (literally and metaphorically). I've noticed actually that we do have a tendency to all talk very loudly here about very private things, as the assumption is that no one really understands what we're saying... That belief was cruelly shaken after a frank and emotional chat entre Daniel and myself was overheard recently by a young woman sat near us in McDo, who proceeded to lean over to our surprise, and say in an American accent, "I've been through the exact same thing". We're now friends.
To round off on a slightly depressing note, my feelings have lately been leaning towards the genuine pointlessness of life. Since I became toute seule, I have noticed that everything I do seems suddenly to have no point to it, now there's no one to tell about all those silly little things that have happened in the day. Friends are only interested in a certain amount of pointless facts that you might tell slash text your partner in a sort of daily ritual. Like when you realise half way through the day that your left arm has a number 6 on and you don't know why; or that you've forgotten your lip balm and it's affected your mood with dire consequences; or that your alarm has just gone off at 5.30am and you refuse to get out of bed, when you both know you're probably already up. The banalities of daily life, that when shared with someone you love, become actual fun. It's just strange suddenly realising that no one is interested anymore. If anyone ever was.
The best feeling by far about being with someone, is waking up with them, and being able to immediately discuss all your hazy mental dreams. Like when Frodo dies, and it's suddenly your responsibility to get the ring to Mordor, but you realise you have chips where there should be legs and you've accidentally super glued your arm to a dolphin. Because that's just the kind of gold that should NEVER fade into obscurity without being shared. Maybe the lesson is that you should just always have someone with whom you can share these things, and not rely on those people who may become more transient in your life? If I uncover the answer I'll let you know.
Much love and whatnot, H x
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Saturday, 14 January 2012
Bonne année
2012, thus far, is a big pile of crap.
On April 30th, all of this will come to an end, and I will breath a massive sigh of relief. I know I'll be sad to leave some of the people I've met here - some people that even after 3 months, have proven themselves as genuinely amazing friends - but I think it'll feel strangely uplifting just getting the hell out of here. I won't have to worry every second I'm alive about not understanding anyone in the world around me. About knowing the phrase IL A ROMPU AVEC MOI just in case someone asks why I'm sobbing into my soup. In England I could just scream obscenities at them and they'd understand and leave me alone.
I have few grumbles today, as in a shock twist, even I have limits. And I'm feeling a bit too empty to grumble about trivial things (this I am certain will not last long).
When I got up this morning, I imagined that the blue sky and the sunshine would seem disgusting, that people laughing would make me vomit everywhere, that even talking to my friends would cause me actual physical pain. But it all feels fine. It just seems somehow besides the point.
Life isn't much like how art portrays it to be. This isn't a huge dramatic event, where he leaves me and I die an agonising and drawn out death. My life isn't going to fall apart and I will not just go mental. I refuse. Everything will be the same. It will just be a lot harder. And with a lot less smiles.
I'll be fine. (Cough).
Not much love left, H x
On April 30th, all of this will come to an end, and I will breath a massive sigh of relief. I know I'll be sad to leave some of the people I've met here - some people that even after 3 months, have proven themselves as genuinely amazing friends - but I think it'll feel strangely uplifting just getting the hell out of here. I won't have to worry every second I'm alive about not understanding anyone in the world around me. About knowing the phrase IL A ROMPU AVEC MOI just in case someone asks why I'm sobbing into my soup. In England I could just scream obscenities at them and they'd understand and leave me alone.
I have few grumbles today, as in a shock twist, even I have limits. And I'm feeling a bit too empty to grumble about trivial things (this I am certain will not last long).
When I got up this morning, I imagined that the blue sky and the sunshine would seem disgusting, that people laughing would make me vomit everywhere, that even talking to my friends would cause me actual physical pain. But it all feels fine. It just seems somehow besides the point.
Life isn't much like how art portrays it to be. This isn't a huge dramatic event, where he leaves me and I die an agonising and drawn out death. My life isn't going to fall apart and I will not just go mental. I refuse. Everything will be the same. It will just be a lot harder. And with a lot less smiles.
I'll be fine. (Cough).
Not much love left, H x
Thursday, 12 January 2012
"It's the most wonderful time of the year" - Andy Williams
I am now the proud renter of a one room flat at the end of Rue de Ports in the city of Le Mans. BOOM. I have a bed, a table and a small toaster oven plus new levels of independence. After paying huge amounts of money to secure said flat, and signing the contract, I had but a few hours to pack for my Christmas themed return to Angleterre. Definitely NOT enough time to incorporate doing the washing up, and taking out the rubbish. . . Tasks I haven't carried out for a good few weeks. Inevitably I was rushing to leave.
My journey home was not hugely eventful as I recall. Apart from someone being hit by the tram causing it to nearly make me miss my train! Selfishness if ever I saw it! But I don't think I have ever been more ready to go home before. My flight landed early and I had to wait in Arrivals for Dadsie to come and get me, so I whipped out some nostalgic classics to add to the general excitement, including Hall and Oates's "You make my dreams come true" and Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff". . . What an uplifting soundtrack to return to!
Home was as magical as I remembered. Sisters everywhere, small dogs running around licking everything, such a massive amount of food that it was literally forcing its' way out of cupboards with a deter,ination you don't often see in inanimate objects. And, soon enough, we were all rowing like we'd never been apart. So Christmassy!
I had a little reunion with my uni friend Alice just before Christmas - we decided to meet in Covent Gardens - a place vaguely halfway between us. What a choice. There were oversized Christmas trees, a market full of novelty aprons and hugely expensive jewellery, and twinkly lights everywhere. We bought pretty things for ourselves from Sass and Belle (What. A. Shop) and had lunch in a tapas bar which included a bottle of vin rouge (comme normale) and about 8 dishes between us. It was like we had never been apart. Sigh.
Something that must be noted here, is the choice offered to those people using the public transport system in Covent Gardens. When you approach the exit of the Tube Station, there are about 6 lifts all with large queues, or there is a sign, announcing another exit via 193 steps. Unfortunately, I missed the sign for the staircase on my way out and got straight into a lift. Alice informed of the steps when we found each other, and proudly stated that she had climbed to the top (hence she was a little out of breath). This was obviously an admirable move, and a surprising amount of people seemed to be having the same idea. I noticed this more when I went to go back home later that day. I took the stairs down this time and was SHOCKED by the amount of people who had seen that sign for the 193 steps and thought, perhaps in a moment of Christmas fuelled excitement, "I know. . . I'll take the stairs!" For many, this was a huge error. Walking down these stairs was like watching the open scene of Casualty, or that bit at the end of a marathon, where people are collapsing and vomiting everywhere and crying out in pain for those shiny blankets or inhalers or something. As the staircase curled round, I could see what seemed like an endless line of people (most of whol had obviously midjudged the distance and started off a bit quick) bent double or just writhing, grasping at my ankles in desperation. Pathetic.
Decorating the tree is always a great moment for me. I actually cried a year or two ago when it was done without me. . . Awkard. . . This year, Mr Tree was a bit smaller than in preious years, but was beautiful nonetheless. It took us so long to stand him up straight that at one point my own father lost his temper and truthfully asked me if I was on acid. I felt like I had perhaps been more of a hindrance than a help. I did the decorating with Ellie, my little sis, who managed to rip off a finger or something on a pointy bit of the sparkly lights, and preceded to bleed everywhere. This put a slight downer on events, but we soldiered on regardless, such was out Christmas spirit!
I have decided however, that while Christmas spirit is much talked about, it is virtually non-existent. Most people just become really vile in this period - on the roads, at work, in the shops. While walking around Tesco, I could see behind the eyes of most people that they would probably beat you to death with a Chocolatey Yule Log for that last jar of cranberries. . . God forbid if we had to go to Lidl; people just turn up with guns and bats with nails in them - totally prepared for the Brussel Sprout shortage and the inevitable battle to the death for the acquisition of the last box of crackers.
BUT while most people would say a main cause of said Christmas aggression is the music, I think it's AWESOME; In our house, we just can't get enough! Ellie whips out her Christmas albums in about October she gets so excited!
My final comment is just about my first weekend with my family and Roblah in our new house in Cornwall. The doggies had what can only be described as the FUNNEST TIME EVER on the beach, just running around at top speed looking absolutely mental (joined by Rob who looked equally as mental)! It was lush spending some time relaxing, playing monopoly and making cookies, before my journey back to old Franceo.
I can't talk too much about my journey back or I think I would go MENTAL. You just wouldn't believe my bad luck when it comes to travelling! Essentiellement, my plane back from Bristol was delayed, and so I missed the last train from Paris, and had to stay the night. Stress! Got the first train back in the morn, and strolling back into Le Mans, massive broken suitcases in tow, actually felt quite good, and I ran to meet my friendies almost immediately!!
For now, I'm finalising my move, so will pop up some pics of my beaut new room next time. I'm too busy listening to Dirty Dancing tracks now while I dress. Fab.
Much love and whatnot, H x
My journey home was not hugely eventful as I recall. Apart from someone being hit by the tram causing it to nearly make me miss my train! Selfishness if ever I saw it! But I don't think I have ever been more ready to go home before. My flight landed early and I had to wait in Arrivals for Dadsie to come and get me, so I whipped out some nostalgic classics to add to the general excitement, including Hall and Oates's "You make my dreams come true" and Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff". . . What an uplifting soundtrack to return to!
Home was as magical as I remembered. Sisters everywhere, small dogs running around licking everything, such a massive amount of food that it was literally forcing its' way out of cupboards with a deter,ination you don't often see in inanimate objects. And, soon enough, we were all rowing like we'd never been apart. So Christmassy!
I had a little reunion with my uni friend Alice just before Christmas - we decided to meet in Covent Gardens - a place vaguely halfway between us. What a choice. There were oversized Christmas trees, a market full of novelty aprons and hugely expensive jewellery, and twinkly lights everywhere. We bought pretty things for ourselves from Sass and Belle (What. A. Shop) and had lunch in a tapas bar which included a bottle of vin rouge (comme normale) and about 8 dishes between us. It was like we had never been apart. Sigh.
Something that must be noted here, is the choice offered to those people using the public transport system in Covent Gardens. When you approach the exit of the Tube Station, there are about 6 lifts all with large queues, or there is a sign, announcing another exit via 193 steps. Unfortunately, I missed the sign for the staircase on my way out and got straight into a lift. Alice informed of the steps when we found each other, and proudly stated that she had climbed to the top (hence she was a little out of breath). This was obviously an admirable move, and a surprising amount of people seemed to be having the same idea. I noticed this more when I went to go back home later that day. I took the stairs down this time and was SHOCKED by the amount of people who had seen that sign for the 193 steps and thought, perhaps in a moment of Christmas fuelled excitement, "I know. . . I'll take the stairs!" For many, this was a huge error. Walking down these stairs was like watching the open scene of Casualty, or that bit at the end of a marathon, where people are collapsing and vomiting everywhere and crying out in pain for those shiny blankets or inhalers or something. As the staircase curled round, I could see what seemed like an endless line of people (most of whol had obviously midjudged the distance and started off a bit quick) bent double or just writhing, grasping at my ankles in desperation. Pathetic.
Decorating the tree is always a great moment for me. I actually cried a year or two ago when it was done without me. . . Awkard. . . This year, Mr Tree was a bit smaller than in preious years, but was beautiful nonetheless. It took us so long to stand him up straight that at one point my own father lost his temper and truthfully asked me if I was on acid. I felt like I had perhaps been more of a hindrance than a help. I did the decorating with Ellie, my little sis, who managed to rip off a finger or something on a pointy bit of the sparkly lights, and preceded to bleed everywhere. This put a slight downer on events, but we soldiered on regardless, such was out Christmas spirit!
I have decided however, that while Christmas spirit is much talked about, it is virtually non-existent. Most people just become really vile in this period - on the roads, at work, in the shops. While walking around Tesco, I could see behind the eyes of most people that they would probably beat you to death with a Chocolatey Yule Log for that last jar of cranberries. . . God forbid if we had to go to Lidl; people just turn up with guns and bats with nails in them - totally prepared for the Brussel Sprout shortage and the inevitable battle to the death for the acquisition of the last box of crackers.
BUT while most people would say a main cause of said Christmas aggression is the music, I think it's AWESOME; In our house, we just can't get enough! Ellie whips out her Christmas albums in about October she gets so excited!
My final comment is just about my first weekend with my family and Roblah in our new house in Cornwall. The doggies had what can only be described as the FUNNEST TIME EVER on the beach, just running around at top speed looking absolutely mental (joined by Rob who looked equally as mental)! It was lush spending some time relaxing, playing monopoly and making cookies, before my journey back to old Franceo.
I can't talk too much about my journey back or I think I would go MENTAL. You just wouldn't believe my bad luck when it comes to travelling! Essentiellement, my plane back from Bristol was delayed, and so I missed the last train from Paris, and had to stay the night. Stress! Got the first train back in the morn, and strolling back into Le Mans, massive broken suitcases in tow, actually felt quite good, and I ran to meet my friendies almost immediately!!
For now, I'm finalising my move, so will pop up some pics of my beaut new room next time. I'm too busy listening to Dirty Dancing tracks now while I dress. Fab.
Much love and whatnot, H x
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