Happy New Year

As we say goodbye to one year, we say hello to another. 

2011 has been the most challenging yet rewarding year of my short life so far. As I look back over the last twelve months, I realise how much I have to be grateful for. The support I have received from my family, friends and, of course, my girlfriend, has been overwhelming. 

I am a very lucky boy.

I hope you all have a fantastic night tonight, welcoming 2012 with crossed arms, out-of-tune singing and midnight kisses.

More importantly I wish you all a happy new year. May it bring health, happiness and, least importantly, wealth. 

Now let's all get pissed! 

See you on the other side.

DC x

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I was unsure whether I would have a chance to write on here again whilst I was still in France and the year was still 2011. However, no sooner had I taken my suitcase out of its hiding place than I found myself in my chair and a million different websites on which I can speak bullshit appeared on my laptop screen.

So here I am, on my last full day in France until 2012. And what a day it has been.

You can tell whether you will have a good or bad day during the first five minutes of being out of bed. Sure enough, the first thing I did this morning was lose a contact lens. I then proceeded to go on the standard half-blind (I had successfully fixed the first lens to my eyeball) hunt on my hands and knees for said contact lens, consequently running out of time for my compulsory morning coffee. I went to my first class where the students were merciful and did all the work. I then had a free lesson and upon entering my poorly-lit 'bedroom' almost immediately found the lens. I plunged it into saline solution and prayed for the best. I am yet to check it, but I will wear the damned thing tomorrow regardless of the state it is in. After all, while I can see I will be vain. If, however, the dodgy lens makes me blind then I can simply imagine I look like George Clooney. Grey hair and all.

The next five classes of the day were some of the worst I have had since arriving in France. The pupils are all very excited for the holidays and lessons based on Christmas were apparently worsening their already turbulent behaviours. I had to send one pupil to 'La Vie Scolaire' for the first ever time, which just shows how much he pushed my patience. Despite this overly-stressful day, however, my high spirits could not be broken. I am returning to England tomorrow. That fact alone will keep a smile fixed firmly on my increasingly wonky face and a sparkle in my ever-shrinking eyes.

I returned to Narbonne and went for my last stroll through the city whilst it is still a winter wonderland. I picked up a few last-minute Christmas presents to ensure that everyone in my household has at least one French gift, and returned to pack procrastinate. 

I will not go through every day that has passed since my '20 Things' post (which, by the way, has had the highest number of views out of all my posts. Thanks guuuyyysss). The only day I will vaguely tell you about is Saturday. I went to Narbonne's light show with Marisa and Chris, which was much better than I had anticipated seeing as Narbonne has never had that much to offer before. I took lots of videos but due to a slow internet connection I will not attempt to upload them onto this right now. I will, though, show you some festive photos.

On the left is the town square, not a great photo but you get the idea: lights and trees.

Below right is the walk past the town hall with a red carpet and lots of 'snowy' Christmas trees. Also, you get a glimpse of Chris, you lucky people.

Below left is a Christmassy hut and a big Christmas tree. Sometimes I feel like I patronise you.

Later on Saturday evening, I went to the English girls' house for some drinks. There, I confirmed that I am one of the most awkward people I have ever met. 

It feels very surreal that I am returning to my homeland tomorrow. I am extremely excited but I do not think I will fully accept it until I am there. In my head, I have already missed my train, lost my suitcase, got on the wrong plane, and ended up spending Christmas in Yugoslavia. Well, if you imagine a worst-case scenario you can only ever be pleasantly surprised.

I will miss certain things about France. Cheese, beer and being able to escape from awkward situations with a simple 'je ne comprend pas' come immediately to mind. There are more things, I am sure, but I know that in a short three weeks it will all start again. 

Until then, I hope time passes me by a little slower than it has during the last month or so.

As I am sat here with an empty suitcase, clothes strewn about the place and wearing only a towel, guilt has started to smother me, as well as a slight chill in areas that I would prefer to be warmer. So, I will get a move on and prepare myself for what I hope will be a smooth, non-stressful day. 

That's the beauty about being a human: If nothing else there is always hope.

DC

20 reasons why I am excited for England!

Over the last week-or-so I have been thinking more and more about my return to England for Christmas. Initially, I was just excited at the thought of being back on British soil. As you let your mind get carried away, however, you start to think of the smaller things. I thought I would share with you a list of things I am most looking forward to, mainly because I have a day off and Sigean is a boring place.

So here it is, 20 things I am looking forward to (in no particular order):

20 - Fresh milk. Milk over here is just obnoxious. It's all like, 'Look at me! I never go off and I make tea taste funny!'. I am looking forward to fresh, British milk that even when it smells disgusting after a few days, we still sip... just to make sure.

19 - Fry-up. We usually have a fry-up on Christmas morning for breakfast, to prepare our stomachs for a day of binge-eating. A nice, big, greasy full English with fatty bacon, sausages and eggs all from British farms, and some nice mushrooms fried up on the side. Excuse me while I wipe the drool from my chin.

18 - Money. I cannot wait to hold a nice, crisp twenty-quid note rather than this European Monopoly money.

17 - Tesco, Sainsbury's, The Co-op... British supermarkets. Where you have time to pack your shopping into bags before the next customer has their items thrown at them at ridiculous speeds.

16 - The English language. I cannot put into words (rather ironically) how excited I am to be speaking, reading, writing and hearing the most beautiful language that has ever existed on a daily basis.

15 - Cider. I am from the South-West of England, need I say more?

14 - British nightclubs. The smell of piss and stale alcohol, people vomiting in the toilets, awkward British dance moves, greasy food on the walk home, forgetting everything in the morning. Heaven.

13 - The 3 musketeers.

12 - Exeter University. Walking up tens of hills to get anywhere to see the new improvements to campus, safe in the knowledge that I do not have to attend lectures or seminars for another 10 months.

11 - Shops open on Sundays. Waking up on a Sunday to discover you have run out of milk is never a good feeling. It is worse when you also know that no shops are open and it is not worth going on a trek to find one that is (refer to point 1).

10 - English TV. Flicking through channels and ending up on a completely trashy programme because it is too unbelievable to switch off... and end up watching not only the rest of the episode, but the entire series.

9 - Sitting at home in front of the fire. Warmth, comfort, family and tea. Parfait.

8 - Christmassy stuff. The lights, the decorations, Christmas songs in shops, Santa's grotto (awkward moment, forgot the English for this and had to ask a friend).

7 - Christmas films. The classics that are always repeated on TV: Love Actually, It's A Wonderful Life, Muppet's Christmas Carol, Home Alone, Chicken Run... Die Hard.

6 - Sarcasm. So many times I have made sarcastic comments and have been taken seriously. Like when I told one class that I had 3 wives and they told the rest of the school. I look forward to telling someone they look hideous, and them knowing that I have really just paid them a massive compliment.

5 - New Year's Eve. Yes, it is the most hyped-up night of the year that always turns out to be slightly disappointing... but not for me. Drinking and dancing in Salisbury with some of my closest friends is all I want to begin the new year.

4 - The train journey from Exeter to Salisbury. During this 1hr52mins (approx) I will feel as if I am truly going home.

3 - Cuddles. Cuddles with my mummy and my sisters. Cuddles with my girlfriend. That is about as soppy as I will get on this blog. Now fuck off and read on.

2 - Family. I have a massive family and they are all crazy. They are also all intelligent, talented, beautiful and caring. I will forever be grateful for my wonderful family, and I cannot wait to see them again. Plus, there have been two new additions since I moved to France, which makes it that little bit more special.

1 - Waking up and thinking, "I'm home."

The best thing about this list, is that while I wrote it I also thought of things I will miss about France.
Maybe I will share it some other time, though.

DC

When in France, do as the Romans do.

I promised myself that in the first sentence of this post I would not mention 'Time', however after trying to think of something else for ten minutes, I gave up. Time really is zooming past me at impressive and terrifying speeds. I cannot believe it was ten days ago that I last posted and I cannot believe that in ten days I will be in England. These past couple of weeks have been simply amazing; my time in France has been everything I wished it would be. I have not, of course, forgotten my first month-or-so here and its hardships, but that seems to have happened a lifetime ago. 

One aspect of my year abroad that will always keep me grounded, I think, is the work-side of things. The pupils' behaviour continues to worsen but my tolerance is definitely improving. I have acquired the longest fuse in the world, but it still gets burnt out by the end of most lessons. I found out that my school is the worst for behavioural issues in this whole area. This gave me great relief as I knew I was not, then, to blame for my classes being so disruptive. Last week I used music in my classes, and set a listening activity to Ellie Goulding's version of Your Song. It worked extremely well, and students were encouraged to listen when I threatened to play Justin Bieber if they did not work. 

After all these weeks of struggling with pupils, all I needed was an annoying Canadian teenager to set them straight.

My Narbonne part of the week has been particularly awesome. On Wednesday I went to a French KFC. The grilled chicken burger was delicious. Of course, I wanted a big old bucket of popcorn chicken, but I could not find it on the menu. Exeter's KFC is going to get a good seeing to, let's just say that. I then got very drunk with a couple of Frenchies and les anglaises. My walk home was extra long due to me getting lost and cooking up some pavement pizzas on the way. Consequently, Thursday was a bit of a non-day.

On Friday I planned to do the one thing I have been petrified of doing ever since I arrived in France. I knew it had to be done, I knew I could not wait any longer, but I was scared. I spent the morning on Google and Yahoo Answers looking for advice. I looked through online translators and my trusty Collins dictionary. This was something I could not do alone. I text Chris, a Scottish lad, and told him my plans. He knew, deep down, that he too needed to take this terrifying step, so we met up. After putting off until 6pm, we knew we could not wait any longer. Plucking up every ounce of courage we had, we made our way down the winding French streets. Eventually, we saw the sign and knew it was now or never: it was time to get a haircut. I (and Chris) had taken a giant leap in my linguistic skills and it paid off. Forty minutes later we were respectable young men once more. 

I then went to les anglaises house and we got pizza and watched films. 

The first was Drive, with Ryan Gosling (that bloke from The Notebook with whom every girl fell in love and every man hated). It was bone-crunchingly good... literally, it is gory stuff. I love it.

Then we watched Walk The Line, which of course I had seen before. Amazing film about an amazing man with an amazing surname.

Yesterday (Saturday) I went to Nimes with a German assistant, Anne, and a Spanish assistant, Trini. There we met a French teacher from their school. We, our very multi-cultural little group of four, discovered this new town and saw all the sights.

First, there was Les Arènes (left). We did not go inside, as we planned to return and see it properly at the end of the day. However, unbeknownst to us, it shut at 5pm, with last entry at 4.30pm. We arrived at 4.34pm but they were apparently unable to open a door just four minutes late. Anne, using her impeccable French skills, told them exactly what we thought of their silly system.

Then, we went to La Maison Carrée (right). As you can see, it's a pretty damn nice building. Inside, there is a 3D film about the Roman history of Nimes. I don't mean the crappy 3D you get in the cinema, I mean the 3D that you get in Disney World so you actually jump when gladiators lunge at you with their weapons. 

The final big monument was the La Tour Magne (left). I realise it does not seem very tall, and it probably isn't. However, for me it was a challenge. I mentioned before my fear of bridges, but that is nothing compared to my fear of heights. We went to the top, and I did everything I could not to cry like a little girl, or like gin-drunk Dan Cash. When we reached the beautiful solid ground once more I could not walk properly. I had apparently tensed my body so much during my ascent that when I relaxed, it bloody hurt. I therefore stumbled down towards Les Jardins de la Fontaine (below)

The gardens were lovely, and we had lots of fun taking random photos. Nimes is a beautiful Roman city with an amazing history, that I learnt all about. Of course I have forgotten it all now, but still it was interesting at the time. I think.

In the evening, we returned to Narbonne to celebrate the Scottish assistant Marisa's birthday with a few drinks and Chinese food. French-Chinese food is very different to British-Chinese food, but it was very enjoyable and tasty. The best thing was that I had spoken so much French during the day, that my brain was beginning to ache, as well as my over-worked legs. 

There is nothing like a curry, a beer and speaking in your native tongue to relax in the evening.

I am now preparing for a very easy week of teaching (Tuesday is a teacher's training day, so I get my longest day of work off). I am going to continue with the Ellie Goulding song for the second half of the troisième, and I will find something equally as interesting for the quatrième. Although if inspiration fails me, they can learn about Ellie too.

England is almost here so I know that whatever the pupils throw at me this week, I have a impenetrable force-field of excitement protecting me. Unless, of course, it's a rubber or something..

DC

I digress...

The day I look into the mirror and realise that I am an old man is the day I turn off my clocks.

Time, in my opinion, should be used as a guide. Time should guide us through life, allowing us to set goals and be organised. However, Time is sly and powerful. Before you realise, Time has stopped guiding you and instead it is controlling you. We rely on Time more than we rely on living. We need time to sleep, time to work, time to survive and time to live. However, when Time starts to control you and push you along, something's got to give. We have to sleep, work, and do those habitual necessities to survive. So, under the constraints of time we, as human beings, often run out of time to do the most important thing: to live.

I realise that this is a strong statement, and that it does not ring true for everyone. It is, though, unarguably true that Time is a constant threat. Whatever we do and for whatever reason we are doing it, Time is always there, ticking away. 

Time can only tick while there are clocks. Time may control us, but clocks are the true enemy. When we are bored, we concentrate on the slimmest hand. The hand that, during those periods of tedium, seems to move at the pace of a dying slug. When we are at work, the longest hand steals our focus as we wait for half-pasts and quarter-to's; break times and home time. When we are having fun, our attention is held by the sneakiest hand on the clock; the hour hand. The hour hand, during times of enjoyment and celebration, does not tick by, but thuds along hour-by-hour. Just as we begin to have fun, the hour hand decides to get up from its cosy armchair and go for a jog. 

My point is that I am fed up of watching clocks, waiting for future events, and feeling guilty for time I have wasted doing nothing. Of course, I have only myself to blame, but as I have said before, it is always nice to blame somebody else. In this instance, I blame Time or, more accurately, clocks. This is why today I made the decision that when I realise I am an old man, I will turn off my clocks and live a Timeless life. 

A life without Time is a life without constraint.

Back to the year abroad and my ever-deteriorating faith in teenagers. Stand-out moments of my teaching week include a girl who walked out of class rather than work with two boys. Of course, the only place she could go was to the discipline room (sounds worse than it is, I am sure) so she ended up in a heap of trouble. In the same class, two girls would not stop talking until one made another girl cry. It was one of those rare occasions where I full-on shout in French and the kids have a sudden realisation that they are about to get in deep sh*t. Goodtimes. 

My housemates decided that our house has just one too many problems, so called a house meeting. It was very reminiscent of my second year in Exeter and the house of mould, although that time round I could understand everything. Basically, in this house, not all the doors are fully-functioning, the washing machine broke down (resulting in a farcical episode of washing clothes), to turn on the hobs you have to pump on the knobs (don't be so immature) and there is mould everywhere. So I listened to the meeting, saying mainly "Oui, je suis d'accord" and "Oui, j'ai compris", both of which were lies. However, it has resulted in me perfecting my French telephone voice to arrange visits from the repairman. Language win.

Today I got out of bed at half past one, despite having an alarm set for nine in the morning. On Tuesday, I woke up at nine forty-five. I actually had a class to teach at half past eight so missed it... Pretty shameful seeing as I live in the school while I am teaching there. I initially blamed my alarms not working, however after this morning I am beginning to think that may not have been the reason. I am sat here now with my patchy facial hair, glasses perched on my wonky nose and wearing an odd mismatch of clothes. In one hour and a half I am going to meet some of the other assistants for a few drinks, so I should really say g'bye and get presentable. But I have one last thing to tell you.

Also today, I officially started a new project. I will not go into much detail about it, but basically during the last two months I have been evaluating my future plans. I have not managed to think of a career path I would want to take, except perhaps journalism. However, ever since I can remember, I have always wanted to achieve one goal: to write a novel. Therefore, since mid-October I have been planning ideas and writing vague story lines, none of which amounted to much. Finally, I had a breakthrough, and now I have most of the essentials sorted, I have begun to write a detailed chapter-by-chapter summary. 

I am going to finish this novel not to become a famous writer, not even to necessarily publish it, but to prove to myself that I can do it. Maybe one day I will be a successful writer or maybe I will fall into a different career that I enjoy. For now, I will merely prove a point to myself. I will prove that even someone who enjoys regular lie-ins and prefers to watch Misfits than Frozen Planet can finish a forty-chapter book. 

I do not care how long it takes me; I have turned off my clocks.

DC

Croeso i Narbonne

Five days have passed since I last cashed in and I still have that ridiculous song playing on a never-ending loop in my oversized head. I suppose playing it consistently on YouTube doesn't help matters. I would say it is a guilty pleasure, but neither word is strong enough. Instead, I shall call it my absolutely shameful musical infatuation. Although, that may be going a tad too far in the other direction.

This weekend I was graced with the presence of my girlfriend. I showed her around Narbonne, which took all of an hour, and we ate lots of French cheese and bread. The few days that she was here were the quickest yet most pleasant few days I have had so far in France. It made me extremely excited to return to England for Christmas and after saying 'au revoir', I went straight on the internet and booked my flight.
The plan was to make it to Exeter for the last Friday night of term, but I decided that the school would not mind me having a day off so I can go home a bit earlier. Duty-free is not going to know what's hit it by the time I leave the airport. Neither is my liver.

Booking my flight home has given me two new incentives. The first is to really improve my French, so I am so comfortable speaking it that I can easily fall back into la vie francaise in January. The second is to gradually build up my liver's strength and my drinking abilities, so I can drink 'til my heart's content back home. Well, I had to counter-balance the overly sensible language-learning idea somehow...

This week I am continuing my lessons on social networking. They are going better this week, and thankfully these classes do not consider porn as a means of communicating with friends and family. They do, however, struggle to see how ChatRoulette and Skype differ. Maybe it's a French thing.

The weather has deteriorated and it has been raining all day. I don't actually mind this, in fact I find it quite refreshing, but I am not looking forward to my Monday meander to McDonald's. Rain is not a common occurence in this region, though, and my class sizes have been halved as a result, making the pupils more hyperactive than ever. The teachers are not happy either. I could not follow the whole conversational debate, but I definitely heard 'Sarkozy' and 'reforme', so I am guessing it is all political. I will worry about French politics just as soon as British politics begin to improve.
I do feel for the French, though.
It is difficult having a complete wanker leading your country.

I am now preparing to finish my working day with one final class. I have given up hoping that lessons will go a certain way, because they are all so different from each other. I have had the same lesson plan for a week and not one lesson has been the same. That is one good thing about teaching and working with teenagers; every hour brings something new. Now I need to find a second positive.

So, happy Monday everyone! I hope it has gone nice and quickly for you, although not too quickly... Remember: tomorrow you will be one day older, and you are no spring chicken.

DC

What Makes You Beautiful

When I was learning to drive, my instructor used to constantly tell me two things. The first was that he wanted to cut my feet off because I am so uncoordinated. The second was that at some point, no matter how many mistakes I was making at that point, at some point in time it would just 'click'. For me, driving took a long time to 'click' and just as it did, I left for university and have not been at the wheel since.


Learning a language is a lot like learning to drive. No matter how many books you read about it or how much you study the theory, you simply cannot learn it without actually going to the country; sitting in the driver's seat. The learning process is very similar, too. You make false starts, you stall and have start again, you start slow and as you become more confident you reach higher speeds, and when it seems as if you are going to crash, there is always someone there to slam on the breaks and help you out of the situation. And, just like driving, at some point in time your second language just 'clicks' into place. I am nowhere near fluent, I still make many mistakes, but I feel as if French has clicked into place in my brain and now I can join a conversation and say more than "oui" or "je ne comprends pas".


I have been in France for over seven weeks now. The first five of those passed by uncomfortably slowly and the last two have flown by unnervingly quickly. October feels like a lifetime ago yet Christmas is just around the corner. Of course, it all boils down to that age-old philosophy, 'time flies when you're having fun'. I am enjoying France a lot and as I look back on what were five of the most difficult weeks of my very short life so far, I can see that 'everything happens for a reason'. Forgive me for the cliché overload.


I met some other English language assistants last weekend and so had the first proper, real-life, sans webcam conversation in English with a fellow native speaker for six weeks. I felt like I had got back some of my identity. It was good fun. We went to a few bars, found a McDonald's (needless to say, I was far less excited than the others), and did a Lidl food shop.


I am having slight insomnia issues at the moment, resulting in me not being able to sleep until ridiculous a.m. and waking up at ridiculous p.m. Only in Narbonne, though. In Sigean, I fall asleep at around 4am and am up at 7:30. If there are typos-a-plenty in this post, you now know why. 

Teaching this week has been extremely tiring. My lesson was a debate about social networks and whether they are good or bad. However, talking about the internet with hormonal teenage boys was not something I had considered as a problem. After hearing almost all the boys in almost all the classes proudly shout out their favourite porn websites, and laughing about ChatRoulette, I then managed to grab their attention and move onto Facebook and the like. The most difficult thing I found this week was to keep a straight face when this happened. Well, for the first lesson anyway. Each class was so disruptive that by Monday afternoon my sense of humour had evaporated and my face had forgotten how to smile. Teenagers do not shut up. They do not listen. They do not care. Once you realise and accept that, it becomes easier... Because you, too, stop caring.


At the end of my fifth class on Tuesday, the students had been so bad that I told certain boys that I was going to report them to the head of English. I was fair and far too nice; I gave them all at least five warnings each. After ignoring their pleas, I made to leave. However, one boy stopped me and begged and begged me not to report him. I simply said that it was not my problem and that I did not care. As tears welled up in his eyes, I very sympathetically told him to get out of my sight. By sympathetically, I mean I silently held the door open and ushered him out.
Did I feel bad? No. Do I feel bad now? Slightly.


This weekend, my girlfriend is coming to Narbonne! I get to play the awkward tour guide who has to try and think of places to go, despite me having no idea myself. My indecisive gene will surely help matters.


I know it is bad to end on a negative but I have to share this tragedy with you.
Yesterday, I was browsing through music on YouTube and found this.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v=VpnuubCJjCU


It has been sixteen hours and still it is playing on repeat in my head, hence this post's title.

DC

Botofogo go go!

When I last graced the blogosphere with my presence, it was not the most cheery visit. But things have changed.

So, I had almost given up hope and was on the verge of accepting that this year abroad just would not provide me with 'the best experience of my life'. I returned to Narbonne on Friday in the pouring rain and went for a couple of beers with Lucile, the English teacher at the school. I trudged home in the miserable weather, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and my bed. However, the combination of beer and a shower triggered my memories of pre-prelash, freshening up with a can of Stella on the window sill. 

Inspired, after twenty minutes preparing French in my head, I asked my housemate if he wanted to go to the pub. After a polite rejection, I did not lose hope! I instead sent a text to the Spanish assistant I met in my school and asked him if he would be free to meet up for a beer sometime. I received an immediate reply inviting me to go out that very evening.

Predrinking in a small, French studio flat with four Spanish and one German assistant was fun. The wine was flowing and the French language was spilling from my mouth. The language barrier somehow seems less intimidating when you are with other assistants, because you don't feel as pressured to get every little syllable right. In fact, the main focus is simply to convey some kind of meaning and I achieved that for the most part. Screw perfect grammar, pronunciation, and that mysterious but oh-so-important 'flair', I speak French the Dan Cash way. 

Let me tell you this: when you party with Spanish people, you party. They were busting their Spanish dance moves with a bit of Samba and some Flamenco (I'm making this up, I have absolutely no idea what dances they were doing but they were very good)! When we got to the club, Botofogo, for the first time (yeah, right) in my life I wished I could dance properly and not like the awkward little white boy I am. French nightclubs are a different experience to those of a British origin. For one thing, there were not patches of vomit on the walk there. Also, the club did not smell of a mix between the Gent's, sweaty teenagers, and regurgitated beer. 

Believe me, I do not write this with even a subtle hint of irony, but God do I miss British nightclubs.

The next evening I met some of the same group of people to go to a pub. There, we met with a Spanish teacher from one of the assistants' school, and her daughter who is learning Spanish and English. With conversations in both Spanish and French, and English music on the TV, my head was going crazy trying to figure out what was going on. I sat there sipping a pint, enjoying the company and what conversation I understood enough of to join in.

After chilling at the guy's flat, I left for home at about eleven, completely shattered and ready for bed. Instead, I ended up going to Declan's Pub with my housemate and his friend. It was nice to go up to a bar and order a proper pint. It was also nice to drink lots of ale and then go to Botofogo for the second night. This time, it was ten euros to get in with a drink included in that price. It was wicked, people were notably more drunk than the night before, and more people were dancing the classic robotic English boxstep. It was a good night out where I spoke even more French, this time with native speakers, and experienced more differences between our cultures. At one point there was a fully naked man having an absolute rave, loving life.

So all in all, this weekend proved that things can seem to be absolutely awful and hopeless and then, without warning, everything changes. Your rollercoaster speeds upwards again you throw your hands in the air and enjoy the ride.

Then it was back to Sigean and teaching. I was looking forward to returning to work and to a routine, but Sod's law governed that I would get a cold on Sunday evening. Monday, then, was a complete write-off and I returned to school on Tuesday, which is today. It was the most tiring day I've had in the last five weeks I think. The pupils are on some kind of sick, twisted post-holiday high and the teachers are drained after spending two days of shouting, persevering and attempting to insert just a grain of knowledge into these young and uninspired minds. It does not help that the day begins at 8:30am, when it is dark outside, and finishes at 5pm, when it is dark outside. While it is easy to see why people would be interested in pursuing a career in teaching, it is also easy to see why these people may, at some point in their lives, go completely and utterly cray-cray. However, none of this has remotely affected my good mood and high spirits.

Now, I am preparing for tomorrow's morning of teaching (all hail half-day Wednesdays) and my journey back to Narbonne for my luxurious four-and-a-half-day-weekend.

I'll see you lot on the other side,

DC

(The new background image for this blog is courtesy of me, and my amazing photography skills. It depicts the gloriously brown canal of Narbonne and two random people.)

Two bedrooms and a house.

These photos are of my room in Sigean, which I have reason to believe was once a medical room.

My curtains are drawn here because the sunlight blinds me when I am sat at my desk. Of course, now my lights are broken the curtains are open much more.

My bed and an unopenable filing cabinet. The poster you can see on the door outlines the French school system. Neat.

This is my sink, wardrobe (shelved cupboard) and you can also see my Exeter photo scrap book sitting on the filing cabinet of mystery.

I personally like the soap and tissue dispensers. They really give the room that homey feel.

This is the noticeboard on the wall facing my bed. To give you a general idea, the topics covered include: AIDS, contraception, bullying, child abuse, drug abuse, neglect, and rape. Nice and cheerful.

This is my 'reason to believe' that the room was once a medical room.

I considered showing you a photo of my 'shower' but it is far too embarrassing to put on the internet.

Narbonne

This is my squeaky double bed in Narbonne. Armed with my collection of DVDs and a few beers, life is comfortable here. It's also nice not to have your feet hanging off the end of the bed.

This is the room I will never again take for granted: a kitchen. A place where I can keep cheese and milk, make warm cups of tea, cook my every meal and sit down to eat it. Also, the curtains and table are green. Icing on the cake.

My green haven! Green door curtain, green chairs, green sofa... and a TV. This room is good. We like this room.







So there you have it, these are my two living spaces. One is significantly larger than the other, providing more entertainment, more comfort and food. The other is in Sigean. At leas that one has internet I suppose!

I am going to post one last photo, but if I posted it before explaining why, you may start assuming things about me that ought not be assumed.
It is a toilet, but the thing to focus on is the amount of room between the porcelain and the door. There is none. For a guy with long, gangly legs like me, it is quite frankly the least comfortable squatting experience I have encountered.
Except for the long-drops at Reading Festival of course.

I will soon post photos of the surrounding areas of both Sigean and Narbonne. 

Right now, I must get back to planning a week's of lessons about Bonfire Night, Guy Fawkes, and Ottery St. Mary. 

DC

Rollercoasters.

It has been said many a time that life is a rollercoaster. Using this as a basis for my life, before I moved to France, my life was like The Stinger at Paulton's Park: it had ups and downs but for most of the time I just sat there waiting for something exciting to happen. Now I'm in France, my life is more like Space Mountain in Disney Land Paris: shooting upwards and then spiralling down and down and then suddenly shooting up again. Also, three lights in my room have broken, so life here is also almost as dark as Space Mountain.

I have not written for a while for a few reasons. Firstly, I was lazy and kept telling myself that I would write tomorrow. Then, I decided to move to Narbonne and just like that I was living in a house with two other guys, but without internet. The third and final reason, is that I returned to Sigean with every intention of blogging away, but the internet was not working. Deciding it was the final straw I cracked and wanted to book a flight back to England... although I could not, because the internet was down.

So, I will take this back a couple of weeks. Things were good. I had finished teaching for the holidays and they had finally fitted internet. Of course, for something to go well something else has to go badly. So, on the same day that the internet was installed, the main light in my room broke. But that was fine, it left three others and one in the shower room. As long as I could Facebook, Tweet, Skype and blog, I was happy. (I know I may seem obsessed with the internet and social networking, but I just like to have as many ways to procrastinate as possible.)

Also on Internet Day, I had the first full conversation in French where I did not feel like a complete ignorant foreigner. I was sorting out my social security with the school secretaries and ended up talking about all manner of things. It was brilliant, I was happy and I was insured. Tidy. Then, I went to the staff room and with a new sense of confidence, asked Lucile if she wanted to go for a pint in the evening so I could speak more French. The pub was good but I still resent the fact that I cannot go to the bar to order a drink. The French do pubbing backwards and it is wrong. Although, in my first university report I wrote about this cultural difference in a less black-and-white, biased way. I then returned to my room where light number two decided to illuminate no longer, and I Skyped and YouTubed the night away.

On Saturday, I had a rendez-vous with a landlady in Narbonne. I met her in the afternoon, took a glimpse of the house and decided to take it. It was like luxury. There were fully-functioning lights, a fridge-freezer to store food, an oven to cook food, a double bed, a television, a shower that was warm! It was as if I was moving from poverty to richness, from Hull to Chelsea. The lack of internet put me off slightly, but I would be in Sigean for half the week so I remained positive. I had made a rash decision and for someone as indecisive as me, I was full of doubt. Asking for a sign that I had done the right thing, I arrived in my little room and a third light busted.

Monday rolled around and, full of apprehension and fear, I decided I would not move yet. The following day I spent hours phoning various taxi companies but nobody was available. Feeling annoyed, I eventually found an available taxi at 6pm and arrived in Narbonne just half an hour later. I moved in and met my first housemate, Mathieu.

He is so French it hurts. The only way I can describe him is to refer you to Simon's exchange student in The Inbetweeners, but less of a prick and not as good looking (no homo). He said he was going to the supermarket so I seized an opportunity and went with him. For the first time in a month, I could cook. I was not going to let this opportunity pass me by... I bought pasta, rice and Nesquik cereal.

I explored Narbonne and it is nice. It has a lovely town centre, where a canal runs through and a patch of Roman road rests in the centre. I looked in shop windows, saw the price tags and almost choked on my Cornetto. (I was not eating a Cornetto, I lied.) I then returned home, where shortly after my second housemate arrived, Jean-Baptiste. He spoke in slow French and was very welcoming. The next evening we went to a quirky little pub, where people are more interested in playing wooden games than getting drunk. Slightly disappointed, and my hair full of rubble from the low, cave-like ceilings, we left for home. It was nice to meet new people and to have a pint, but I could not help but still feel lonely. The language barrier was not helping.

During the next few days, both my housemates were busy seeing their girlfriends. Unfortunately for me, the landlady chose to furnish the house with squeaky beds, so I knew exactly how busy they were. When they were not making my ears bleed, they were cuddling on the sofa or cooking together. Feeling lonelier than ever, I returned to Sigean on Monday evening to get on the internet and talk to people. Returning to my dark, gloomy, room at the school I turned on my laptop ready to have an English conversation and feel less isolated. It did not work. After hours of trying to get the internet to work, I fell apart. Big time...

Now, the internet is back up and running and I have spoken to family, friends and my girlfriend. I am happier and I am feeling more positive. I have not spoken French properly for over a week, but I no longer consider that my main priority. I will return to Narbonne tomorrow for two days and then I will fall into a routine of work and play. I still feel lonely, and there is no denying how isolated I am in this small town, but hopefully things will improve. It is difficult when you are alone to remain optimistic, not to get lost in your loneliness.

Like a rollercoaster, there are ups and downs. On the way up your excitement mingles with nerves and apprehension. You are waiting for the downs to come and when they do, they take you on a free fall; you are out of control. The most difficult thing when you are alone and your rollercoaster starts to plummet is finding the energy to begin climbing up high, again.

DC

Les mouchoirs (masc.)

My half-term has begun, which means it's time to have some fun.

Somebody came to put internet in my room on Tuesday. So, after six long hours of teaching, I crawled up to my bedroom. A cable was running from my laptop to the big box of electrical stuff in my shower room (safe, I know). I was dubious, as I always am when it comes to technology, and turned on my laptop. No internet. After about an hour of trying every possible way of connecting to the internet, I gave up and headed to McDonald's. I was stressed, tired and annoyed. The only solution: a Big Mac.

I had to rant to someone but my French is not yet good enough to do it here, so I made a call to England. My main rant was about my classes. They were awful this week. Mr Cash got serious and the kids realised I am not as laid-back as they thought. I then ranted about internet. These rants calmed me down and turned into pleasant conversation. In the evening, I thought things had to change.

Wednesday rolled around and brought incentive with it. I decided during my classes in the morning that I could not live in the collège any longer. In the afternoon, I looked for an appartment in Narbonne and by the early evening I had emailed a landlady. For those of you have been reading this from the beginning, you will remember that my original plan was to live in Narbonne with two other guys. If not, you now know. Well, I think this is exactly the same room. I am going to meet the landlady to look at the room during the holidays and hopefully I will move in soon! Fingers crossed.

Yesterday, as positive as it were, also had its downsides. I got a cold, and it hit me suddenly and without mercy. I was sneezing during my lessons and I had run out of tissues. I used the school's toilet roll, but one sneeze and there's a hole blown right through it (Mental note: grab a giant wad of said bog roll after deploying a number 2). So, I wondered to a shop to buy me some snotrags. Alas! I could not find them. So, feeling confident with my ever-improving French tekkers, I went to the shop assistant and asked her for some tissues. Okay, not quite. Midway through my sentence, I realised I did not know the word for tissues. I spent the next two minutes apologising and miming sneezing. She showed me medicines, and I said I do not want medecine, just something to use for when I 'atchoo!'. Although, I had actually told her I did not want doctors. It was all very confusing, and I left the shop feeling very embarrassed. I went to McDonalds for the second day for some McComfort food.

Feeling even worse after my Big Mac meal and M&M McFlurry, I headed to Lidl for some wine. A nice bottle of red for under €2. Snazzy. I read the label and it suggested I drink it to accompany cheese. I have not got a fridge. Therefore, I tapped into my creative side and bought some cheese straws. My evening was spent watching The Dark Knight, drinking red wine and filling my bed with crumbs from the cheese straws.

I woke up this morning to the haunting sounds of Vivaldi. I slept for another 55 minutes. Vivaldi. I slept for another 55 minutes. Vivaldi. You get the point. Eventually, I got out of bed, made a coffee and had a pain-au-chocolat. As I was sitting in the staff room, Facebooking away, the secretary handed me a parcel. I had been expecting it; it was from my girlfriend.
It contained an Original Sin lanyard, a University of Exeter clicky pen, a puzzle book, a card, and Thor on DVD. Amazing. Needless to say, it made my week! I am a lucky boy.

So, now it is Thursday. As the term draws to a close, most teachers seem to have colds. The mood is generally positive, but everyone is tired. I will hopefully have internet (working!) either this evening or tomorrow. If I get the room in Narbonne then I hope my housemates like to get drunk, because I have run out of boxsets. My main concern, though, is getting out of Sigean and moving somewhere bigger. Bigger town means more pubs, right? Right.

Now, I must venture into the village and seek nourishment that does not begin with a Mc. Armed with the rest of my wine, some cheese straws and my new DVD, this evening is set to be chilled. But, chilled is good. For now...

Oh, if you're wondering about the title of this post... It's just something to make sure I never forget the French for 'tissues'.

DC

Days & the End of the World

People always say that Monday is the worst day of the week. I disagree. Worse than Monday is, without a doubt, Tuesday. As Monday comes to a close and you rest your poor, overworked body, Tuesday creeps up behind you with a happy-slap and a wedgie. Then, of course, there's Wednesday; the day of "when?". Nobody knows what day it is on Wednesday. It is either Tuesday or Thursday in everyone's mind, depending on whether one is pessimistic or optimistic. Forget the 'half-empty, half-full' scenario, just ask someone what day it is on a Wednesday and you know what kind of person you're dealing with. Thursday rolls around with a sense of wellbeing and you feel comfortable and content. Thursday is a good day; it is almost the weekend. Friday is a day of mixed emotion. You can taste, smell and feel the weekend but the day ambles by like an old man walking to Wetherspoons at 11am for his first pint of the day. There is no point talking about Saturday or Sunday because they are over in a flash, and there it is again... Monday.

This weekend passed me by at a pleasant speed. I spent Saturday exploring further into the fields and along country roads surrounding Sigean, I strolled to the supermarket for some bedroom snacks and I went for dinner in McDonalds. I bought some DVDs, too, including Inception, which I had never seen before. It was good, but I had a sneezing fit just as they explained the spinning top and could not be bothered to rewind, so I got a tiny bit lost. Still, I enjoyed it.

So, this week I am doing a lesson about Hallowe'en and planning future events (in this case, a Halloween party). It is challenging, interesting and fun. Naturally, therefore, the kids sit there and try to get me to either shout or laugh. Unfortunately for me, I find it much easier to do the latter. Today was the first day that I had to take a pupil aside at the end of the class for a sincere word. Teenagers are much more reasonable when they are not trying to impress their moronic friends.

Tomorrow I will teach an extra-curricular lesson for those who want to learn more English. My lesson plan, just to get them talking and to gauge their level of English is the 'Everyone on Earth got wiped out, except these 11 people. 5 of these people can go to another planet and repopulate the human race. Who should stay to die and who should live?' scenario. I could not think of names, so I used names of friends to make things easier. Here are the people.

Chris - a 60 year old farmer. He is racist.
Hannah - 27 years old, pregnant with twins. She is a thief.
Lucy - 21 year old biology student, failed her exams.
Andrew - 25 year old doctor. He is gay.
Jack - 36 year old black chef.
Simon - Jack's 10 year old son.
Louise - 35 year old teacher, she is blind.
Christine - 30 year old nurse, killed two patients.
Caitlin - 75 year old retired nurse.
Dan - 20 year old talented writer, musician and actor.
Dean - 40 year old paralysed builder.

Disclaimer: I did not intentionally assign traits to names, it just happened. I do not think that Chris is racist, Chrissie would kill people, Andy is gay, Hannah is a thief, Lucie fails exams, Caitlin is old, Louise is blind, or Dean is paralysed. I am also aware that Jack and Simon are white. At least one name fits its description...

Feel free to see who you would save, although it is not too difficult if you can explain your reasons in fluent English. I will let you know who are saved and who are left to die. Ominous.

The weather here is still divine, and the food continues to surprise and delight. Today I had a very nice slab of meat and boiled veg, along with a fruity cake and a peach-half topped with tuna. These crazy Frenchies. I am hopefully getting internet in my room tomorrow and then I can make my travel plans for next week!

Also, I will post all the photos I have taken of Sigean and whatever else I have stumbled upon whilst here.

Until then,

DC

Coffee is the best medicine.

As time flies by, I am beginning to feel as though I have been here forever. Everyday runs into one, long week at the end of which I cannot remember what I have done.
This is my way of telling you that this post is at risk of being unorganised and incoherent.

Last weekend I cracked. I had been here for two weeks, alone in this small village. The sun's rays had weakened and there was a storm a-brewing. I say storm, it got slightly cold and breezy. I had also allowed myself to get frustrated about the lack of internet, the failures of setting up a bank account, and the stresses of teaching irritating adolescents. Basically, I spent a weekend moping without trying to pick myself up.
Friday night I decided I wanted alcohol. So, I walked to the nearest wine shop and bought a bottle of their finest bottle of white. Well, the only one that had a screw cap rather than a cork. I then crossed the road to the pizza place and ordered a standard pepperoni. I had a nice conversation with the owners, went back to my room and watched a few films.

Saturday night was very different: I didn't buy any wine. I did, however, return for a second pizza (this time mushroom) and another delightful conversation. The lady gave me a small discount for being such a charmer (she said student, but I saw the spark in her eyes) and sent me on my way. I watched a few more films.
If you think I am going to tell you about Sunday, you are wrong. Instead, I invite you to reread the above, replacing 'mushroom' with 'pepperoni', and 'small discount' with 'free crepe'.

So, that was my weekend. It's safe to say I was neither trying nor bothering to make the most of this experience. I spoke to some people from home and decided that I would go to England during the October half-term to see everyone. The next day I spoke to another friend who gave me a kick up the arse and told me to stop being such a fool. I listened, and began to speculate about different places to which I could travel in the South of France, or even Spain. My plans now rest at packing some clothes in a bag and see what happens. I wish I could say that I believe I will do it.

I am feeling a lot happier now. I managed to open a bank account and finish some important admin blah. I also met the Spanish assistant who lives in a town nearby, so hopefully I can meet up with him sometime and show him the English way of getting drunk. I also arranged to meet up with a teacher for a drink, which was nice. However, the biggest improvement of this week was that I bought a kettle so have had coffee every morning. Man, I feel alive.

Teaching has been a very tiring experience. I have a new found respect for teachers. Well, the ones that don't press their penises against your leg anyway. (I kid, I kid.) Teenagers are hard work, that can never be said too often. When asking them about the U.K. and celebrities thereof, I have had some interesting and some downright stupid responses. David Villa was an example from one bright spark. Having students insist that the Prime Minister is James Cameron also sticks out in my memory. Then, when enquiring into the students' weekends one boy explained to me how he spent the weekend having sex. Not in French... not in English... but in the subtle language of mime. It is no surprise, then, that on Tuesday, after two long days of teaching these difficult youngsters, I got to my room and fell asleep for over an hour. I do not do naps, in fact, I hate them.

I woke up at 6pm, dazed and disorientated. I did not know where I was, what time it was or what day it was. I convinced myself that I had slept through the week and that it was Saturday because the sun was out but I could not hear the haunting sounds of Vivaldi. I staggered to my feet and stumbled to the nearest shop for a snack and some caffeine.

So now it is Friday evening and I have never been more relieved. No Vivaldi and no children for two whole days. Peachy. I will probably indulge in a pizza and some wine tonight, and head to Narbonne tomorrow. I do not know what I will do or where I will go, but anywhere is better than Sigean. Apart from perhaps Auschwitz, or Fritzl's basement.

I am feeling much more optimistic now, and a little less homesick. Hopefully my room will soon be equipped with the internet so I can stream English TV and films I have not watched a million times already. Facebook and Skype will be good, too.

People often ask me about the food here. I think it is an English thing... When conversations about weather become tedious, we move onto more interesting things, such as food.
One day there was a strike, and we had ravioli and a yoghurt for lunch. Well, the teachers went crazy! This was not the big lunch they are used to! When I told them how this was the size of an English lunch they could not believe it was true.
The meals this week, other than that the ravioli disaster, have been largely normal. Today we had cauliflower cheese and a sausage. Kind of... I mean, how different are cauliflower and gherkins really?!

So now, as doors are being shut, lights switched off and blinds closed around me, I must retire to my boudoir and leave such luxuries as the internet until Monday.

DC

Becoming Mr. Cash.

Sometimes you are thrown into a situation where you finally have to take full responsibility of yourself. I was neither ready or willing for this to happen but as I sit here and think about my time in France so far, I think I am becoming an adult.

My first Saturday in France, my fourth day of being on my own with nothing to do. I had been wanting to go to the beach all week to make the most of the amazing weather, but it meant I would have to phone for a taxi. It sounds simple, but speaking a language in which you are neither fluent or confident over the telephone is a big deal, alright. However, on Saturday I dialled the number and successfully ordered my ride out of Sigean and to Port-la-Nouvelle beach.

The beach was stunning, mainly because of the amazing heat and bright sunshine. I was all alone so went for a stroll, sunbathed for a bit, went to a café for some lemon sorbet and sunbathed some more. Breasts. They were everywhere. Topless ladies just strolling around, boobs down to their knees. Bronzing their bosoms. Tanning their tits. So, I thought, no fish & chips and saggy tattybojangles. It may be sunny, but I would choose Bournemouth any day of the week.

Saturday night I thought I would try one of Sigean's many pizza places, rather than having yet another McDinner. It was nice, once I had removed the olives and drained the grease, of course. The next evening I ventured out once more in a search for food but pizza seems to be the preferred choice of takeaway here. By preferred, I mean only.

Sunday morning and curiosity got the better of me. The ground floor of my block has several doors, none of which I have seen open. Armed with my keys and a burning passion to investigate, I unlocked the first door. Well, I had found the washing machine so I do not have to pay to use the launderette. Boom! I then tried door number two. I walked in, turned on the light and... either a thousand small babies had started screaming or an alarm was going off. I jammed the key back in the door and locked it. I ran to my room but it was still too loud to bear. I walked quickly out of the school premises. I could still hear the shrill ringing of the alarm, as could half of Sigean I imagine. I waited, not knowing what to do. Eventually, it stopped. I breathed a sight of deepest relief and returned sheepishly to my room.
It is safe to say that I will never know what lies behind the other doors.

Monday and Tuesday were my first days of teaching. Half of my classes were brilliant and keen to try to speak English and learn about Britain. The other half... Well I may as well give up on them now. I won't, but they refused to speak English and swore at me in French... until they realised I understood what they were saying. They all asked if I could speak and understand French and did not believe me when I said yes. The fact that these types of conversations took place in French did not make the slightest bit of difference.

I had plans for my classes that would eventually involve songs, movie clips, presentations etc. I walked into the classroom at 8:30am on Monday and there was a blackboard with chalk. So my challenge is now to teach rowdy, hormonal teenagers the English language with no method of keeping them engaged or interested. I can sense a long year ahead of me.

The best thing about the school is their lunch. It lasts for an hour and a half, and costs 2 Euros and 45 cents per meal. I must admit that discovering I was eating rabbit on Monday was a slight shock, but it was very enjoyable. The duck on Tuesday was also lovely, as were the lentils in gravy that came with it, and the beef curry on Thursday. Accompanied with a bread roll and French cheese, I could quite get used to big lunches. On Fridays the teachers all eat in the main staff room and crack open a bottle or two of wine. I do not work on Fridays so have not yet joined, but when I am more confident with my language skills I will.

I have once or twice considered buying a bottle of wine, but I have no fridge in which to store it and no corkscrew with which to open it. That is the worst thing about living in the collège: not having anywhere to store or cook food. But while the rent is free, I am happy to splash out on ready-made food, no matter how greasy it may be.
Wednesday was my stage d'accueil, a big welcome from Montpellier basically, and it was just plain boring. First, I had to get up at 5:30am to get a taxi to the train station. Then I had to change trains and upon arriving in Montpellier, get a taxi to the CRDP. It was expensive and gave me no time for breakfast or caffeine, so I was falling asleep all morning during their information-giving. It was pointless, too. Most of the assistants were from America or Canada, i.e. outside the EU, so needed more complicated advice and had more admin to do. They asked question after question after question. Us English folk were ready to leave by mid afternoon, and we may as well have for all the use it was. All-in-all it was a waste of money, time and effort.
Good points? Well I met someone who lives in central Montpellier. He is originally from Vermont and seems like a genuine guy so when I need to escape from Sigean I have someone to meet. Also, I met up with a teacher for a pint when I got to Port-la-Nouvelle. Although it made me realise how much I need to work on my French, it was nice to have a proper conversation with someone in my second language.

So far, my initial comment in this post seems irrelevant. It is not. See, during my two years in Exeter I rarely did anything alone. I would always wait to go into town until someone else needed to. I would try and persuade people to go on walks to campus with me when I needed to hand something in. Even a two-minute walk to the co-op when I needed to buy alcohol in first year felt like a challenge. I am not independant. In fact, I rely on others to a huge extent, sometimes to the point where I end up doing nothing if nobody else can join me.
So far in France, I have done almost everything alone. Okay, my mum and sister came with me and helped me get organised, but that's it. I have ventured into an unknown town on my own, finding my own way in foreign surroundings. I have arranged important paperwork, I went to an interview with the bank, I went alone to the beach and to an induction where I knew nobody... I have even been in charge of seven classes of 13-15 year olds.

I have finally taken responsibility for myself, and for that I am proud.

DC

Goodbye England, bonjour la France!

Some people advise others to live by the philosophy 'live each day as if it is your last'. Those people irritate me. If we did, in fact, live each day as if it were our last then we would have nothing to look forward to. Either that or we would spend each day in bed with a constant stream of teary-eyed visitors.

I will divide this into two parts.

Leaving England

Georgie Porgie's All-You-Can-Eat Buffet. Need I say more? Probably...
A wide selection of Chinese, Indian, Thai, Mexican and Italian food all under one roof. It resulted in some of the strangest combinations of food and a slight food hangover but it was amazing. Then we went on to win a selection of fine prizes (including a glittery shoe and a gay dolphin) on 2p machines before the car journey home, belting out 80s classics. Much better than Bon Jovi's shoddy original versions.

I then went to Exeter. Armed with a coffee and a pain-au-chocolat (or pen-or-chocklit as the lady at the counter called it), I was ready for one last dose of Exeter. I had a brilliant day with friends and my girlfriend, including dining in a posh restaurant (you know the one, gourmet burgers and homemade potato chips. Big 'M' over the entrance...) and going to the driving range. I was presented with a gift made by my girlfriend with contributions from my friends - a scrapbook-esque photo album. It is amazing and I am very grateful, especially for the good luck letters! I was at risk of getting emotional as I read each one and realised for the first time what I really would be missing... Thankfully the knowledge that I had a bottle of vodka in the fridge sorted me out.

So how was Arena? Because I would love to know. I remeber having an awesome night, seeing some of Exeter's finest legends and dancing to some real bangers. It was a brilliant last night out in Exeter. The next day was difficult. I will not bore you with the details, but I said 'laters' and walked towards the train station.
I did not look back because I know I would not have then been able to continue walking forwards.

I will also not bore you with details of packing but I will say this: pay someone else to do it.
A steady stream of people came by with cards and gifts; I have never felt more popular! I felt ready to leave (despite a mini breakdown the night before) and before I knew it I was on the aeroplane. 'Here we go', I thought.

Arriving in France

Shit. Everything's in French. I believe that was my first thought, anyway. I also thought how lovely it was to be somewhere so warm and sunny. I was truly excited.

We (me, my mum, and my sister) got a taxi to what appeared to be a derelict building. Upon further inspection it turned out to be our hotel. I tried my first bit of proper French as I asked for our room key and thankfully I understood every single word! Then again, he did reply in English so it was not that impressive. We then ventured out to discover Montpellier. After walking in one huge circle, and then a smaller circle, we found ourselves back at the hotel. Brilliant. A five-minute walk in the other direction and we were there.

Montpellier is an amazing place, I fell in love with it. Shame really, seeing as I now live over an hour away by train! We encountered culture clash number one when we walked up to the bar for a drink. Apparently you sit down and then get waited on... even just for one beer! Crazy. We also discovered that the French insist on putting olives on every pizza, even if you ask for them without. Ordering from a menu that I could not read very well also proved to be fun when I was brought what I can only describe as a raw quarter-pounder. It was nice, though.

The journey to Sigean. Quelle catastrophe! Well it wasn't that bad. The train station caused me more stress than it was worth and lugging heavy suitcases around did not help. Eventually we had our tickets and were on the train to Port-la-Nouvelle. There we met an English teacher who took us to Sigean and into my school.

My room. Well aside from the fact it has a cupboard and a filing cabinet both of which do not open, a shower that does not hang up or supply more than luke-warm water, no toilet, and no internet, it's not that bad. Of course, when I first saw it I went slightly crazy, wanted to go home and couldn't stop swearing. Now, however, I have decorated. A soap dish, toothbrush holder, bath mat, bed sheet and seat cover, ALL bright green, et voila! The room is surprisingly nicer.

So, here I am. My town is more a village and there is not much to do. It is the end of grape-picking season so the scent of wine drifts through the village. The sun shines every day and I am already more tanned than I am after a British summer. There are not many places to eat. The French are big on lunch whereas I like a big dinner. I have been mainly snacking. The school have offered me food but I have not taken them up on it quite yet...
I have walked in every direction and stumled upon very little. I will hopefully soon have access to a bike, and there is a bus to Narbonne at 8am every morning. I will be sure to take advantage of this service when I am more settled in. My French is coming along. I can speak it well and people have no trouble understanding me, but I cannot understand them. I am scared to ask questions not because I cannot phrase them correctly, but because I fear that I will not understand their answer and just nod politely. It is a matter of confidence. Confidence that I will gain in time.

I will leave you with a final anecdote. One I will never forget and perhaps the best moment of my Year Abroad so far...

I was walking through the village for what felt like the tenth time in a day. I had already strolled towards the beach, stopping only because I would soon have to walk down a main road and the French drive like maniacs. I turned back and found myself once more in the centre of Sigean. I stopped off in one of five shops for some water and began to walk in a different direction. I knew there must be something along this road because a woman was also taking this route. After around fifteen minutes, I was at a bridge.

For those of you who know me, you would have understood the grevity of the last five words. I have a somewhat irrational fear of bridges. I stopped, unable to continue. I turned around and started walking back, only to turn around a minute later and return to the bridge. My mind was in turmoil. I feared the bridge but I also feared jumping out of a window due to boredom. I was brave. I plucked up all my courage. I would like to say I held my head up high and marched across it, but I would be lying. I looked at the ground and ran. Standard.

As I looked around, I saw something I will never forget. As well as the magnificent views, there was something else. Something more beautiful; more majestic. I stumbled forward not daring to believe my eyes but there it was: that big, golden 'M'.

I was saved.

DC

Time makes fools of the best of men.

Is it possible for time to speed along but also pass by at a steady pace, sometimes dragging?

Yes. I am bringing this back to Time. Time is a concept that interests me more than most things. I find it truly fascinating. When did Time begin? Is there a beginning of Time? Will there be an end of Time? Without trying to sound like a 70s kid flying high, I find this shit totally mind-blowing. Back to my other favourite subject, me, and the point I am trying and failing to make: Things are going really, really quickly now, but at the same time it feels like I should have arrived by now.

I am becoming more sentimental as each day passes and, honestly, that scares me more than anything. I spend my life on my phone, mainly Whatsapp and BBM, trying to maintain aimless (but pleasant) conversation with people simply because I know I won't be able to do that in a few days. I bump into people and they wish me good luck and every time it makes me a little bit more upset because I feel as though I'm working my way up. I am saying 'laters' to people bit by bit, and soon it will be to even more of the people that I will miss most. 

Anyway, I do not want this to be a moaning, whining, regretful, and soppy post. Instead, I will take you through an innocent trip to Basingstoke. I will say now, before he has a chance to turn the events around and blame me, that Christopher Mardell is a bad influence and an animal. 

I went to Basingstoke at lunchtime, we had a look round some shops, I bought some chinos (Boom, one thing off my list) and we went for a few pints. I warned him. I looked at him, dead serious, in the face, and told him how once I start drinking, even just a sip of the good stuff, I get The Itch. Once I get The Itch things get dangerous. I got it in Reading with Andy and we ended up at the beach. I got it in Exeter and I ended up in A&E. I got it in Basingstoke. I could see the cogs turning in the brightest mind I know (ahem) right in front of me. I could hear his thought process: "I do not want to give in. He is expecting this. I am strong. I want more drink. I will win this. I have work to do. I will do work tomorrow morning. I want to go out. Will I really get that much done tomorrow anyway? I could ask my mum. She'd say yes. I can't do it. I just can't." He reached for his phone and called his mum. 

A few hours and a bottle of vodka later, we were in this club with too many man and drinks lined up all over the place. I don't remember much, but I remember a lot more than Chris Mardell. He was on top form with his specialist dance moves and attracting the ladies. I will never understand how the two go together, but females sure do love his flailing arm movements. A pavement pizza, cheap taxi ride home, a bit of bush diving and a futon finished the night. I woke up fine and dandy ready to get on the train. Chris was a mess.

Saturday I went shopping with my big sister Jess and bought a fair bit! Got me all kitted out to be a teaching assistant and bought a big DVD wallet so I can take all my films and boxsets. Then came Saturday night and, surprise surprise, I was on the lash again.

Ooo-arrr! I was a pirate on a hangover, trying to get hammered and only achieving significantly intoxicated. Still it was an awesome night topped off with some solid chicken chow mein, chips and prawn crackers. I woke up on Sunday morning feeling fresher than a Febreezed sofa. It was a miracle. I went to see my dad on Sunday night which was all right. Highlight was him confusing omelettes with pizzas but hey, easy mistake to make, right? (No.)

I expect you can tell that I did not really get much done this weekend. Hence me waking up yesterday in a slight panic because I have so much to do and so little time. It was also my mum's birthday yesterday (21st if anyone asks) but she worked through the day. So I went to town, picked up a few bits, bought a magazine about Will and Kate's wedding (it killed me) to show the French kids, and met mum from work. Then made her a cake (I'll be honest, it tasted amazing, I was well proud of my feminine side) and had a takeaway with all the family. Lavely. 

So that brings us neatly to today. I got a haircut. I know, productive day right? I also cooked a lasagne for dinner. I have been busy... So busy that I got into my bedroom about to tackle the task of packing my massively untidy living space and ended up writing the longest blog post known to man. Sorry about that, although if you got this far then I applaud you. I tend to go on a bit, it's a bad habit. I also bite my nails which is a bad habit too.I promised myself I would have stopped and let them grow to an acceptable length before going abroad, but I failed. Told you I go on a bit.

I do not know if I will get an opportunity to write before I go to France, but I want to as I am going to Exeter on Thursday night and it will surely produce stories to share. I long for the short time during which I will be there to go slowly, but I know it will fly by. I will be leaving Exeter for another 7 months, about to embark on a new chapter of my life, just a short while after arriving. But I will make the most of each minute. 

"Time is priceless but it's free. You can't own it, you can use it. You can spend it. But you can't keep it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back."

     Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife.


DC

See you latte!

If you have nothing important to say, write it down instead.


That is the only way I can sum up blogging. Nothing I will write here has any importance or significance whatsoever, except to me, of course. But still, I write it here in the hope (or, rather, assumption) that someone will read it and be relatively interested, entertained and/or amused. 


Today I finished work. It was sad to say 'laters' to more friends, but I will not miss the job. I like working, I like having a routine to my day, and I like earning money. I dislike serving coffee to people who think they are better than you and treat you not like another human being, but a piece of mouldy Victoria Sponge on the underside of a tray. Serious cafe talk.


Today was also the day that shit got real. I now have nothing to do, nothing to think about, apart from the big move. I am finally (and definitely) getting my loan tomorrow, which means I can go mega shopping and sort my life into 40kg. Tomorrow I am also going to Basingstoke to chill with my good mate Chris Mardell, then I am spending Saturday with my big sister, going out on Saturday night and then (cue creepy voice from 'The Ring') 7 days. 


Things have gone quickly and I am sure Time will only speed up as it gets closer. That's okay, though. 


I haven't really got anything else to say, but I do have something for Potterheads, like myself:


Deathly Hallows. Hermione erases her parents' memories in order for them to be safe blah blah blah. Bypass a death, a wedding, another death and a lynx... Tottenham Court Road. They stun a Death Eater and then decide to erase his memory. None of them know how to do it and then Hermione says she has never performed the spell before but knows the theory.
Clear error by J.K. Rowling. Then again, I have read this book countless times before and have only just realised, so I will let her off.

I suppose that when you enjoy something so much, and then find a mistake with it that has always been there but gone unnoticed, you let it go. However, once you have found it, you are immediately aware when you see it again.

(It may sound like I am going to make a point, or relate the above to a current situation, but I'm not. It's just an observation I can't ignore... that people should smile more. (Yes, I went into Newton Faulkner lyrics. Good song, YouTube it.))

Dollar is what I need

When things go wrong and it’s my fault, I get stressed. When things go wrong despite me doing everything correctly, I get angry.

Getting my maintenance loan for my Year Abroad has been anything but easy. First, the university did not process something correctly with Student Finance England. Then, after I contacted the uni and they sorted it out, Student Finance did not process the information they had received. Then, I had to wait for a form to sign and return. Now, I have just tried to register so I can finally get my much-needed moolah and the university want me to pay half tuition fees. Umm… Since when?

I know who would be able to answer that question, I thought to myself, so I emailed the year abroad convener. Oh no, she is ‘out of office’ this week. Good job loads of students aren't going abroad this week then… oh wait, they are. (Not me, I know, but still it’s annoying).

Rant over.

Thirteen days to go and I am mega excited!  I had my work’s leaving meal on Saturday and I remember very little. I know the food was poor so I will be boycotting Strada for a long time, but everything else was awesome. I want to know what was going through my beer-addled brain when I asked for a bottle of wine with dinner as it resulted in a horrific hangover, but the night before was definitely worth the day after. I now have three shifts left at M&S and after that, I hope I never have to work with customers again. Or coffee.

My German friend is here at the moment. She came here to study a few years ago and has visited every year since. I hope I make good enough friends in France so I can do the same. English weather is bound to be less bearable after 7 months in southern France, so I will need to escape every now and then!

I feel like I am repeating myself a bit in my blog, but I suppose I will not have anything really interesting to say until I am in France. I am still going to write it though, it helps me keep track of what I am doing and need to do. There are loads of things that will not take long to do, but that I keep putting off. For example, I have to buy insurance, give EasyJet our passport information, pick up stuff about Britain to use as teaching materials… All little things but I just cannot be bothered. I think that is because I just want to get my loan, buy clothes, see my friends, and get on with my Year Abroad.

I also want an iPad and a Kindle, but I think I will have to wait until I get my Erasmus grant and my wages from the school first. I can almost taste the other side of my overdraft and it is tantalising. I am fed up of being ‘overdrawn’… I just want to be ‘drawn’ for once! I suppose that being stuck in your overdraft is all part of the university experience, but let me say now that it is rubbish. The only time it is good is when you are in credit and eventually go down to £0.00 BUT, really, you have another £1,400 to spend! Dodgy outlook, I know. I guess that is why I manage to max out my overdraft at the end of every term, without fail, and have to work over holidays to pay it off. Ah well, if working to pay off nights in Arena and the Lemmy is what I have to do, then so be it.

When I next write, I will be free from work. I will be less stressed, more excited, hopefully richer, and possibly drunk. (I won’t be drunk.)

 Until then.

DC

Spontaneity, sand, and 'see you later'.

I am beginning to believe that the less you plan something, the better it will be. 

On Thursday I went to Reading to chill with Andy for a few hours. It was a standard day walking aimlessly around The Oracle, pausing for fast-food every now and then, and stopping at a pub for a pint. A pint turned into three and we thought it would be unacceptable for us to be in a drinking establishment without having a VK to strawpedo. Uh-oh.

Three hours later we were in Salisbury getting prepared for a night out. Two-and-a-half pints of Cryptonite and many strawpedos later, we were at the beach with Kim and Chloe (not the Kardashians). The point I am trying to make is that me and Andy had not really made any plans except from to hang out and we ended up having a completely awesome and random night out. It does not surprise me that this happened, because me and Andy spent most of second year going out without really planning to. It is behaviour to be expected from us, and the best way to say 'see you later'. 

I may be thinking too much into it, because that's what I tend to do, but it has made me feel slightly more relieved about my Year Abroad preparation thus far. This is because I have not yet made extensive plans about anything. I have always known that everything will work out because things always do somehow, but now I am worrying less about what will happen. I think that if you plan everything, so many things can go wrong. If you just go with it, you will be more willing to do things that you did not expect to do and you will not be disappointed because things do not turn out as you planned. So from now on, I am not going to guess what everything will be like, I am not going to make lots of plans in advance, and I will grasp whatever happens while I am in France by the balls. I guess it is lucky that I will be living close to the sea, just in case I get drunk and fancy laying in the sand.

As I am lying here in my sandy bed, not feeling quite human, I am thinking about the next two weeks and how quickly they are going to pass me by. I have four shifts left at work, my work's leaving do, a 30th birthday night out and many people to see. I feel like I am going to run out of time to do everything unless I start organising myself very soon. Then again, as long as I get to see everyone before I jet off that's all that matters... I'm sure all else will get done at some point. 

I have also begun to think of a list of things I think I am going to miss.

Here's a sample:

- Speaking English

- Arena

- Living with other people

- 4OD / BBC iplayer

- Spending mornings talking about the night before

- The Vic

- Prelashing 

- Mama Stone's 2-for-1 Mexican food

- 'Never Forget' to finish off a Lemmy night

- Watching international sporting events in my own country

- Cryptonite

- Going out on a school night

- Safer Sex Ball

- The Mississippi Drifter

There are obvious things I'll miss that are not up there, like people, but I am not going to get all sentimental. The list is pretty self-explanatory and really, they are all little things. When I think about it, they are not things I am going to miss. 

Instead, they are things I will be looking forward to; they will all still be here when I get back. 

Now for the weekend. My last Saturday in Marks and Spencer and a meal to follow. Sunday will be pretty much like today, a hangover day. Although I have not got a 9am dentist appointment like I did this morning, so a much needed lie-in is on the cards. 

As I am beginning to realise I have used the word 'thing' at least twice per sentence and the urge to edit this whole post is consuming me, I am going to sign off. Besides, The Million Pound Drop is on. Sweet.

Bon week-end!

DC