Valentines

For once I must have done something right: the sun shone, the traffic was moving and all was as we wanted it to be. It probably isn't the same when you live there but 'going' to Paris for le St Valentine is pretty cool. Despite the days of endless rain before-hand the day was surprisingly warm and sunny. So we wandered around St Michel and dosed up on Starbucks. We visited the ducks in the Luxembourg gardens and checked-out the animaleries along the Sienne, where we found a little sister for Holly. We didn't actually take her home owing to the fact that she cost €1,200. A mere snip! The Orsay museum was conveniently holding a reduced price night so we both got in as youngsters - oh ok, so I was the only one who needed a reduction. It was almost a shame to have to get back in the car and go home again - except of course for the sausage waiting for us who hadn't see a human bean all day.

I managed to take a whopping 100 photos, all in the space of a day. However I didn't have my camera whilst we were eating which was a shame. We went to Paris's oldest Japanese restaurant where they prepare the sushi and sushami in front of you. Pretty cool, huh? So we ate a mamoth plate of raw fish but were both decided afterwards that we felt like we hadn't eaten a thing. Perhaps good for the diet by doesn't work on the brain! Which is why we were 'obliged' to go to Starbucks and pick up some carrot cake and giants coffees for our duck visiting.

So there we go, another Valentines has past and not been forgotten. Perhaps one shouldn't make a fuss but then at the same time I feel I should make the most of it whilst it's just us. Hope yours was a good too.

Valentine's in style

The Ardennes may be little more interresting than the Milton keynes countryside but it has at least one redeeming feature. It's only two and a half hours away from Paris. So is Waterloo now I know, but you see what I mean. So we are going. Just for a coffee. Because we can.

Binned

Today I was binned in the street.

Quietly walking down the street minding my own business I was pushed out of the way by a woman who merrily cried 'Pardon' the then pulled a wheeliebin onto the pavement to block my path. Curious.

Perhaps she didn't like my walk?

La bonne

La bonne, or the cleaning lady, has been helping me with my French. He weren't 'alf wrong old Socrates - "the more one learns the less one knows", though I suppose it was someone else who put it so nicely into English. Here's my version - "the more I teach the less I'm sure".

Before the cleaning lady I had addressed my question to a fellow teacher. "What's the translation of rambling in the sense of talking." Having looked in a puzzled fashion at the word I'd found in the dictionary - which apparently meant unstitched, shouldn't trust dictionaries- she found herself at a loss. This is no reflection on her French but more in line with something I've noticed about teaching. Apart from it being thirsty work (I understand now why they are always to be found in pubs) and a great responsibility (think of all the teachers that scared your otherwise blissful childhood, one shouldn't miss an opportunity, it gives purpose to adulthood) it's also a bit difficult.

You have a blackboard (white, in my case, unless I get the manky classroom) and a bit of chalk (or a pen, in my case ) and they stuff you write up there gets written down and revised and remembered (or lost, in my case). But what if you make a mistake, a quite unconscious translation induced mistake. Life the time I taught my chefs that the translation of 'persil' was 'persil'. It was a full ten minutes before I realised I had mixed up parsley with washing powder. What if I hadn't noticed. Imagine the potential 'persil and mixed herb omelets'.

I know that parsley is parsley so why is it that when someone actually counts on me knowing, I think it's persil?

That's what worries me about this blog. Luckily my Grandmother doesn't have a computer or she'd be sending me daily spelling mistake lists. Perhaps I should have lied and told you I'm a French teacher. No, on second thoughts, that too could cause spelling problems.

And the winner is...

One day I'm going to have a 'stupid question award' ceremony. The cucumber will certainly be taking home a trophy. Today, the prize goes to - we were talking about elections "but, Madame, you don't vote do you? You have a Queen, she decides for you."

So, there's a problem here. Is it their education? One too many McDonalds have addled their brains? Or are they just fr... I mean stupid?

I pointed out that we were a democracy. The response: "oh,oui?" puzzlement.

J'y vais plus!

J'y vais plus au Givet, yipee or should that be youpi. For the past three months I have risked life and limb careering around in a company Clio trying to be on time for a lesson in Givet. I finshed up in Charleville at 3pm and has this lesson at 4pm. Seeing as it takes 1 1/4 hours to get there it was never going to be possible. "But we can't keep the client waiting" says my boss. So I took the mad 45° turns with very little care for my own safety and with the 50€ I earn per lesson keeping my foot firmly on the acerlerator.

The problem was the Clio - combined with the ridicuous Amalfi Coast type roads. I don't like Clios. You take you life into your own hands just trying to get round the dashboard, hunting for example, for the windscreen wipers which are hidden behind the radio controls which are behind the steering wheel. How interesting, volume is more important that vision. How French.

'The French' (sweeping statement, I know, but I get it all the time. I suppose that should stop me, nevermind) are a bit funny about cars, that's funny peculiar. Example, Frenchman to his femme: "where did I put the keys for the 406." Englishman to his wife: " where did I put the car keys." Have you got it? The model, be it a Twingo or a Porsche, is what counts. I have no idea what the deep rooted pyscological reasons for . It's just like that.