Lizard, Language and Apologies for the Delay!!!

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Good day my lovers,

I hope this extract finds you all well. I'm sorry i've been so severely negligent the past 2 and a bit weeks - i've been trying and apparently succeeding in keeping myself occupied and we've actually been having some decent weather so i've basically just been loath to take the time inside to type this up. I have so many things to write up now though and so I am sorry if I bombard you with a few entries in quick succession.

My love of the sun (and sunbathing) has been noted by everyone here as "very weird for an English girl" and has earnt me the nickname 'Lizard'. It's not a very flattering creature to be named after I know, I would have preferred something a bit more powerful e.g. Lioness or even something little but cute. But no, I get Lizard, obviously. The words I personally associate with lizards are cold and slimy, of which I am neither I promise. But it concerns me slightly that for those who don't know the back-story, the nickname Lizard suggests more 'weird sexual fetish' than 'lover of the sun'. Lizards also scuttle. I never scuttle - I toodle, trot, skip (when i'm particularly happy or excited) and I also spend a lot of time stumbling - my balance is truly awful. (Apparently this is funny all over the world - Durgan especially will be glad to know that one of the guys here has dedicated himself specifically to taking the piss out of me at all available opportunities.) But yes I don't scuttle, that's a bit too shifty for me, I tend to try and follow the rule that if you stride somewhere with purpose and tell people things with confidence, then they will think you know what you are doing. It doesn't always work but I get along just fine.

Thank you to everyone who has provided a distraction or dropped me a line in the last few weeks. If I haven’t yet I promise I will get back to you. It’s really encouraging to have such a diverse array of people tell me to continue writing. I very much intend to, (thank you for reading) and I am even considering doing some actual writing (you know where I’m given a specific topic about which I have to write something opinionated and passionate.) So i’m gonna give Journalism a stab over this next little while and if I’m terrible I can always revert to Plan A and Médecins Sans Frontières.

I feel that up until this point I have rather neglected the language aspect of my trip in this blog and as after all that is the reason I am here I have a quick note to add about that now. This may be of special interest to any linguists who are reading, especially those who have not yet departed on their year abroad as I’m going to attempt to clarify the various phases that one experiences when immersing oneself in another language.

The FIRST STAGE – this comprises of much smiling and nodding of the head frantically trying to ignore the “Oh my God, they are speaking to me, I have to actually reply, think French, think French (/insert other language)” which is zooming around your frontal lobe in bright neon letters. Thankfully this stage wears off fairly quickly.

STAGE 2 – In every single country of the world there exist stupid people. These people it would seem all have the unerring ability to find the person least able to explain to them what it is they want to know. (In this case, me, the only non-French member of staff.) These people often approach you with a raised hand, a tilted head and a quizzical expression plastered across their face. This is the universal expression for ‘I have a confusing/idiotic question that you now have to try and answer.' When the approach of these people no longer strikes fear into your heart because you know you will be able to at least vaguely respond to them, then you have reached stage 2.

STAGE 3 – Pride always comes before a fall. This means that you will experience at some point a feeling of dramatic improvement. You are maybe starting to dream in the language a bit, or if you are in France you start to intersperse every other sentence with “Putin!” (Son of a bitch.) It is at this point that you may meet someone who thinks they are basically fluent but in reality is truly awful. I met this man last week; he was Australian and had spent 2 months working in a semi-french bar in Canada. He had never taken a French lesson in his life. In his eyes this experience had left him practically fluent and despite the fact no-one had any idea what he was saying or that the four French people with whom we were chatting all spoke much better English than his French, he persisted. I felt very superior recognizing that my accent sounded nothing like his and so therefore must be at least vaguely French sounding. I even corrected him a few times. It felt wonderful, I was knowledgeable and for the first time in my life I felt that if I wrote French = Fluent on my CV that I wouldn’t be lying. Stage 3 – TICK.

STAGE 4 – This is where the friends of your new French friends arrive from Nice and you spend most of the next three days in a group of 8 with absolutely no idea what is going on. Private jokes, lots of slang and nicknames, all completely over my head! Stage 3 bubble effectively burst. Even if you are lucky enough that this doesn’t happen, you suddenly reach a level where you are now good enough to hear how bad you really are. You start to hear your own mistakes as you make them and so you (obviously) try and correct them. Instead of sounding superb however you become once again the babbling idiot you were when you first arrived, repeating sentences over and over again. However this time it’s worse because when people correct you and you say ‘Oh actually I knew that’ they look at you like you are completely stupid – as if to say ‘well then why didn’t you say so?’ This is of course an excellent question. My brain can't keep up with my mouth I think is probably the best answer.

And STAGE 5 – I hope I reach this one day. This stage is bilingual bliss. And goes like this...“Swap languages sir? Why of course, absolutely no problem. What would you like to discuss? Nothing fazes me.”

On another language related note I think fits in well here, I spent a lot of my lunchtime today in utter confusion. Marie was practicing a bit of English – which normally poses no problem as she isn’t bad at all. However today she spent at least 20 minutes during lunch talking about thongs. I kept looking subtly around to see if someone was wearing a particularly vile one that could be seen clearly or if (as tragically occurs far too often everywhere in England) there was a woman who was slightly too rotund to be wearing what is effectively fortified dental floss and who was thereby inadvertently creating an unsightly overhang of hip fat. I saw nothing of the sort however.

I even at one point casually checked that I hadn’t put on one myself in case Marie was commenting on my choice; I needn’t have bothered, I was in my bikini and although I’ve been in France over 8 weeks now, I think one has to be truly European to pull out the thong bikini just for a casual dip in the pool. I must say it is a very disconcerting moment when somebody confuses you enough that you no longer know which underwear you put on that morning. After a while when she said “Laurent (her boyfriend) and I have our own special thong” I assumed that she must have been talking about her own preference for ‘strings’ as they are called here. Much as I enjoy girly sex-related chats it was a topic I found mildly inappropriate to be discussing over my lamb and beef kebabs, however, I continued to smile and nod. It was only a bit later when she starting asking about my favourite “thinger” that suddenly all became clear and I realised she had just accidentally put a “th” noise in place of an "s" and so had actually been discussing music the entire time.

This realisation made me snigger to myself for a while, which she obviously noted and I then an explanation was required. It was all very embarrassing and it is in this fashion, after launching into the amusing story of her mistake, that I managed to end up discussing thongs over lunch anyway for a good ten minutes. Rather ruined an otherwise tasty chocolate waffle I had for dessert. But such is life for a languages student I guess.

Feel I should just let everyone know that I have in no way spent the last few weeks moping about the recent change in my relationship status. Occasionally yes I admit. But I genuinely have been really busy so the lack of blog entries is entirely unrelated. I have compiled a fantastic list of songs which do not allow moping, about 30 in total. My current favourite is ‘Taylor Swift – Picture to Burn’ which provides some excellent food for thought – according to her there is nothing stopping me from going out with all of his best friends. I joke of course, but it still makes me smile. The other song I feel you should all listen to is ‘Carrie Underwood – Before he Cheats’. Although Ed at least managed not to do that, the song pleases me greatly as it is violent enough that it is impossible to listen to and feel sad at the same time. If only Ed had a car...

But my favourite piece of relationship related motivational advice actually came from none other than my not-so-little-anymore 15 year old sister who very clearly (ehum ehum) explained “You’ll never get over it, you’ll just get used to it, and then BOOM you’ll wake up one day and be moved on I said the boom loudly Meg coz when I wake up sometimes I fall out of bed” or even better “Megan, listen, no-one stays happy forever, you should just try and be a bit more like me mentally coz, basically, I don’t think love exists.” Whilst these were cracking gems of advice, not long afterwards I received a letter from her detailing an afternoon she had spent pretending to be a bluetit out of boredom. So I shall perhaps be forgiven if I don’t try and become a bit more like her mentally and thus also hopefully avoid the madhouse. Love you Soph.

In all seriousness I’m doing ok and have a super busy month coming up to keep me that way.

To give you all an idea: I finish work Tuesday, littlest sister arrives Wednesday for 5 days, Bordeaux Thursday, Paris Saturday, fly back into London Monday, straight to Plymouth to see all my Durham lot, back to London Friday to see other Durham people, Saturday my other little sister’s 18th cocktail party (makes me feel old) and then after all that just a week until I leave for Egypt to unpack, wash everything, sort my life out and repack. Aaaarrrghhh. Fun and exciting, but minorly scary.

I love you all and I shall probs put another entry up this weekend. Have too much to tell you all.
Bisous xxx

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Photos

At the beach!
I can't remember now why i was laughing, but look at how pretty the sea is behind me!!!

Animateurs contre Vacanciers.
Another night of dress up and making a fool of myself. Oh i'm gonna miss this job!

Caught unawares
Marie thinks this is funny. I wasn't posing i promise.

All dressed up.
I wanted to feel pretty. Didn't really work and my tiny, dirty mobile home isn't the ideal background but never mind!

The 3 Girls
The end of the night!

Grrrrr!
I loved this pose when i was little tooo!!! If it wasn't for the huge smile i'd be scary!

Apero!!
A nice Baileys to end a hard day's work.

Grimaces are the done thing in France!
Charlotte and I leading the world of fashion forward.

Surf again.
The board was way too big this time. Boy did i struggle getting her down the beach!

La Belle Vie
I love this - i was in such a good mood here. Toe-wigglingly happy to be at the beach when it was so pretty.