David Bacon and the Three Bitches

I've been at work for two weeks now and many wonderful things have happened at work and outside of it. I'm actually writing this post in one of my schools on a staff room computer-- being a French keyboard, everything is in a different place, so if there are some bizarre errors, I apologise in advance. Spelling errors are potentially more likely since this picture just about sums up my current state (I kid you not):

For my first two weeks I have been observing classes to see how the schools teach, involve all the students and discipline. Fortunately, on the whole the students at both of the schools I am working in are very polite and enthusiastic, so hopefully I won't have too much trouble when I do start helping out properly. The teachers have a pretty much zero tolerance attitude to any chatter and misbehaviour and I think this certainly has a positive effect, since I've not encountered any really unpleasant behaviour thus far.

I've observed many different lessons-- not just English, but also French, History, Music, Spanish and PE. I think my favourite was probably History because it was about ancient writing and I got to walk around and help the students with the final task which required them to imagine that they were an ancient Egyptian scribe who was defending the value of their work to a friend. It was a great way to practice my French and to get a proper taste of teaching, and it was very closely related to a few topics I love: language, orthography (spelling) and writing.

This is an example of a papyrus with some ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics written on it. We had a papyrus to show the students so that they could see what people used before paper.

Language is something that has always interested me-- no, fasinated me. From a very young age I had some very strong opinions about language: words I do and don't like (for no particular reason really), pronunciations I don't like (which is most certainly NOT to say I am prescriptivist or pro-received-pronunciation in any way). I studied English Language as an A-level and loved learning about different accents, dialects and language varieties like Jamaican Creole and how it influences things like Hip-Hop culture and areas with high ethnic diversity such as London. I also learned about the advent of the printing press and how it revolutionised orthography and writing culture. Whilst this is a little more modern than ancient Egypt to say the least, I certainly felt that I had some expertise to offer the students who asked me questions about the role of a scribe and such-like.

In an English lesson with a Euro class I did a little presentation about French stereotypes (berets, frogs, cigarettes, garlic and the like) and a bit of pronunciation work. In France, children who choose to be in Euro classes tend to learn 2 or 3 European languages, and since it's a choice, this generally means that they're pretty enthusiastic! This class were great in fact, their pronunciation was quite good anyway, but it was great to demonstrate how English pronunciation patterns differ from French ones. As you'll see later, pronunciation can make all the difference... In fact, possibly the hardest thing for a French person to learn is the syllable stress of English. In French, there is no definite syllable stress, but if you must have one, it tends to be the final syllable (len-te-ment: slowly), whereas in English there can be multiple stressed syllables and there is no fail-safe stress pattern (mar-ma-lade, A-mer-i-can, etc...). Anyway, I can see your head is about to touch the keyboard in boredom, so we'll move on, shall we...

Je Me Présente (Presenting Myself)

For most lessons, I have been invited to introduce myself to the students at the start of the lesson, however there was one rather awkward lesson-- music in fact-- where I was not introduced in any way... The teacher was lovely, but he did just tell me to sit next to a girl near the back of the class with no explanation as to who I was (bear in mind that this was a class of twelve-year-olds) and I was gawked at unashamedly and unreservedly throughout the lesson-- they must have thought I'd seriously flunked a few years!

In the English lessons where I introduced myself, the teacher usually invited the students to ask me some questions. Of course, there was the usual 'Where are you from?', 'How old are you?', but in one class, I was asked by the same fifteen-year-old boy whether I was married (I am aware I look older than 20, but maybe I should consider a cosmetic procedure now?!) and whether I wanted children (Steady on! Not for a very long time, thank you). I was also asked all manner of whether I like Little Mix, One Direction, Justin Bieber: 'No, no, and most indubitably: no.' In fact, saying I didn't like One Direction has quite possibly ensured that one particular girl will hate me for the duration of the year, but I can live with that.

In fact asking me about celebrities is where diction comes in: you simply forget that foreign people will pronounce names very differently to you. This became very clear when one girl asked me if I liked a particularly well-known female singer. I'd asked her to repeat the name a few times because I simply had no idea who she was talking about, so she wrote it on the board: Mariah Carey. The French pronounce it something like 'marrya carry' and without any stress on the syllables. Of course, once she'd written it down it was obvious... This at least prepared me for a boy who asked me if I liked David Bacon.

Oh, David Beckham... (justr FYI, I'm indifferent.)

The incidents reminded me of a line from the cartoon 'Bartok the Magnificent' in which the rather pompous bear, Zozi, says to Bartok: 'Diction, my dear boy: it can make all the difference.' I couldn't agree more.

The Three Bitches

I realise how long this post is getting, so I'll leave you with a wonderfully offensive error I made when talking to the History teacher. It was the end of the lesson and she was asking me how I'd found the Biology class I had observed before History. It had been great, but there were three boys who had been talking constantly throughout it, much to the teacher's exasperation. I'd picked up a slang term for boy: 'gars', so I told her 'le cours s'est passé bien, mais il y avait trois gars qui ont tchatté beacoup!' Since 'gars' is short for 'garçon' (pronounced 'garr-son'), I pronounced 'gars' as 'garss' at which she looked at me and repeated in English: 'there were three bitches?'


It turns out 'bitch' in French is 'garse', pronounced 'garss', and the short term for 'boy' is in fact 'gars', but pronounced 'gahr'.

Diction, my dear boy: it can make all the difference.

The Arrival (and Several Faux-Pas) Part II

Alors... following on from my last post, when I arrived in France I met my résponsable, Mélanie who drove me to my other résponsable's house in Belgium for my first night in France. I felt very multicultural. The woman I stayed with is called Marie, and while I was there I met her partner, Aurélian, her best friend, Dave, who was staying with them, and their absolutely huge dog. I'm not sure how you spell the dog's name, but imagine the word 'hippy' being said without the 'h' in a French accent and you pretty much have it. We'll call her Ippy.

We didn't do much on that night because I was quite tired after all the travelling, but the next morning I was home alone as everyone else was at work. Cue the disaster of the day. So, I had to use the bathroom, and I soon realised the flush on the toilet wasn't turning off... Aurélian would get back at 10.30, but this was almost an hour away. I had visions of the bathroom flooding, but thankfully the water was running through the bowl, so it wasn't filling up. I took the lid off the cistern and saw that the flush mechanism was slack, which was why the flush wouldn't stop. It must have been a problem they'd had for a while, because there was a polystyrene block that the lever had clearly been stuck into, so I fiddled around with that until the water shut off. Phew.

When Aurélian got back we took Ippy for a walk, or rather, she took us for a walk. Despite being only 15 months old, she's bigger than the average labrador and at least 3 times as strong. At one point Aurélian let me hold the lead and I was almost instantly pulled off my feet as Ippy rushed towards something in the bushes...

Meeting the Teachers

In the afternoon Marie came to get me so she could show me around her school and so I could meet the teachers. It was lunch time and we ate in one of the classrooms with about 6 other female teachers all having multiple conversations and talking over each other. I could make out a few topics, but there were so many I just quietly ate my baguette (so French) and made the odd interjection. The staff were really friendly though, so I felt quite happy.

After lunch I met 'le chef', ie. the headmaster. I was a little bit nervous to meet him, since in France work relationships are very hierarchical. The French language has two forms of 'you': the familiar/friendly form 'tu' and the more respectful, distanced 'vous' which is also a plural form. Whilst you would use 'tu' amongst fellow teachers and towards a student, using 'tu' when speaking to your boss might result in a bit of friction to say the least... They will refer to you as 'tu', in general, of course. It takes a bit of getting used to, but thankfully I didn't slip up there!

Moving In

Skipping forward a bit to the most exciting part of the day... finally getting to see my house for the first time!! I could barely contain my excitement all day. I wanted to meet my housemates and settle in a bit more and explore the area. The search for a house had been long and mostly fruitless, with landlords who didn't respond to messages, houses that were much too expensive, and adverts for rooms that were still online despite the rooms no longer being available (grrrrr!). I was incredibly lucky that Marie had kindly offered to view houses on my behalf, she had been to this house the previous week and had told the landlord I'd take it, so I knew it had to be good!

We pulled into the drive and I saw a really beautiful, well-kept house. I knew the landlords lived next door, so when we rung the bell and were invited into a spacious living room and office area I presumed we were in the landlords' side of the house-- it was so smart and well furnished, with a huge TV on the wall. We talked to the landlords and then I realised that this was actually my home for the next few months-- I couldn't believe it!!

My landlords are a couple called Laurence and Philippe and I'd been emailing them over the past week asking various things about the house and moving in and that sort of thing. I'd mainly been emailing Philippe, but Laurence emailed me a bit too, which is where another error comes in... Of course, in England at least, Laurence is a boy's name, but in France it's a girl's name. Naturally, I had no idea of this at the time, and rather embarrassingly I think I referred to Laurence as 'Monsieur' a few times. I'm pretty sure that when she was introduced to me in person I more than likely looked a little surprised that she was a woman, but there you have it. They're both absolutely lovely in any case and I'm very happy to have such friendly people as my landlords.

They took me on a quick tour of the house... the huge TV is 3D (!!), the kitchen (complete with Tassimo machine) had so many utensils provided I thought it must be shared with the landlords, but no! Everything you could possibly imagine is in there! My room is great, it's nice and big with loads of storage and blue décor-- there's even a TV and a nice view of the garden. The garden itself is beautifully kept and the landlords keep chickens and doves in an enclosure at the back. I also found out that their cat had just had kittens!! Essentially, there's no better place on earth. Then there's my lovely housemates, Maud and Nathan, who are both studying at a nearby Lycée (a sort of between college and university type establishment). We're all quite busy so we don't get to see too much of each other, but we often try to cook together.

French Kissing

Not that sort, don't get too excited.

I'm not sure I'll ever quite get my head around this kissing-people-on-the-cheek-but-not-really-only-kissing-the-air-by-their-face-thing-as-a-greeting thing. When Mélanie met me at the train station, we only said hello, but when I got to Marie's she greeted us both with a kiss on each cheek which took me by surprise as I'd forgotten that the French do this. I thought it was just a thing women did to women as well so I was even more surprised when Dave and Aurélian came home and did the same thing. Ippy definitely wanted to get involved, and in fact she wouldn't leave me alone (bless). My landlords, however, didn't kiss me or Marie, but when I met Maud and Nathan for the first time, it was the first thing they did, but then we don't do it when we see each other day-to-day. Some of the teachers at work do it, but not all. Then there's the dilemma of which cheek to go for and the awkward situation where you're both going for the same side of each other's face and it doesn't quite work...

Until next time...

The Arrival (and Several Faux-Pas) Part I

I've been in France for just over a week now, so I thought this would be a good time for a new blog. As usual, you'll find several examples of me embarrassing myself and finding myself in awkward situations, and I'm sure you're more than happy to laugh at my expense, so without further ado...

La Veille (The Day Before)

For the fortnight leading up to the day I left for France I had been unbearably excited-- to the point where I could hardly sleep, in fact. I haven't been that excited for a long time! The day and night before leaving were a little strange in that they felt completely normal. I met my friend Rebekah in town as a last goodbye and we spent the afternoon sitting in cafés drinking hot chocolates with all the trimmings and saying we couldn't believe how soon it had all come round. It felt very strange not talking about the new year at uni and it's definitely strange that I'm not there at the moment. 

Despite talking about the fact I was leaving the next day, it still didn't feel real and even in the evening when I went through my packing I couldn't quite comprehend what I was about to do. I did have a momentary awakening to reality when I tested the weight of my bags however... Instead of being proactive about it at around 9pm when I first tested the weight, I told myself I'd be fine, but then at about 11.30 the notion came to me that the fact the bulging suitcase wouldn't even stay upright might indicate I should at least take out a jumper... 

This was kind of the stage it had got to...

Bon Voyage

By the time the actual day came, I didn't feel excited or scared, I simply got my stuff together with my mum and we left for the train station. My dad met us for a coffee there and we sat waiting for the platform to be announced. After saying goodbye to my parents I made my way to the platform and looked for my carriage. Thankfully a male passenger helped me lift my bags onto the train-- I'm pretty sure the suitcase was heavier than me, and my rucksack wasn't exactly a featherweight. I waited til the train started moving before I switched my mp3 on. The last time I'd switched it off it had been at the start of one of my favourite pieces of music and I thought it would make a good accompaniment to the departure. It's called 'Endless Dream' and it's a post-rock masterpiece by the Irish band 'God Is An Astronaut'. I'll put a link here:  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q4_91yAQIW0

What I love about this is how anticipatory the music is-- especially from about 30 seconds in. There's something lyrical about a lot of their music, particularly in this track and 'Golden Sky', which is from a truly magnificent album called 'Age of the Fifth Sun'. I adore post-rock, as you might have gathered, so if you have any recommendations, feel free to post them in a comment!

I got to Lille on the Eurostar from St. Pancras and had originally planned to take a taxi from Euston to St. Pancras, but since it was a sunny day and I had a fair bit of time to kill I decided to walk. The hustle and bustle of central London always puts me in the travelling mood-- not to mention the atmosphere in St. Pancras. I had brought 'The Fry Chronicles' with me, fully intending to spend a good two hours absorbed in the world of Stephen Fry, but I was feeling impatient to go and I kept having this sudden paranoia that my train was cancelled or would be hideously late. This was partly because I couldn't see my train on the screens and I spent about half an hour wondering what on earth I would do if my train didn't come. It was then I realised I was looking at the arrivals board. Silly me. 

One of my favourite places.

Although I was worrying something might go wrong just when the journey really mattered, my journey to Lille was fairly uneventful-- except for the presence of a slightly odd character on the Eurostar (there's always one). Another man helped me get my case onto the luggage rack after I nearly caused myself an injury heaving it onto the carriage. I hadn't really given the logistics of getting the case onto the carriage much thought-- especially since I'd been helped on my first train. I just got right up to the carriage door and saw the three very narrow steps onto the carriage and thought: 'Oh shite'. A small crowd began congregating behind me while I was blocking the door with my attempts at lifting the case-- no offer of help there though. 'Rather you than me' would probably sum it up. I don't blame them.

A Little Something to Leave You With

I realise that this is beginning to become quite a long post, and also that there hasn't been a particularly embarrassing incident yet, so brace yourselves-- this is a faux-pas to end all (or at least most) other faux-pas.

As I said, I was extremely excited about coming to France, especially when I finally got a house sorted (more on that in the next post). In short, I live with two French students-- one boy and one girl-- and the house is owned by a private landlord family who live next door. Naturally, I told people how excited I was about going to France: my 'responsables' (ie. the respective teachers who are in charge of me at each of the schools I am working in this year), my landlord, my housemates, a French friend I met during my search for accommodation... I don't know how many times I wrote ''Je suis très excitée' to be in France/to meet you' to each of these people before I arrived, but it wasn't until my first night in France when I stayed with one of my responsables that she decided to tell me I needed to change the way I told people I was excited, because 'excitée' is... sexual. 

Oh dear God.