Mountain out of a molehill

One of my favourite songs at university repeated these words, 'I'm Ready', it has been an interesting couple of weeks, last weekend was fun, time with the stallion and with the girls.

We two travelled to Annecy and hired a pedalo, ate icecream and enjoyed each other's company.

Sunday we and the girls took the rental car to Marseille AKA Cote Bleu, AKA bliss. I had planned on a long hike but we ended up enjoying the water and chilling out instead.

And then the weekend finished and I return to normality as it is known to my host family. Lo and I went to eat on Monday and after a heart to heart returned to our hell holes (exageration for me).

The next morning went smoothly and I was looking forward to playing with the children that afternoon. I was a little surprised to hear the children tell me that we basically meaning I would be setting up a huge trampoline and supposedly their parents were ok with it. Firstly I am not DIY and secondly, fancy asking me first!? I flat out refused and as they tried to set it up themselves and gave up I wondered what their parents were thinking.

As J came home I went for a jog, it started to rain and I returned to see them clearing up their children's mess, well that's what you get I thought as I walked past and didn't lift a finger.

The next day J decided to do the grocery shopping after about two months, she moaned as she came back that noone was there to help her unpack, oh well, I never get any help either I thought, and really it aint that difficult.

Today she is making a cake/tart for Fred to take to school, I do this all the time alone with the children and yet she cannot manage to do it, she asked for help (which she didn't need) and I didn't help until she directed it at me, she wanted me to spread the apple out on the pastry (WTF, do it yourself, I do it all the time).

Working and having children I can understand is very difficult but please stop making a mountain out of a molehill when you don't help the situation, make the children help you cos when am gone......

Reality is a five letter word.

Filling in applications has brought me crashing back to reality, what the hell do I do when I get back to London, I need to find a job and quick if I am going to keep up my lifestyle of French bread (surely you can get it imported) Rich yoghurt, cheese, fish etc etc etc.

All I know is that I want a four-day week like my host mum has, it just makes life that much better, yes I know that I don't have any kids of my own, yes I know that England is not like France, but I can't go back to five-day working weeks.

I gave my penultimate English lesson to my favourite student yesterday and as it hit me (again) that I will be leaving in six weeks I can't actually imagine my life back in England.

Will I put weight back on? Will I forget my French, will I find that yoghurt that I am addicted to and the children have finished.

Most importantly, will I keep in contact with these lovely people that I have met and really like?

Well as they say, it's not over until the fat lady sings, and I don't think she will as I can't seem to find a damn fat woman in this country.

Love, Love

Stop existing, start living

I moan I moan and I moan, I forget to tell you the good bits, like a pleasant conversation with hot host dad and a funny joke that was told at the dinner table.

I have been back from another trip, this time to Cannes, St Tropez, Monaco and Nice and time is passing very quickly, it is only a matter of weeks til I get back to England and I find myself thinking wait, you need to really make the best of this.

No matter how much I lament, I must admit that I am not a saint and have made my own mistakes during this journey, I appreciate the love that the family has shown me and will miss them.

I want to come back in December to visit my friend and to go the festival of lights.

This last weekend was interesting, we 'couch surfed' (stayed for free) in an amazing apartment in Cannes with views of the sea.

Dug our way into and out of uncomfortable situations 'you know we'll be sleeping together in 5 mins right?' Managed to watch the Grand Prix for free and took some blinding photos. I am looking forward to coming back but at the same time just take a look at what I will be leaving behind.

Are you having a bubble?

I am swinging between anger, pity and guilt.....

I have swung back to anger again, after a lovely month of April, which included a trip to Provence, that went better than I expected and my two lovely friends coming and bestowing me with a fantastic outfit and wonderous cream. I'm back to the farm.

I am tired, drained, I can't live with another family that is not my own anymore and especially a family where the mother says nothing when her child takes to wearing her au pairs clothes.

I have recently decided to give J and JP a taste of their own medicine while remaining more kind and caring to the children, the parents are not informed much of my activities anymore and do not see me during the weekend. Why? it all started a while back but the straw that broke the camel's back came last weekend when there were no buses running and I was going to visit my Polish friend who's host dad is my host dad's childhood friend.

In France nothing runs on a bank holiday so as there were no buses, I decided to bum a ride to town with J and JP as they were picking up the children from Lyon. I figured that buses would run in town. ...no they didn't.

JP asked me where I would like to be dropped off and while I thought in my head, where I am going would be nice, I said Vaise, if they were not offering, I wasn't going to ask. As I started getting out of the car J asked how I would get there (like you care) I said that I would get a cab CUE you saying oh well we will drop you off.

Minutes later I was on the phone to my friend asking for directions by foot, she passed me to her host dad who greeted me with 'hey baby, where are you' ? His Franco-Americano was funny. I described the area thinking that i would get directions but he finished off by telling me that he would be there in 15 minutes. I rang off and burst into tears, called my sister and best friend and babbled about how it just goes to show that my host parents don't care about me. He even dropped me off the next day and found it strange that JP had not dropped me off himself.

The next night I didn't eat with the family, I was still angry.

Today I am meant to be going out and buses stop running at 7pm, JP has come home early so I have told him that I will be getting the last bus as I don;t want to use their car. He asked me if I would be back in the morning and I said no, he looked put out and I asked why, he said J and he wanted to go for a jog tomorrow morning. Do I give a.............? I am sorry if I have just inconvenienced you but if you showed a little appreciation I would go back to being me (sweet as pie). Last Saturday morning I was wiping your child's arse at 7.05am as you slept . Last Saturday you dropped me off me off in the middle of nowhere and your friend came to pick me up so F YOU.

He ended the conversation by saying that we need to keep each other more informed, hmmm you think?

Rant over!

Change of Pace

The day after, yes, the day after the 8h drive back from Barcelona I was ready for another voyage.

Direction Provence, but was I ready for what was to happen next....?

The sun blessed us sending down endless hours of its delicious rays so we were free to wander the streets of Beaucaire until it went to bed. Both of us donning shorts, Giorgio's seemingly a little more risqué than my own but hey, he is Italian.

The house was a charming terraced gem with a roof-balcony-cum-terrace that had restricted but charming views (what does that mean you ask.....?)

We had four floors and two bedrooms to ourselves, a beautiful kitchen that I decided I would definitely be cooking in.

The first night we decided to go for a simple meal and returned to out humble abode settling down to 'La Vita e Bella'. Being the cheap date that I am after 2 glasses of wine I was swiftly transported to the romantic land of nod with a sturdy shoulder propping me up.

I didn't finish the film that night but that wasn't because I fell asleep.

Barcelona, a volcano, four girls (what happened to the other two?), a rental car and a GPS. (Part 3: Road Trip)

As unrest grew in terminal 2 of Barcelona airport, I came up with the idea of renting a car, we had two capable drivers (hmm, my skills have been doubted and the other driver is American).

Ok first tried Hertz, no cars! Ok Europcar= 1500eur to hire a car because they would have to collect it and bring it back from France. Ooooooooooooooooh ISH!

This wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought and my bright idea seemed to be dimming with every new ray of sun the catalan clouds decided to permit through…now that we were meant to be leaving might I add.

Avis were not open and…“there are some other rentals outside," said a lady who had just dropped off a rental car and tip, "if someone brings back a car from France, it will be cheaper.” Thanks for the heads up lady I thought, two of us dashed outside and the hunt began, for almost an hour we went from rental to rental searching for a French car. Found one for over 400 eur, hmm, we can do better than that I thought as more cars arrived.

You see the whole of Europe was in turmoil and the most popular means of transport was a car. There were some important conferences happening in Barca that weekend so there was bound to be some cars coming in…. Cue lovely lady at Europcar, British too from Sussex but very much with an east London accent. She sorted us a nice 7-seater for the same price as a 5- seater meaning we could split the costs even further. Ok so we had found the car, now we just had to find people crazy enough to want to hop into the car with us. Ok crazy couple found. After 4 hours, half a cup of coffee some haribos and no sleep, we were finally on our way back to France. But nothing is ever as simple as it sounds, especially in Spanish and especially when you don’t like GPS’ and you don’t understand a word of Spanish. Well I really undertood the word Sangria the night before.

A trip to who knows where, direction Stiges???? and a return to the airport and finally we were on our way. The other two girls who were flying to London had decided to wait and see what they could do about their flights rather than go through the trouble of getting to Calais or Paris.

So here we were with an 8 hour drive in front of us, and the Pyrenees mountains either side of us although we were exhausted, we could all appreciate the beauty.

Our co- passengers were quite chatty and after a while I did want some silence, I was literally sleeping with my eyes open and they were disturbing that, I should have been thankful as they were a very lovely couple who lived in Paris with their two children.

We dropped them off in Narbonne, a beautiful French city on the French/Spanish border. We took some pictures on the bridge and bumped into the couple again at the McD toilets where we took a group photo and finally made our way back to Lyon, pitt stop Arles to drop off my Polish friend.

Lyon at 8pm and we were finally there, finally……we just had to fill up. As we turned in to fill up, we blew out sighs of relief as we really couldn’t believe that today had actually happened.

Lo got out to fill up but it was not working, she went to speak to the cashier who told her that she was at the pump for cards only. As she jumped back into the car started to reverse, I realised that the pump was still in the car, too late as I saw the petrol cover fly off the car (that’s going to be expensive I thought, who’s card is it on?).

I looked over at Lo, who looked like she was about to crumble, this long day was about to take it’s first victim. I looked at her, my other friend and laughed, well I didn’t want to cry, which was the other option. I couldn't stop and as they joined in I thanked God that we were safe, poor but safe.

We fixed it and filled up the petrol (fingers crossed no one needs to fill up for a while) and we should get away with it, as we drove off the cashier looked at us, I looked back thinking you don’t know the ‘alf of it mate.

Things I would have added or should

Anxious host dad and 50 calls

1 text from my host mum

Panicked host dad who wanted to take car

Barcelona, a volcano, four girls (what happened to the other two?), a rental car and a GPS. (Part 2)

Our last night and we ended up at a club walking distance from our apartment, after that is trekking about 2km to find a restaurant that was open at 1am and then to the suggested club. I think we had gotten way too comfortable with the Spanish way of life as our siesta’s were getting longer but our gait got stronger the later on it got.

‘Mojito’ was literally grinding with latin flavour and as everyone paired off to whine unnaturally close to their dancing partner, I was picked up by a rather friendly 40-year old looking, 5ft Venezulean. Ok do not and I repeat do not judge a book by it’s cover as he moved me all over that sweaty dancefloor, I actually began to acquire an appreciation for the latin style of dance, it was fun twirling around moving your hips (almost breaking them).

We decided to leave the club around 3am, take a cab at 5 to the airport as our flight was scheduled to leave at 7.55am. No rest for us, we’re young and hey we would be able to sleep all day once we reach our desired (or undesired) destinations.

It all started going downhill when the taxi we had organised earlier didn’t arrive, so we called two others, just then our taxis decided to arrive (got to love the Spanish for time keeping). Dilema, the new taxis wanted dinero and we were getting late for our flight. Taxis paid and finally we were at the airport, smiles all round as the trip had been successful. Check-in opened soon and…..

FLIGHT CANCELLED due to volcano ash from Iceland. (where the F is Iceland)

I liked Barcelona but I really wasn’t prepared to spend anymore money, we needed to get out and get out quick, train, bus, hitchhiking, anyone here own a donkey? It would fit right in on the farm I promise! As we all considered our options ( a flight in Europe was not one of them) we wondered, should we really have gone out that late.

Hell Yeah!