The longest goodbye

So I am back, where? At home in London. Am I happy.................................?

Hell Yeah.

Although the tears that I shed at the airport were definitely heartfelt, this emotion was superseded by relief. Relief that I can now choose my own meal times, relief that my bottom is the only one that I will be wiping from now on. Relief, just pure and utter relief!

Well that was until Lo and I went to check in.

'Your bags are 16k over, you will have to pay'. Have I mentioned that I hate Easyjet. I was broke and still had a week of entertaining my guest to do on the pound sterling and they were asking me to fork out 189 euros......there was nothing else for it, I turned on the water works and pleaded.

In between gulps of laughter that I managed to disguise as hysteria (successfully I hoped) my travel companion tried to distance herself, but no way I needed her. 'Rub my back Lo' I asked, 'I am going to open the floodgates' I warned.

To our relief five minutes later the supervisor accepted my pleas and gave me a stern warning.

Vodka bottle in hand we celebrated our departure and proceeded to the gate.

As luck would have it our flight was cancelled, hmmm I thought, best get in the queue for new tickets quick I reflected as I remembered the Christmas chaos that meant I had to stay longer in France before returning to London.

I didn't mind staying in the hotel for the night, I knew that breakfast was good and that I didn't have limited time in London, my future was and is what I now choose and I guess always has been, only thing was, would I still have problems with my baggage?

After assuring me that he would put a note on my account to say that I would not have to pay for my bags, we were shown to the reception desk at the hotel. We scored a beautiful suite and a flight the next morning, well I guess my luck isn't that bad I thought to myself.

I am not my hair

'Oh no I am not taking out my hair until the stallions leaves....I don't want to traumatise him' I remember myself saying.

What would be so traumatic? The fact that I have real hair, the fact that it is short, he met me and fell for me when I had my afro.

'ah Ife, comme tu es belle avec tes cheveaux, oui, je les préfére comme ca'

'A woman looks so much better with long hair'

So as I ponder on these comments that have been made over the past 3 months I think to myself, why have I kept this rag on my head for so long? I didn't want to start my work experience with my afro, so I re-did the front, then I thought well, lets not change it and freak people out but was I trying to fit in?

I have no problems telling people that my hair is fake as the lady at the supermarket was informed but I have been more than ready to take it out for a month now.

I am a little disappointed in myself and so as I start the long process of pulling out my matted braids, I'm ready for the looks and comments of where has your hair gone? Oh I preferred it the way it was before. Do I care? Yes, because my afro is part of me. I love weaves and extensions too and I aint no natural campaigner but at the same time, I do find it offensive when people say that they don't like my hair.

I have worked on this look and love it and I think that I forgot that..................

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_5jIt0f5Z4

The pride before the fall

Some say that it is a bad thing to be proud, but what about when you have worked so damn hard to get to where you are. There is a difference between Kanye West, whom I love despite his arrogance (it seems to work as some kind of allure to me) and me-proud. Ok Ok, at times I do border on the KW ego trip but in essence I am just proud of me.

And not enough people are, ever paid someone a compliment and they're like oh this old thing, oh I look so fat in it blah blah far king blah go and bore your therapist I only gave you a compliment?

I don't lie and if you don't look great I won't say a thing so why are people not proud enough of these minor achievement, why not just say 'Thank you, I love it too'. I know what I would say and so do my friends......'I know, don't I look fab'?

Three weeks to go and I am dying to break free, I am pulling through, making the most of my last moments here, and people ask me if I am sad, no, no I am not, this is not the end of my relationship with France, it's only the beginning if my work experience is anything to go by.

One week into working as a translator and I am loving it (please note that this has been written before feedback has been given). I was thinking that I would be bored and that the women in the office would be bitches but French women can be nice.

It is nice to be in a work environment again and taking a two-hour lunch is the icing on this tarte aux pomme.

Let's just say that my job hunt spans over more than just the UK, what do they say about the world being your oyster? Well I dunno really cos an oyster is really small, I would like to think of it as my ocean, I was scared to dive in but this week I learned that if I am careful and relaxed, I can adapt to the way the water flows enjoying everything that it has to offer.

Love love!

You have to go back to go forward.

So my stallion has gone and left me.......with a ticket to Milan in August, woopee! Go me!

I'm more excited about what is to come rather than anxious, I'm looking forward to the next few months now that I know a lambourghini drives fast when I want it to, smooth around the bend and long (cough) I mean far although it needs filling up a bit too often.

Life at the farm hasn't changed much, I try to make an effort but then I get asked what I am doing at the weekend, even though I am already spending the best part of Saturday helping out with Fred's birthday (which I am actually excited about).

I have decided to try and wander away from the chaos on Sunday, I am hoping that it is nice out, wouldn't mind taking a nap in the park. J however has other plans, shelling beans. Wow I couldn't believe she actually asked me if I was there on Sunday so that I could help her shell beans because it is just sooooo much work for one person.

Why don't you make it a bonding session with the girls, hey get the donkey and parrots involved. I thought to myself while smiling and saying sorry, I am otherwised engaged. My friend made a comment and I think it is true 'they're really trying to get their money's worth before you go'.

Well I'm going back in four weeks and counting but will I be able to move forward, in January I felt like I had some unfinished business but I guess I just wasn't letting go. I have the peace and love that was sought by another whom will always be important to me.

I also have perhaps a little too much confidence, but hey there's no way that can ever go back to go forward, it has always been.

Love love, loving.

P. S How do you tell your parents that you have bought a Lambourghini? Answers on a postcard.

30 is the new 20!

In France anyway, my host parents look better that the Stallion and I, can run farther than I can and stay up later than I do, they are way past 30.

No it's not in the bread, or the cheese, or the wine believe me, I have put it all to the test and I am still gasping for breath after five minutes on the treadmill. So what is it.

'C'est la vie', it actually is, it's all in the way that the French perceive their life, they work hard and party harder. They smoke and drink til 1am and rise up at 6am to run for an hour and a half, they prove that the body can go the distance and perhaps even further.

This is why I am thinking of staying in France, unless I can recreate this lifestyle in the UK, I don't think I will be back there for very long. This experience has been great, ok let us not exagerate, it has been good. I could have made it better but anyway what I am saying is why end it now?

I am searching for jobs in Paris, I fell in love with it around this time a year ago when 7 girls, yes 7 took the Eurostar from St Pancras to Paris Gare du Nord and spent four amazing nights in the city of romance. Without men-go figure! This was also the time that MJ died, we bumped into Bacary Sagna and I had one of my best weaves ever!

This week Fred brought tears to my eyes as he opened up a new towel his mum had bought for him, he asked me if I had one, I said 'no'and then he said that I need one and we must buy one for me. To him I am a part of the family, I'm worried about when I leave..........

Oh well, two weeks and counting!

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