Rough. I could really go a right good fry up right now…lorne sausage..beans…egg…baps. Mmh. Had a phenomenal start to my day though. Firstly Graham’s alarm for his 8am class went off at 6.30, woke me and the Goze up… I could still hear snoring from him. It went on and on. Goze came through and told him his ‘sonne’ was going crazy. Then an hour later Goze’s man friend came round, which you know I am all for…you go for it Jacqui, you are a woman in your own right, but please, please do not talk solidly in French from 7.30 am till 10 am. Not even just in French, there some urge to shout. So here I am in the library…Elephants back. On my way to uni though, I went to my usual little bakery and before I could say anything «un torsade au chocolat et un cafe au lait pour le mademoiselle» . Absolutely cheesing. Then today is the day they decided to have a chat with me, find out what I’m doing here, which on any other day would be fine. However there is a problem when I’m hungover. When I have a drink in me, I am fluent, I am a proper Frenchy in my own right; when I’m hungover however, English proves a great difficulty, never mind French. I tried, oh how I tried, but I was so bad that I couldn’t even just say English words in a French accent (genuinely works at times). I was as broad as a Glaswegian could be this morning. So everything is moving in slow motion and I’m asked how many sugars…«pardon?» he repeats in a very broad Scottish accent, rolling his ‘R’s’ into infinity. “Sugaarrrrrrrrr”.. to which I reply by putting on a proper teuchter accent “nae Suggaarrrrrrr”, rolled my ‘R’ so hard that I actually felt it in the back of my throat. What. I mean Why. I am a complete write-off hungover. Still though, I think this is a sign of being settled in. The Torsade is a dream, but I have had better ones at other bakeries, I now have a loyalty to them though…yesterday I got a wee free something or another. So loyalty has its benefits. I am also so excited to have a place where I can go for ‘my usual’. What a phenomenal prospect! 

I move tomorrow, and I am very excited. Hopefully the new place won’t have bars on the window and will have a little more natural light. In the room I;m in just now I need to stand in the middle, bend down and tilt 45 degrees to the right to tell whether it is a blue sky or not. Which 9.5 times out of 10 it is. Wikki came out good on their weather chart. I also really need to shower. I know that’s rank, but yesterday The Goze was raging at me for flooding the shower room every time I use it. But I’m sorry, there is no other option, she doesn’t have a shower curtain or anything between me and the other 2ft of the room. Also, the shower is super small so I squat when washing my hair, and water just splashes everywhere. So, now I am scared to have a shower. She has put flowers in the bath tub… I think to prevent me from using it.

Ok Goze, but you’re going to have to deal with the smell.

I’m also kind of scared to go home. Goze is a sweetheart at night, but by day…especially this week she is mental.  

Just when I was feeling right French; giving a little nod of Bonjour to my local baker (despite never actually using him) as he makes up his window display, getting used to a little siesta (which I definitely rip the piss out of by making it 2/3hrs), buying a baguette everyday and beginning to be recognised by my daily patisserie (yes, not exactly an achievement). Here I sit on the picnic table, made up a little plate of salad, Parma ham, brie and camembert. However, definitely bought chippy vinegar instead of balsamic, so that was good, and the Brie, I know it is just really mouldy cheese, but I’m not sure when it stops being a really strong taste and it’s actually out of date… I also know that the white casing round it is part of the cheese, but I just can’t make myself like it… the chippy vinegar is enough for today. And since Madame Goze lives solo, there are only a limited number of glasses and just now, they are all in the dishwasher, so I’m currently sipping my water out of an old jam jar. 

I am amazed at the courteous nature of this nations young men. I mean I am no jam doughnut but every guy I meet here goes in for the two kisses on the cheek with a ‘bonjour’ and a big smile. I met one chap, absolute lil wayne wanna be, swagging round campus, headphones blaring, smoking a joint yet when we are introduced it’s off with the headphones and a kiss on the cheek with a cheeky bonjour, interrupted by a hit to my head from his cap, which was followed with a profuse apology.  Amazed. His friend in turn did exactly the same, and it has become second nature to me now. OK so maybe it isn’t chivalry, but it’s a tradition, its European courtesy, when did Britain lose that? Did we ever have that? I swear we count as ‘Europe’. But why only the continent? We are such a reserved nation, we keep our emotions controlled and cover them up with charm, wit and awkward jokes. Two weeks I have been here, and I am now accustomed to the men opening the door for me, and letting me go first(!), who knew. It’s second nature for them to serve the girls first at the table, make sure we have drinks and that we are walked home safely each night. Being the Independent Woman that I am (Beyoncé’s protégée to be exact) I resisted the gestures at first, I tried to hold the door for myself, I fought to put my own salad on my plate, but as a friend informed me, there is no changing their customs; I am allowing myself to embrace it. God forbid I should return to Glasgow and have a gent offer me a crisp, let alone stand when I leave a table, as one Frenchy did the day previous. What a paradox to feel so violated by the way some men look and act with woman when we walk down the street to then actually recieving acts of courtesy like these. C’est bizarre. 

It’s been a good day. I am now officially registered at the University of Perpignan; I Skype’d a bezzy; oh and Madame Goze informed me that we move on Sat. Buzzed. After this announcement she felt a surge to start packing things up for the moving van. So while cussing about in French she was speeding about, taking pictures down etc. I then realise two hours later that taking the pictures down and placing leaning them in a bundle against the window was the extent off her efforts. Surprisingly really for a lady who rinse’s her dishes before putting them in the dish washer. Quite the mind-cluster when I go to put my dishes in, everything looks so clean.

She caught me the other day during my debate as to whether it was clean or not, a conclusion arrived as she insisted that I put the pot in.

It certainly wasn’t as bad as the time she caught me hand-washing, such an offence, I may as well have burnt the French flag while playing the German national anthem. Another thing I have noticed about the Goze, is that despite her illusions; she isn’t that tidy, I am forever tidying up after her, hoping she will discount the 100euros I owe for the 15[1] days of sleeping on the dreaded picnic table. No such luck. I could be using that 100euros for a massage to re-shape my spine and twist my neck back into the right position. I sit here and glare at the bed. It is my absolute Nemesis. I think that is my main problem here. My bed is always something I look forward to clambering into, after about a second of getting out of it. But here, excluding this morning, I have no urge to stay in it, in fact I can’t wait to wake up to be able to bend my knees without capping them on the devilish poles which encompass me. 

I haven’t succeeded in checking my bank accounts in some days. Which I am not too fussed about, but surely my phone bill is going to be reaching £150 and I need to pay rent. However, I haven’t been going crazy on buying lots of French fashions; there is a Quiz equivalent met with a Karen Millen. No New Look, Pri, Toppy, nut. So I’m safe in that sense, I just eat so much, so much. And after having made a few trips to the supermarket recently, it has proven cheaper to eat out each night, only problem with that is there is about as much variation in the menus here as  there are lorne sausages. It’s Italian, or Italian. And ordering an Italian dish in a French accent is not a skill I have quite mastered yet. Try it, try taglitelli bolognaise, I wonder how David Suchet would go about such a task.

It’s just a bit bizarre here to be honest. Last night I was waiting to meet some friends and as I was standing in the main square, I saw the extras from the scheme. However last night, they stole the stage. The police were just circling round the square to get rid of loiterers and someone got wide, and before you know it; two police cars, sniffer dogs, junkie down, abuse flying everywhere, crowd of spectators, and of course a pleb with pepper spray.  “C’est normal”, I’m ‘reassured’. I’m not innocent to omnipresent police or junkies, or wideos, however I’m still baffled at the pepper spray. My only encounter previous with it is when Liam Neeson gave it to his daughter in Taken, and how much use was that then? 

Rough. But what else would I do on a hung-over Sunday morning but a 5k trek to the lake?

Worth it though, pretty nice eh? It’s hitting 17 degrees here, in January. I had a barbeque on a terrace yesterday, in January. I can just wear a tee-shirt here, in January. Mental. 

My live-in land lady. Here’s a few facts.

• ·        She loves Spain, so tapas and wine everynight.
• ·        Would love a onesie, forever in her jammies.
• ·        Doesn’t speak any English, so my French is coming along.
•   Truthfully, I’m just really good at following hand movements.
• ·        Hates the French government, and doesn’t like any of the candidates running in May. Nae joy.
• ·        She shouts at the T.V, alot. Alot.
• ·        Hates French cinema.
• ·        Hates American cinema, and probably Americans.
• ·        Loves Lebanese cuisine.
• ·        Hates baroque architecture.
• ·         She just asked me something about the soup she is eating, it smells like a dream but I think I just told her that I don’t like soup. Shit.
• ·        I think one of the loveliest ladies I have ever met. I’m not sure though, the language barrier can prove to be quite deceiving.
• ·        She doesn’t leave the house after 6pm. Wise choice, Goze. 
• She also applauds people on the TV if they cook up a good dish. 
  
  
  Photo to Follow. 

For the first week here I lived in a hotel. My French is shite so I remained homeless until I received emails back from the 27 people I had emailed for accom.

Google translate is perhaps my best friend over here.

Saturday morning; I have a flat viewing, same road as the party, which transpires to be a “quatier tres risqué avec beaucoup des drogues”[i]. And again, gid yin Jenny. So I go anyway, didn’t want to be, how you say…”rude”. Fortunately there was no rendez-vous; I’d been pied.  So as I found my way back to the hotel through the schemes of Perpignan, with dog shit pathing the way, my hangover kicks in, my legs start to move so slowly they are going backwards and the elephants have a party on my head. I return to the hotel and Graham (the other from Stirling) that arrived on Friday, (Friday!) informs me that he has somewhere to live. The elephants stop for a minute while the monkeys swing in their trees and laugh at me.

I preferred the elephants.

Lucky devil. Lucky f***ing devil. The luck however turns my way, for the first time since I entered the land of baguettes; the woman whom he is renting from is buying another apartment in two weeks and I can move in with her. Yass. So off I trot to talk to Madame Goze, it is all good and until we move I sleep on a bed for camping. However I have a few problems with this bed;

• ·        It’s well heavy, nae chance you would take it camping. So we started our relationship off on a lie. Never promising.
• ·        I think she has forgotten to give me a mattress.
• ·        My usual sleeping position is not possible as the poles on either side do not allow a 6ft foetus to sleep here. So I sleep on my back. And still, somehow the covers magically end up on the ground approx. 20 minutes after I enter the bed.
• ·        I shiver for most of the night; fighting and losing every time with the covers.
• ·        I wake up with aches in places I never knew possible.

·        Still waiting on a mattress.

I seem to have too many siestas right now.