A hobo no more...
So, this girl is no longer homeless, & is now just another annoying English ladee strutting around in the south of France, complete with poor french, a slightly dodgy accent & an inability to cross the road without looking like a complete tourist (sometimes its best to just close your eyes & run, traffic lights may well have been an Anglophone invention since there seems to be a reluctance here to pay attention to them & they are always treated with disdain).
So yes! A home! I like having a home! By pure coincidence I am living with a fellow Mancunian till september & a French guy. There is enough evidence to suggest he might be scared of the English invasion that he has been subjected to since he is literally never there, but on the few occasions I have seen him he is always shirtless & once he was even cleaning the bathroom. So maybe I shouldn't complain yet. Plus, Dave (the Irish Mancunian) is my coffee slave, which makes getting up in the mornings a bit easier.
I feel much happier to have a home, but I still like it when my phone rings. This appears to happen at the most random times, such as when I am in the "World Food" aisle in Carrefour (which, to my amusement includes custard, yorkshire pudding mix & HP sauce) & when I've just got out of the sea (which usually renders the caller grumpy & quiet, seeing I gather the English summer isn't up to much).
Speaking of which, I was warned of an incoming storm on Saturday. At the time, I had just got out of the sea after a morning swim (spot a pattern here) & could see nothing other than a small white fluffy thing that was loitering off in the direction of Italy. I was slightly concerned about this, but thought nothing more of it until yesterday I looked out of the window at work & registered that the sky was no longer blue, & had gone a funny colour that I vaguely recalled as being 'grey'. Shocked, I stopped work & marvelled at a brief spell of thunder & lightening. When I left 30 minutes later the pavement had already dried up again. Scorchio!
As you may have registered by my talk of Carrefour, there have been no more trips to St Tropez or any of the like. The weekend usually means farniente to me, so I take myself off to a beach or something. It just seems like the logical thing to do. On sunday I went off to Cap d'Ail (it doesn't smell of garlic like the name indicates) which was rather nice, although after getting used to the beaches in Nice I was shocked to discover that the sand was actually rather annoying.
I also managed to open a french bank account, which is only worth mentioning seeing as uni put the fear of God into you about it, & offer all kinds of unnecessary advice. As it was, it was fairly unremarkable & Mr Bankman was very nice, although my english ears were amused by the question "Vous êtes célibataire?" even though its a very normal question to be asked in French, & the "mais vous êtes brune!" which followed the confirmation of my nationality, which I took to be a rhetorical question since I am quite obviously a brunette, yet this apparently conflicts with my Britishness somehow.
French people.
I suppose I'll get used to it all eventually...
xXx
So yes! A home! I like having a home! By pure coincidence I am living with a fellow Mancunian till september & a French guy. There is enough evidence to suggest he might be scared of the English invasion that he has been subjected to since he is literally never there, but on the few occasions I have seen him he is always shirtless & once he was even cleaning the bathroom. So maybe I shouldn't complain yet. Plus, Dave (the Irish Mancunian) is my coffee slave, which makes getting up in the mornings a bit easier.
I feel much happier to have a home, but I still like it when my phone rings. This appears to happen at the most random times, such as when I am in the "World Food" aisle in Carrefour (which, to my amusement includes custard, yorkshire pudding mix & HP sauce) & when I've just got out of the sea (which usually renders the caller grumpy & quiet, seeing I gather the English summer isn't up to much).
Speaking of which, I was warned of an incoming storm on Saturday. At the time, I had just got out of the sea after a morning swim (spot a pattern here) & could see nothing other than a small white fluffy thing that was loitering off in the direction of Italy. I was slightly concerned about this, but thought nothing more of it until yesterday I looked out of the window at work & registered that the sky was no longer blue, & had gone a funny colour that I vaguely recalled as being 'grey'. Shocked, I stopped work & marvelled at a brief spell of thunder & lightening. When I left 30 minutes later the pavement had already dried up again. Scorchio!
As you may have registered by my talk of Carrefour, there have been no more trips to St Tropez or any of the like. The weekend usually means farniente to me, so I take myself off to a beach or something. It just seems like the logical thing to do. On sunday I went off to Cap d'Ail (it doesn't smell of garlic like the name indicates) which was rather nice, although after getting used to the beaches in Nice I was shocked to discover that the sand was actually rather annoying.
I also managed to open a french bank account, which is only worth mentioning seeing as uni put the fear of God into you about it, & offer all kinds of unnecessary advice. As it was, it was fairly unremarkable & Mr Bankman was very nice, although my english ears were amused by the question "Vous êtes célibataire?" even though its a very normal question to be asked in French, & the "mais vous êtes brune!" which followed the confirmation of my nationality, which I took to be a rhetorical question since I am quite obviously a brunette, yet this apparently conflicts with my Britishness somehow.
French people.
I suppose I'll get used to it all eventually...
xXx