Five go to Normandy (and then there were 4!) France on a one-way ticket?
In keeping with my What’s The Deal With Lycee and using 1980s American Teen speak, I thought this might be a handy heads up (stop with the 80s Teen talk!) for any of those trying to make sense of the French schooling system. Continue reading “What’s The Deal With The Brevet?”
Yeah this one is full on generalisation and quite frankly I don’t care. It’s not politically correct at all. Which, lets face it, the world’s politicians aren’t actually a shining example of how one should conduct themselves. My little evaluation is hardly going to scratch the surface of inappropriateness. This is just for fun. So please, if you are a Frenchie or Brit reading this it does not,obviously, apply to all. It’s just my little observations. It’s tongue in cheek and comes with a tickle your fancy disclaimer. Strap in. Continue reading “Top 5: French Men V British Men”
Okay, the other day I posted a picture of the empty road as we made our way up to the coast. It was a Bank Holiday here in France – the first of many in May and the kids were off. We took two with us and left one at home. We had a nice wander at a Vide Grenier/ Brocante in Beauchamp before heading on up the coast to Saint-Pair-Sur-Mer.
Another facebook friend of mine had taken a picture of her location (much further south in France) and remarked at the lack of traffic. Being highly original and thinking “oh yeah!” no traffic on a Bank Holiday I did the same. Another facebook friend jokingly remarked “how on earth will you manage?!”. I replied that I did still miss Chinese/Indian take-aways and this got me thinking about my smug post on very little traffic. Continue reading “Top 5 Things I Miss From The UK”
I often beat myself up for not being fluent after being here for nearly 2 years. Only the other week I left my French lesson feeling totally demoralised. I frequently come away internally wailing to myself “how am I ever going to be fluent?” It’s not like I don’t try really hard. I do lots to improve my French and you can read all about it here. After I confided to a fellow lesson goer that I’m not really enjoying the lessons, he replied very matter of fact “You’re not meant to enjoy them! No one enjoys them!” Continue reading “Top 5: Why You Should Speak Bad French”
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…for many things, not least for inflicting my pronunciation on your beautiful language. Daily. For my headlights. Even though they are the proper ones and the car did pass its CT (mot). I know they are blinding you every time I drive in the morning. I am flashed (and not in a good way) to let me know of that fact. I mean I can even see the owls at night they are that high. I’m getting it sorted but in the meantime, here are my Top Five things I’m sorry about.. Continue reading “Dear French Person…I’m Sorry…”
Where was I? If you haven’t read about how I came about my 2nd degree burns you can read about it here. So having pierced one of the blisters (with a sterile needle) the night of the fireworks and shoving a plaster over it – I went to bed and managed to get some sleep. The next morning, as instructed by all and sundry, I made my way to our local A&E (urgence) straight from the school run with the words “sepsis” ringing in my ears. Better to be safe than sorry. Right? Continue reading “The One With Second Degree Burns Part II”
So I have Je me suis brûlée les doigts or J’ai brûlée mes doigts but never, I have been reliably informed, Je me suis brûlée mes doigts. I’m pretty sure I used a mixture of the two and yes, I kind of understand why you would say, “the fingers” when you’ve already said it’s happened to you as in Je me suis. But ultimately, when I held my fingers up heavily bandaged, this transcended any grammatical errors. That and saying it was hot sugar to which the clever Frenchies proclaimed “caramélisé?!”. Prior to that it hadn’t occurred to me to give boiling hot sugar its correct term. They stopped short of calling me an Fffing idiot. Continue reading “The One With Second Degree Burns – Part I”
It’s the school holidays here. One of the big carrots for Master Normandy II to move here was double the half term holidays. Well more or less. This one is two weeks not one, Christmas is more or less the same give or take a few extra days. The February one – yarp that’s two weeks and, oh my days the April one is three weeks and not two! Although they don’t get the week in June off like the UK. Swings and roundabouts but watch out here comes the swing again – a whopping 8 weeks off over summer not 6 weeks. Okay the days are longer but pound for pound, franc for franc, euro for euro this ain’t too shabby. Continue reading “The Angry Elf At The Déchetterie”
I had you at the title didn’t I? I think this can certainly apply to both men and women and all ages so listen up if you don’t want to be labelled the ‘fat anglais(e)” in the village. Okay so if you are planning a move to France you’ll probably think, like many before you, that the weight if you’re carrying a few extra pounds (who isn’t right?) will just fly off.
You will come to that assumption based on all the ‘running around’ you’ll be doing prior to the move and after. I always find this expression quite farcical it’s normally banded about after you’ve had a baby. People say “the weight will soon fly off what with all that running around after the baby”. Sorry what? Please show me a new mum that ran anywhere after giving birth and specifically after a baby that can’t move for the first 8 months. I digress. Continue reading “How Not To Get Fat In France”
Now, I was initially going to write this post about the British ‘ex-pats’ in Normandy and all that goes with that. However, following on from multiple tales of burglaries and the like in this region, I feel this post has a great deal of relevance and is more than just blogging fodder.
Now with all my posts I feel I need to put a disclaimer that this is meant to be a bit light-hearted (albeit true) and it is only my experience. You may have had none of what I am about to mention and great stuff if that’s the case. However, I feel I would be doing others a disservice if I did not mention the unsavoury element of living somewhere new and in particular, here in Normandy. Once again, strap in. Continue reading “The Wild West Of Normandy”
