Kindly Stop Before I Punch You Repeatedly in the Face

 
Ever considered punching a child in the face. I would never, ever do it but I can’t say I haven’t thought about it. 

Before you think, how could you even think of punching a helpless child, let’s look at the facts.

I’m trying my very hardest to drill even a smidge of English into at least one French child’s brain and there’s this little twit faced tosser, preventing me from getting anywhere close to that goal. I don’t have a short temper but this child really pushes me over the edge, he may be just a child but hell is just a sauna.

Every week; he talks over me, mocks my accent, mocks my attempts at speaking French, mimics me like a stupid little parrot, fidgets, throws things across the room, hits other children, ignores me time and time again and I hate him. Yes, yes hate is a strong word but I can honestly say, I absolutely detest every inch of this infuriating being.

Children have this remarkable ability to absorb information that you don’t want them to and when you actually want to teach them something it goes in one ear and out the other. I’ve heard this demon child, in perfect English, at the top of his lungs shout, “What the fuck?” And this phrase is not something I incorporate into my lessons. His pronunciation is perfect, even his accent sounds great but trying to squeeze the phrase,“I live in France” out of him is like trying to resuscitate a rock. After repeating the phrase four times, he stares blankly and says, “eeei lev France” then looks unbelievably pleased with himself, when the other children laugh profusely at his failed attempt. I on the other hand am not laughing. In fact, I’m holding back the urge to knock the mindless miscreant out.

I’d probably be behind bars immediately if I let this scenario unfold but there’s times when I question if jail is really that bad. My own bed, three meals a day and the complete and utter satisfaction of knowing, I would never have to see or hear the stupid incubus of aggravation again.

Despite this, I don’t think jail is for me. So, I compose myself and calmly tell him he is terrible at English and not a very nice person. Of course, he doesn’t care and is more interested in jamming his finger so far up his nose that he can probably feel his brain…if he even has one.

Le Mistral Really Blows 

 

“It’s a little bit windy today isn’t it?” Hadn’t noticed to be honest, I think to myself as I remove some leaves, a crisp wrapper and a small, stunned child from my knotted hair. 

The violent northwest wind that viciously appears unannounced, or ‘Le Mistral’ as it’s known here, really is unpredictable to say the least. It can be perfectly calm one day, then the next there’s people taking off like Mary Poppins left, right and centre and dog walkers, looking as though they’ve been at a children’s party and pinched one of the animal balloons. 

I actually don’t think I’d mind if it was a nice warm breeze but it’s sharp, bitter and icy; the kind that cuts you in two. I leave the house to get my daily baguette and woooosh, I watch as my legs trot off into the distance, “No worries! You go on ahead, I’ll just get you there!” 

Don’t get me wrong it has it’s funny side too. I like chuckling at people getting struck by signs and grannies getting dragged off into the distance by their shopping trolleys as much as the next person but seen as I have no car here and shamefully also own one of these shopping trolleys, I can’t really laugh. In fact, more often than not, it’s me battling furiously through the gusts with my two wheeled friend. 

And as suddenly as the wind appears, it leaves again as if it were never here. But I know it was here because once again, I have to call on my landlord to fetch the ladders so we can get the 80 year old from number 10 down off my roof. “Don’t worry Gloria, help is on the way.”

Thank You Mum

 

As it’s Mother’s Day today, I’d just like to take a moment to say thank you to my mum. 

Thank you Mum, for scraping my hair up on top of my head as a child, so I looked like a human pineapple. 

Thank you for outing how disgusting my room is whenever we have guests. 

Thank you for pointing out every grammatical error I make on social media.

Thank you for trying to force me to be a flower every Halloween and still maintaining to this day that I would look great with a tutu round my face.

Thank you for taking all my cosmetic items away from me in high school, after finding me paralytic in a field. 

Thank you for photographing me, everytime I try to eat an extremely chocolatey dessert.

Thank you, for frisbeeing coasters at my head when you’re drunk.

Thank you for using my bras as hats. 

But also thank you for, wiping away my tears when other girls were horrible to me.

Thank you for plaiting my hair at 11 at night, when I appeared looking hopefully with a hairbrush and two bobbles.

Thank you for being the photographer in my ‘photo shoots’ before a night out.

Thank you for helping me solve any problem I’ve ever faced.

Thank you for laughing at me when I’m silly.

Thank you for being silly with me.

Thank you for my blue eyes.

And thank you, for being my best friend.