So, our weekend in Tours set out to be a fun time from the beginning. I got slightly bus sick on the way there and had to swap seats for one in the aisle.
This was our bus, I kid you not. (Soc Interurban Transport centre, of course the French swap the last two words around) I found it somewhat amusing. I am slightly upset now as I realise this was the last picture I took with my Blackberry which I miss shitloads right now. :(
We began by meeting Isy's friend Alex, who is an assistant in Tours, she showed us around the old parts (the studenty part) of the town where we met Rachel and Clara. After a nice wee drink we headed to find food and our hotel, which was fun as Clara was on crutches and French people aren't particularly mindful towards handicapped people- in fact, they make targets out of them, barging past and perhaps hoping to knock them over. When you add this to the fact that, much like Edinburgh, Tours' main streets are a bloody nightmare to negotiate due to the work on trams- ramps everywhere, completely uneven ground and everyone forced to walk in single file, you can see the difficulties. In Tours, if you want to get to two places that are just across from one another- good luck! You are forced to walk a mile (bit of an exaggeration) full circle to get to a place that is literally 3 metres away, if only you could walk through the barriers... Sigh.
Anyway, we found the hotel, got some drinks and had a nice Italian dinner. Once we returned to our hotel we played a drinking game (much like Ring of Fire, but with bits of paper in a cup- lethal).
And from that point on, my life went downhill. After so many whiskies, once we hit town- town hit me, literally. Remember how I was saying about those annoying trams? Well, I came across a ramp and pretty much flung myself down it, absolutely tearing my knee to shit. As I was more than a little tipsy, I was adamant that I was "fiiiiine, done worse before", thank god the others saw sense and dragged me into the nearest bar to clean me up- cos quite frankly I had taken quite a large chunk out of my skin. (Thanks again folks!)
You would think that that would be the worst done with, but no. After having quite a lot of fun, and unfortunately more drinks in a club- where the DJs didn't know Crystal Castles to my drunken annoyance, we got home and I found out that my purse and Blackberry were gone. To add insult to injury, I still have my absolute brick of a French phone. As Rachel wisely pointed out, there was nothing to do at that time but go to bed and worry about it in the morning, which I did... Next day, voila! I woke up to find out that some arseholes had been on my FB, and quite obviously gone through my private messages as they had targeted my ex, clearly they thought it would be fun to add yet more problems to my life. It's horrible to know that someone has looked through your extremely private messages and found all the most hurtful stuff that has happened to you, and found it extremely funny and wished to add more emotional stress. It's so spiteful, and I feel extremely violated.
Anyway, I sent my text (the title of this blog). I knew I wasn't going to see any of my stuff again. Phone contract and cards were quickly cancelled, I phoned the local police station when I got home and started to try piece everything together again. I got everything sorted... Eventually. The joy of France is that everything of importance (the bank) is closed Sunday and Monday, and the town goes into a 2 hour lock-down every lunchtime as everyone heads home for food. Can you imagine that happening in Britain?! Everyone just goes on a looooooooong lunchbreak, the French really don't have a reason to be miserable bastards, they get to go home and make a meal instead of scoffing down a Mars bar and a Lucozade in a matter of minutes before the afternoon rush. How anyone gets anything done, I don't know, if you work 9-5 your only option to go out and get your bits and pieces is on Saturday.
Now back to the knee that I fucked. By the time I got home, it was a big mess- pus everywhere! Honestly, this happened to the same leg that I had just managed to stab with a pair of scissors that very week (I was opening a box, and the box stopped but the scissors didn't). After visiting the school nurse twice (which was nice as she started asking me for English words and phrases, and was generally a pleasant person to be around), I realised it still wasn't healing much. In fact, I was hobbling around like Mad Eye Moody. I was very lucky in that the secretary of the Lycée decided to call her own doctor for me and get me an appointment, she even drove me there herself- absolute doll!
Well, visiting a doctor in France is fun. It's like going to an accountant, there were 3 card machines glowing on the desk and a cash box. He took one look at my knee, peeled off my bandage covered in pus and SNIFFED it! I know that it is the most effective way of discovering infection, but ick...
It didn't smell bad anyway, so I'm not going to die of blood poisoning and have my leg cut off like I originally imagined. It's just going to take a century for me to grow back skin.
After the intimate moment of pus sniffing, he then robbed me blind again. I know I'll get money back from MGEN after sending away the forms, but having to dish out 70 euros for medical expenses when you have no card is a complete and utter bitch! I certainly miss the NHS now.
Anyway, throughout all this. I did well not to break down and cry, I simply had to get on with things and back to preparing classes. Unfortunately that morning I had to swap classes last minute to work with a class who were studying Miley Cyrus. I was NOT in the mood for 'Party in the USA', I'm NEVER in the mood for 'Party in the USA'. I felt well and truly cursed.
In the next class we did an English Karma quiz, which just made me wonder what the fuck I'd done to deserve all this crap in one go- did I kick a baby in the face in a past life?
All was fine, until I cut my finger with a bread knife- something so little and silly, but at this point I just felt cursed and went in to a complete meltdown while finding myself a plaster. I was contemplating whether in fact I'd not only kicked a baby, but blown-up an entire maternity unit in a past life. Or perhaps I was actually Gengis Khan in a past life who, according to Loren's beloved Uberfacts, killed 11% of the world's population.
Needless to say, everything felt better after a good cry.
Now things are coming together again, my new cards are being sent, I FINALLY got a landline installed and will be getting cheap internet soon, and I can only hope that the nice man from Carphone Warehouse realises I just ran out of credit while filing my insurance claim- if not, mother can work it out.
Today I had really nice classes, if they were this sweet all the time everyone would want to teach! Honestly.
Let's hope things can continue looking up from here on.
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