Like the big greedy bugger I am, I went straight to the food without mentioning that we'd been given plenty demonstration by the Americans what Thanksgiving was about:
Pilgrims and Indians obviously!
After absolutely stuffing our faces, we of course went around the room and said what we were thankful for, I'd say everyone pretty much had the same things to say- family, the opportunity we have at the moment to explore other cultures and the fact we have each other. Bar me, who after my week of hell said I was thankful that my knee was healing and that I'd lost nothing that couldn't be replaced. It's not remotely that I'm not thankful for all the first things, but I'm thankful for them every day- it's amazing how lucky I am to have so many awesome people around me all the time, I'm never alone and it's blooming great! There's absolutely no way I would have survived without the other assistants- especially on my Tours trip, that's for certain. Hence why I'm thankful I lost things that could be replaced- cards and mobiles are, the people in your life aren't. As for my knee- it's the typical 'time heals all wounds' thing, it's just easier to see when it's physical. I'm quite frankly still marvelling at the human body's ability to heal so quickly, one minute my knee is a disgusting mess, next there's only slight bruising- magic!
Anyway, much food was had, many pictures taken and I had great fun. Thanksgiving is a great holiday and I was pleased the Americans shared it with us, quite frankly they're troopers managing to get through such a big family holiday being miles away from home, so I hope it cheered them a bit.
The week following this, my parents arrived so I went off to meet them in Paris. I was more than prepared to hear a lot of complaining, but I was mostly expecting it from mother- due to the sever lack of veggie food. Hence it was funny when it was dad that was the least impressed- no English speaking channels on the TV, despite being a meat eater he wasn't particularly taken with the food and he and mother pretty much needed a pee-stop everywhere, which is apparently hard to find in Paris where every train toilet was out of order. The parents had booked in at an hotel some miles out of the centre, so we had fun hopping on the train and then trying to figure out where we were exactly when we got off in the centre. Dad and I were prepared to carry on down the road when mother called out "Is that building supposed to look like the Arc de Triomphe?" Needless to say it wasn't 'a building', first landmark spotted and now we could identify where the hell we were. We stopped for a quick, expensive lunch in a café where we had the pleasure of meeting Rosetta the teacup-sized Yorkshire terrier who was sitting at the table next to us and acting up as only a baby can, yapping and nipping at her owner- she was absolutely adorable. We lost our Yorkie a couple of years ago, and since have pined for every single one that has walked by us since, the little buggers just have so much character! And in Paris, there were Yorkies EVERYWHERE! The temptation to smuggle one into a bag was constant.
After finally tearing ourselves away from Rosetta, we got on a tour bus so as to see as much in one day as possible.
My parents.
Mother and I and bloody great big soldier!
Really wanted to see Esmerelda...
Instead, saw Santa.
It was great fun, but as the light started to dim, the chill started to set in as did stress as I wanted to get the train back at 6.40 and it was 5.30. Seems like a lot of time, but Paris is HUGE and trying to make your way across it can be hellish. Needless to say, I missed my train. This wouldn't have been dreadful, if the next one wasn't at 6.30am. I had work that day, so yes, I was up at 4.30am, running across Paris like a mad woman to get on that train. How great I felt for putting all that effort in when I discovered that some of my classes had been cancelled that day anyway (just nobody thought to tell me) and i was so blooming tired that I just left my one remaining class to make posters while I flopped at a desk trying my best not to shut my eyes and drift off. Knackered!
Eventually my parents arrived in Isengard. Trying to get them a taxi from the train station to mine proved to be absolutely hopeless however. Ask a Frenchie in Issoudun if there are any good taxis, and they simply laugh at you. And no wonder, every single number I phone: "n'est pas possible". As I walked to meet my parents, many empty taxis went past me but all with red lights, one even stopped outside the bakery, got out and came back with a baguette- absolute pisstaker!
After much grumbling, we got back to my flat having walked it with all their luggage. The grumbling didn't stop there, my TV didn't work, my water was too hard, calcium build-ups everywhere.. I was prepared for a week of hell, but within a matter of days, I'd had things fixed, cleaned and cooked for me- blooming marvellous! My dad had fixed everything up in a matter of minutes where the French janitor had faffed for about an hour then shook his head and mumbled about coming back later, to never return again.
As my working week finished (where I'd had to correct some boys and explain why Theo Walcott is not a famous football 'streaker' but a 'striker' and explain why I was giggling), mother and I decided we wanted to go to Disneyland. Absolutely childish it may seem but the pair of us were excited as hell. And so we should have been!
Our hotel was decorated for Christmas!
The park was full of festive displays and parades such as a Goofy Santa.
The moment of absolute joy for me came when we were outside having lunch and hot chocolate when fake snow started fall down and the song 'It feels like Christmas' from the Muppet Christmas Carol played by a brass band came loudly across the speakers in the park. I pretty much squealed and bounced like a typical childish girly girl. I was definitely in the festive spirit! I absolutely loved my time in Disneyland, it was great watching the little kids getting hyper and dressing up. The only thing we could possibly complain about was our dinner, decidedly 'gourmet' meals are not for us. We've had disappointment after disappointment where gourmet food is concerned, and this was no exception. Mother and I didn't expect much for us veggies, but even dad was disgusted. While we were served the driest, blandest pasta mixed with very little cooked vegetables, no sauce, dad was served a plate of barely cooked zander fish- it stank to high heaven and was still slightly grey in the middle, along with a vegetable we didn't then recognise, the French's beloved endives. Well, endives taste like earwax quite frankly, hence why I don't believe them to be that popular in Britain, thank god! After picking away through our meal, we were relieved to be served a cheese course... Or so we thought, before us sat what I believe to be some of the unpasteurised cheese that the French also bewilderingly love, the reason why us Brits tend to avoid it I can only guess is because it stinks like horse piss and tastes like it perhaps was milked from a horse, or a pig... all the farm bar the cow quite frankly. Well, we returned to our hotel room, slightly green, washing our hands repeatedly and trying to get the lingering stench out of our nostrils before heading back to the park to see the festive lights in all their glory, and to find something nicer to munch on.
Despite our hideous meal, everything else was fantastic. I was even delighted to meet Jack Skellington, what a dude! He totally checked me out.
See! Sally who?
I did NOT want to leave, I loved it there and quite frankly, the thought of going back to work when you feel so festive is a complete comedown. At least for the most part I just got to play Christmas themed games with the kids such as a competition to see who can make the most words out of 'Christmas tree', it got surprisingly competitive! And I played Christmas themed Pictionary with the younger ones, which just about became a bloodbath as they got even more competitive and high as hell on sweets. I was disappointed to find out that some of the kids didn't know what an elf was, even in French... They shall never know the joy of Buddy the Elf.
Anyway, my last week in Issoudun was ace, we watched Xmas films, went to the Xmas market and drank even MORE mulled wine while I got sucked into buying crepes for everyone as my students were running a stall there, and on the last night we got together and had a Secret Santa, made our own paper hats and an Xmas roast. It was fab. :)
Everything was great. But I had to travel back up to Scotland- yayyy Scotland! BOOOOO travel! The 4.30am start wasn't the hard thing, nor was negotiating Paris, the hell began at Charles de Gaulle airport. I was sent here, there and everywhere by clueless workers, met many more exasperated travellers in wrong queues, LONG queues, flights had been cancelled to some areas and it was basically just chaos. As the time of my flight got closer and closer, I came closer and closer to tears and wanted to just throw myself down in a childish strop on the airport floor and scream that nobody knew how to do their jobs. Eventually, a tired, hungry, haughty me found myself in the right place and with the right people- they were cheery and managed to have me smiling again in a matter of seconds.
One trouble done. On to the next one.
Eventually got to Birmingham where my flight was delayed by an hour so I was stressed that I wouldn't make my connecting flight at Aberdeen. But we made it in time.
From Aberdeen- simple. Got home. No luggage at Kirkwall Airport. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-
I'd barely eaten, I was tired as hell as I'd been up since 3.30am British time and I was just not amused. My luggage still hasn't arrived. But thank buggery I'm home now. Reunited with British food, all English speakers and my kitty! Absolutely delighted. And the best thing was seeing my little cousins yesterday, all chuffed to get their Minnie ears from Disneyland. :)
Now if only I can get out of the annoying habit of waking up at 9am... ><
Now if only I can get out of the annoying habit of waking up at 9am... ><
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