— 8 Jul 2018, 11:37 by Maison Claire Fontaine
Well, ‘cher lecteur’, a bit of a first. For reasons that will become clear later on, I am actually starting the famous French Trip Blog in the coach on the way down; my perennial fear of having no interesting way of making a 10+ hour journey worth reading has once again been allayed, and it is all down to two simple words: Lucy Newman. Mrs Connelly and Mrs Forshaw are known quantities and are wonderfully predictably in their own lovable way, but young Lucy from the Pre-Prep volunteered to come along as an entirely new concept, so the Blog couldn’t wait to see what she would add to proceedings.
We made an uneventful start leaving Lockers but soon the ‘adult’ conversation at the front of the coach hinted at what was to come and the perils of taking three ladies for colleagues. There was a long debate (which I did NOT participate in) about the correct way to hang a loo roll. After Lucy exhausted all avenues of interest that loo paper positioning could possibly offer, she then showed us all a picture of a dog in an England football shirt saying (and I quote) ‘This Is My Dog Yesterday’. I use capitals to convey the ambiguity, as I thought she meant that her dog was called ‘Yesterday’, which I thought rather odd, but it turns out that it was a picture of her dog that she took yesterday. Eventually the penny dropped that the humour was in the fact that the dog was wearing an England shirt, but this was wasted on me as I was reeling from the actual name of the dog, which turned out to be ‘Pansy’; well, each to their own.
After a quick coffee break in the Folkestone terminal, Mrs N got her hands on the Sunday Times Travel Section and spent 15 minutes trying to work out why the cruise holidays being advertised didn’t involve flying. Yes, you read this correctly. Keeley hinted that the clue was rather in the word ‘cruise’ but every few minutes I heard a ‘but I thought you had to fly’. This will be a long week.
But going back to the football motif (cf aforementioned dog/shirt), this has been a significant part of the focus of conversation, when interest in loo paper has run out. It hasn’t been helped by a certain boy, whom I will anonymously refer to as ‘Howard’, arrived wearing a Croatian football shirt. That ghastly red and white square combo. I nearly didn’t take him. Anyway, it turns out that Mrs C and N are massive fans and won’t cope if we don’t find a way of watching the semi-finals on Wednesday, which will be interesting as I don’t think they have much signal at the MCF, watch this space. We may be able to distract Lucy N with the full page picture of Deli Alli that the Times had on the front page, she is quite smitten.
On we trudged through France and stopped for lunch. Mrs F was complaining of an upset stomach and I was about take an interest when I spotted my favourite raspberry tarts (see previous blogs) so left her to fend for herself while I tucked in gleefully. By the way, congratulations to two boys. Firstly, one nameless boy (brother of Sam and Kit) who descended from the bus looking very sad, whimpering ‘I don’t have my lunch’. I felt badly for Josh - sorry, I mean, for the young nameless boy - and asked why not, fearing that a neglectful mother had forgotten to pack it. No. He had eaten it. The conversation went along the lines of:
CP: You can’t have eaten all of it, what did you have?
JL: Oh, just Maoams. (the popular sweet they all like, apparently)
CP: Seriously, that is all?
JL: Yes.
CP: That can’t be possible.
JL: And a yoghurt.
CP: That’s it?
JL: Yes. Oh, and sausage.
CP: Nothing else at all?
JL: No. Except sandwiches.
CP: So a full packed lunch after all, then?
JL: Yes.
CP: And you have eaten the whole lot?
JL: Um…, maybe…
Sympathy levels were lowish, but my attention was soon taken elsewhere after lunch when we were clearing up the tables. The boys were actually remarkably good about not leaving litter, just their bags and Tupperware instead. One boy, name associated with Queen, rhymes with ‘Bing’, left a full container of delicious looking melon and grapes,. I asked him why he left it and he replied ‘It is absolutely full of bugs’. Fearing that if I opened it, something from that movie The Swarm might emerge, causing an apocalyptic nightmare of flesh consuming insects, I carefully removed the lid. Nothing. I searched through the fruit and quizzically looked at said child. He triumphantly pointed at a tiny pinpoint of blackness and exclaimed ‘There!’ Well, he had a point. It might have been a living entity, then again, it might have been a grape seed. In all events, he was refusing to eat it so I happily chomped through it for him, waste not want not. Thank you, Mrs Princeling. (carefully protecting boy’s identity)
But what, you ask, has any of this got to do with why I am writing the blog on the coach? I decided the time had come to put on a DVD and, putting the boys first, selected ‘The Incredibles’ as le movie de choix. Mrs N (backed up by Mrs F and Mrs C, whom I am rapidly going off) squawked that she wanted to watch The Greatest Showman – which she had brought with her. Thinking, cleverly, that the boys would rather eat their own toenails that watch this unspeakable tosh, I put it to the vote. To my horror, it was a 50/50 split, so am now searching for any excuse to do anything other than watch what must be one of the most stupid films ever made.
Despite a couple of nasty traffic jams, we have safely arrived. After a quick stretching of legs, we organised the boys’ electrics to be removed from the coach for re-charging and all food – as warned many times – for destruction. I particularly admired the iron constitution of the boy, or perhaps the motives of his mother, who asked ‘What about the food we brought for the trip home?’ as he pulled out a ready-made salad, that presumably was going to sit in his hot and sticky backpack for a week. Also, well done the mother who interpreted ‘Enough for one packed lunch, no more’ as meaning enough sweets and cake to feed a coachload for a month.
Mrs Newman has just informed me that in her past life she was a top level professional golfer who played in British and US Open just a few years ago. I stand in awe, and will treat her with much greater respect (for at least a few hours).
Thank you to the mother who has already texted to ask if we have arrived safely. We have. Any private texts cannot be guaranteed a sensible answer, by the way.
That’s if for today, good night and à demain.
Not a cloud in the sky, it is 7 am, the boys are still sound asleep and all is well in the world. The boys (according to Mrs N, C, F on our WhatsApp group) were not too horrendous last night, so nothing can possibly go wrong.
There are a few rules in life that you learn from experience; never go to Waitrose when you are hungry, never go to Asda when – oh, that’s it -, never go to bed on an argument and never pack your suitcase based on the weather outside the window. I have been reliably informed that cold weather and/or rain is forecast later in the week and I have packed nothing but T-shirts and shorts. We will see.
Now, to your Comments. Firstly, thrilled indeed to be greeted by four different mothers. Keep them coming! Intrigued by the idea of getting the boys to write something down. Clearly this is a mother who has little experience of French Trips; pound to a penny that if I gave the boys pen and paper and an assignment, there would be a mutiny. But their spoken contributions will be noted, for example last night there was this little beauty of a verbal exchange between an older boy who had been rather pesky in dorms last night and Mrs Newman:
Boy: Mrs Newman, why on earth would you want to teach Year 2s?
Mrs N: Because they are cute.
Boy: But aren’t we cute?
History doesn’t relate to her answer, but only the most loving and optimistic mother in the world would have assented to the lad in question. Perhaps he would be cute on the radio. Enough said.
By the way, Keeley just told me that she didn’t think yesterday’s blog was any good, even though I was working on pretty thin base material, and I welcome any Comments that put her right on this, please. For heaven’s sake, a couple of thousand words a day don’t write themselves, while all she did was sort out all the money, put the boys to bed, assist with chasing boys for medication and watch the boys during break in the evening. Anyone can do that. And she won’t stop bloody humming Madness songs. If I hear the chorus of ‘It must be love’ again, I will go mad. A verse or two would be nice, but it is like the record has got stuck in a groove. And she is way too young to know about Madness or record grooves. I remember when Baggy Trousers was a hit and my sister actually had the single that she listened to on her little pink record player in her bedroom. Those were the days. I was into Tony Blackburn’s Junior Choice at the weekends at the time. I only just discovered a couple of months ago that ‘Arnold The Dog’ not only wasn’t actually in the studio with him at the time but never even existed at all. I feel so betrayed. Mind you, I was well into my teens when I realised that there wasn’t actually a man in every London tube station saying ‘Mind the Gap’ all day every time a train came in.
Before I forget, there is a small mid-sentence appendage to yesterday’s blog (bit of a typo), a Green Slip to the first eagle-eyed mother who spots it.
Anyway, back to Keeley. She has just given the game away, when I was quoting yesterday’s blog and the Case of the Disappearing Bugs, she looked especially blank. Turns out she never read the blog in the first place. Anyway, just now I was explaining how the expression ‘a parting shot’ is a bastardisation of ‘a Parthian Shot’ (having noted its correct usage in the book I am reading – Steps to the Gallows by Edwards Marston, available at all good bookshops) and half way through the riveting explanation, citing historical references and etymological derivatives, she simply got up and announced: ‘I’m not listening to any more of this boring c**p,’ and ambled calmly outside while I was mid-sentence. I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
My disappointment has rather been alleviated by a certain anonymous Year 6 boy (of Croatian extraction). This morning, it was not so easy to sit and relax watching the boys on the swings before breakfast as they were covered in dew (the chairs, not the boys) and it was far too early in the day for damp shorts. However, said boy thought it would be really funny to try and wind me up.
FH: I’m going to annoy you by sitting down on that chair next to you.
CP: Fine, go ahead.
FH: I will, then you’ll be sorry as I will irritate you.
CP: Do it then.
FH: Okay, I will. You’ll be sorry.
CP: What are you waiting for?
FH: Nothing, I will sit down then.
(boy sits down)
CP: You have a wet bottom now.
FH: I hate you. (storms off)
So job done, I have a nice dry chair to sit on and enjoy my coffee.
The morning and afternoon activities are a ‘divide and conquer’ number. This morning, the Years 4 and 5, with a select bunch from Year 6, are holding the fort while doing various French activities and the archery, while the others are off to the circus à la Nellie Le Eléphant. They will swap after lunch. Not a great deal to report at this point. Harry R won the first archery session. Jason and someone else won the second session. I tried to find out who won the last two after lunch but no one seemed to know. But I’m sure no one really cares. More crucially, at least 6 boys threatened to hurl themselves into the river (well, it is a small stream and I am making it all up anyway) when they discovered that the MCF ‘tuck shop’ is now the MCF ‘shop’ with no sweets on sale except the souvenir sort which will be labelled with the boy’s name and returned to take home on Friday night. If it wasn’t so swelteringly hot, I might feel sorry for them.
Well, I have just had some brilliant news; veterans of this blog will know how little I like heading off to the circus after lunch. It is a trek away in the coach and inside a ‘big top’ that can be quite warm and stuffy and all there is to do is watch the children (hardly what I come to France to do) and take an interest (ditto). Previously I have fobbed off the matron (anyone remember Valda??) but last year Noreen was having none of it and manhandled me on to the bus with her sturdy Yorkshire resolve. I did shout ‘Mercy!’ but it was a poor choice of vocabulary as it coincided with her only word of French. This year, I cleverly made sure that Lucy, being a newbie, went for the morning stint, praying hard that she would like it so much, she would want to return after lunch, freeing me up for a second session of sunbathing, snoozing and reading. Happily, this plan has worked a charm – despite the pathetic attempts of Keeley and Jane to change her mind.
Not sure which photos will appear on the blog as there have been some complications. Mrs Kelsey (see Comment by ‘Lorna’ below), I have taken some of Finn that may appear at some point. To dissuade other parents adopting the same tactic of shamelessly pushing their child ahead of the others, I will eat the pudding of any boy from now on whose mother makes this request.
Actually, I have been working hard on the diet front so far. Just salads at meal time and I made sure that the half packet of Pringles that was confiscated on arrival was destroyed. Well, I didn’t like to waste them and wanted to make sure that they weren’t there to tempt me all week, so in fact I ate them, which is sort of the same thing as destroying them. ‘You can only eat them once’ is what my Mum always says.
Today is the gift that keeps on giving. I am mulling over buying some ‘Beats Headphones’ that might still be 50% off at the local hypermarket, for the trip home, especially if The Direst Showman makes another appearance. Jamie C has a pair with him so I thought I would try them. He kindly ran to get them, but he said he also needed his ipad to make them work and Mrs Forshaw had it stowed away. At this point, Mrs Forshaw was doing the first aid, so when I went in and asked for Jamie’s ipad, she mumbled, in quite a fluster, that Jamie would have to wait his turn. A bit perplexed, I bit my lip and waiting patiently. Finally she swung round and looked at Jamie and asked in a most concerned way what had happened to his eye. Jamie and I were both baffled at this. After some blank looks and head scratching, we realised that Jane thought we needed an eye pad. Actually, I am missing a part out; she had already spotted a week-old scar on his leg that had completely healed and had started to treat this, thinking we meant an eye pad for his knee. Don’t start me.
As for who was good at circus skills, if your son’s first name starts with an ‘A’ then he was very good at it. No kidding. Angus, Alex, Aryan, Alfonso, all were excellent. Nick was superb too, apparently, but his name ruins the pattern so we aren’t going to recognise him. I think he might have been one of the archery winners too, now I think of it, but we don’t want any boy getting too big for his boots. Sorry, Nick. Haven’t forgiven you for beating me at chess. Regularly.
OMG, just heard the news about Boris Johnson resigning. Just to show you how it all happens on the French Trip, scroll down to Day 5 of 2016 blog (http://www.maisonclairefontaine.com/maison-claire-fontaine-blog/lockers-park-school-2016/) I suspect a coup, but being of the Baha’i faith and strictly apolitical, will look an as a disinterested observer. (Not ‘uninterested’, that is totally different. There was a big row about the subtle but important distinction in a staff meeting in 2001 and I haven’t got over it. The head of English was an ass. Thank heavens I am not one to harbour a grudge.)
Boys looking quite exhausted by supper. Certainly, they did not shine in the jigsaw competition after the evening meal. The top times of all the other schools are emblazoned on the wall and I fear it will take a considerable bribe to leave our time off it, it was embarrassing. There are two schools of thought for jigsaws. I was brought up always to do the outside first and work it out from there. Alternatively, one can group together the various colours and divide up the labour to work on different selected areas. Then there is the Lockers Park approach, which is to search for one random piece and not stop until it is found. One group of four actually had two parts of the puzzle going, but they were upside down to each other and they simply didn’t care. The staff team obviously won – not bad as only Lucy and Jane were doing it as Keeley and I were off running an errand and returned just at the end.
The eventual winners of the jigsaw I will announce tomorrow, as at current rate of progress I doubt anyone will finish until the early hours, anyway.
Drum roll, winners of the jigsaw competition were Nick (wot? again?), Jason and Josh. I gather everyone else had fallen asleep by the end. Still, a triumph for Year 5, youth winning out against experience.
Had a ridiculous number of coffees this morning – have been trying to limit it to one a day max for months now – and am feeling it badly. As my nerves jangled, I annoyed Keeley enough for her to punch me on the arm and everyone applauded, can you believe it. I beat a retreat and spent the morning taking photos. If you want to know how I feel, click this link and watch to the end.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGtKGX8B9hU
Speaking of photos, please be patient; Alex of MCF fame is doing her best under difficult technical circumstances (nothing to do with Lockers).
My adorable sister has been at it again with the Comments. She does this every trip but this time she really has gone too far. I am – amazingly – speechless. All I can say is that however old I am, Clare will always be older. She has been nothing but trouble since childhood with her kindness, honesty and patience, I never stood a chance. She did once irreparably damage two keys on the family piano and this marked the happiest day of my childhood, being the only time she was ever told off.
Boys have been either making an apple clafoutis this morning or playing games in the field. They weren’t competitive at all. We will taste and judge the puddings once they have been cooked. If previous experience is anything to go by, it is not something I will be looking forward to. I will pretend I am a mother and smile beautifully, extolling each one’s virtues while inwardly wishing I was doing something more enjoyable, like watching The Greatest Showman.
The weather is now decidedly chilly and I refer you to my much earlier comments regarding my wardrobe. I have dug out one long sleeved top which is far too thick, so I can choose between feeling two extremes of temperature.
Okay, you can totally disregard that last paragraph (not sure why I haven’t deleted it but then it would make this sentence irrelevant, where would it end?) because the weather perked up and off we tootled off for the kayak, the perennial highlight of the trip. Oh my word, you have no idea how much fun it was. There was some initial disappointment when Lucy and Jane (Jacy for short? Lune? Loony?) announced that they were not to be splashed under any circumstance – though I discovered later that some schools ban all splashing, can you believe it, what is the point of even living if you can’t drench small boys like drowned rats during a kayak? It was superb though. The boys, like every year, decided that sitting in the middle of the current, cruising gentle with the current, was for the birds and instead zigzagged, bouncing from rive gauche to rive droite, making friends with all the local riparian flora and fauna. Many thanks to boys who unwittingly towed me down the river. At one point I grabbed the handle at the back of J and L’s boat and listened happily to their unladylike argument as to why they weren’t going straight and had suddenly slowed down, while I spent 10 joyful minutes with my feet up. As ever, any boy who came too near to your beloved scribe got a soaking, and credit to them all for putting up resistance. One boy who won’t be named (rhymes with Pam) got me square in the ear and I still can’t hear properly out of it. I’m not saying I’m litigious, but I don’t know what I did to deserve it.
Credit it where it is due, Sam and Alfonso were first back, with yours truly in second place, clutching his ear in terrible agony. Now, the real aficionados of this blog will know that I keep secret the hidden shower back at the kayak centre. Rather like the Planning Department in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, it is down a dark corridor guarded by wolves and always worth keeping its existence quiet from colleagues. This year, the cunning French put a ‘Douche Hors Service’ sign on it (Out of Order, in case you were wondering) but this didn’t fool me for a second; sure enough it was working fine and their feeble attempts to put me off failed just like the football team will ultimately come unstuck in the footie. Speaking of which, in case you are wondering, boys may watch the first half of the France/Belgium game tonight and the whole thing tomorrow; we have moved the restaurant night to Thursday. C’est Venant Domicile, would be how not to translate ‘It’s Coming Home’.
Meals are superb, by the way (staff ones, no idea about the boys’ obv). I am still on the salads (Sue, you would be so proud) and chef is going out of his way for me. Had a smoked salmon salad last night and colleagues’ eyes bulged with jealousy ce soir with my prawn salad. Just judged the apple clafoutis. Best Presentation went to Roman’s group, Taste to Barnaby’s team and Effort to JK and co.. I would get up to find out who was in these groups, but sorry, my ear hurts. You know whom to blame.
À propos of nothing, we have just realised just how amazing Mrs F is at impersonations; no one is safe especially colleagues and boys – obviously never of parents, that would be unprofessional – quite hilarious.
I am aware that there are issues about making Comments on the blog and have already talked about the photos. Bear with me.
Okay, sending the blog to MCF now, will let you know about the footie etc. in the morning.
I was precipitous in sending off last night’s blog (although you are reading it today, but I wrote this bit last night, if that makes sense). I missed telling you who won the Boules Tournament – a third of the boys were watching the France-Belgium match, but the champion of the other 66.6% was Louis, well done! There was another rather more bizarre incident involving a loose tooth, blood-red face paint, a football and a fingertip search, but it might put you off your food so will keep that one to myself. Perhaps Mrs Sims/Mr Erskine-Naylor could give this as a basis for a creative writing assignment, imagining what actually happened?
I am writing this during half term of the France-Belgium match with the French MCF female staff. Being the ‘paying customer’ it is amazing the levels of obnoxiousness one can reach before the French ladies’ patience starts to crack. I have, for example, pointed out how nice it is that the 3rd/4thplace final will fall on Bastille Day, their national holiday. That got a dagger glare. Or ‘ce n’est pas important qui gagne, l’important c’est la participation’. That went down a bomb too.
Okay, so France won. Good job too, as young Estelle and Pauline were about to lose the plot. After France scored, I tried gambits like ‘No one ever scores equalisers in extra time in the World Cup’, ‘No one could lose from here’, etc. Malcolm was chortling away, thank heavens. But now we know how the French lost Agincourt; no sense of humour. Off to bed.
And now up parce que c’est le morning. Very grey day, but no rain forecast, inshallah. Will be better for the boys to have a cooler day.
Apologies if I wasn’t making it clear in earlier blogs that there are technical issues surrounding the photo situation. MCF own two sites and Alex is currently residing at the other one so has no access to my camera nor the SD card so is unable to upload/download photos. It really isn’t my fault, or as Lorca put it,
Que yo no tengo la culpa, que la culpa es de la tierra
y de ese olor que te sale de los pechos y las trenzas
Anyway, I will try and email some today to her and hopefully that will do the trick, I think they will go on Twitter. Don’t ask about Dropbox; you all know perfectly well that you will count up how many I have taken of each boy, draw up a bar chart and give me beans. That said, I am wide-awake to the fact that you will now be wondering why I chose the photos that I did for emailing to Alex. The reply is that I sent many, many photos and that she chose the ones she wanted, thereby passing the buck safely to a source that you cannot attack and relieving myself of all responsibility. Oh, change of plan, Alex has just popped in and will take some photos and use those instead. Anyway, surely you should be enjoying a child-free week and concentrating on important things like the football. Speaking of the football, I think I will apologise to Estelle, I might have gone too far last night, and she might exact revenge during the England game. There is a young Scottish girl working here call Beth, student at Durham Uni, where all the best teachers come from, who is a typical Scotch, supports only Scotland and anyone playing England, who is planning to back Croatia tonight, so we might be ‘accidentally’ leaving someone behind at Vézelay today .
Went for a lovely run in the woods this morning. I didn’t get very far as I am old and fat (Keeley just wrote this, I turned my back for a minute, but will keep it in because she will sulk.) Well, I actually, I didn’t get very far, but at least I didn’t fall over like last time (read 2016 blog of pain) and fortunately I didn’t got lost in the middle of the forest with a group of boys like I did one year when I was super fit. Would have been all right but the birds ate the trail of breadcrumbs.
So, just returned from Vézelay, home of the Basilica which boasts one of Mary Magdalene’s 36 fingers or suchlike. I was afraid there would be little for the blog. More cafés and shops are closed, it will be a ghost town in a few years. The boys trudged up, reluctantly doing the annual questionnaire. The girls and I left them to it (under MCF supervision) and headed off to a café. I ordered a croquet-monsieur – having checked and double checked that no one else wanted anything to eat. This rather delicious plate of food arrived at which point, predictably, all three ladies decided they had changed their minds and piled in before I could say ‘Non, c’est à moi!’, kindly leaving me a small mouthful by the time they had devoured it all.
But the fun really kicked off when we met at the bottom of the hill, ostensibly to do a headcount and get ready for the coach, but it suddenly occurred to me to check what the boys had bought. They all knew that no sweets are allowed at the MCF, but it didn’t stop them buying bonbons by the bucket load and looked surprised and crestfallen when told that they were going straight underneath the coach (the sweets, not the boys) to be returned back at Lockers. Here are some examples of their optimism and charm:
1. One boy offered me a delicious macaroon – very kindly, at which point the boy next to him offered me the stone of a cherry that he had just eaten. Thanks.
2. Several boys bought huge bags of cherries, for €4 each, inexplicably, as there is nowhere to store them all.
3. Great credit goes to Alfonso who spent his entire €30 on a giraffe made from recycled metal to take home as a family present – it is brilliant! Los señores de Vicente Moreno, you must be very excited, and I hope you will be clearing a special space on your mantelpiece for this beautiful object.
4. The best one though is the boy, having only half a bag of sweets – still a lot, but less than most – who asked if the ‘food in the coach’ rule applied to him too. After a moment of reflection, as we were walking back to the coach at the time, I said he could either eat the whole lot in one mouthful right there and then or wait until we were back in England to reclaim them. Obviously he went for Option A but when he realised how many sweets were actually involved his initial enthusiasm waned a tad and he tried to ‘kindly’ offer some to MCF staff, but I stuck to my guns and stated that generosity was strictly forbidden. Credit to him, he wolfed down the whole lot in seconds, his sole comment being ‘I thought they might last a bit longer’. That will teach him for getting water in my ear. Oh, just discovered he also blew €15 on a small bar of nougat! At that price, I hope it is the best nougat ever made.
After lunch it was the brand new paintballing / orienteering activity. As I was reeling from yet another caffeine overload, I decided, to get some exercise, to join a group for the orienteering, which essentially involved accompanying seven boys getting totally lost trying to find checkpoints, holding the map upside down, etc., until in a spirit of total unfairness (I wanted to be on the winning team), I grabbed the map and led the way. As the two other groups were in close proximity, the crucial thing was to keep quiet when you found a checkpoint as they were hidden. One boy on our team (name connected with a cartoon cat and the Latin for ‘happy’) was so excited, he yelled ‘Found it!’ at every opportunity, followed by ‘Sorry!’ and then 10 minutes later, ’Found the next one!’ and so on. I just loved the enthusiasm. The paintballing was greatly enjoyed, though tactically we are missing perhaps the flair of Monty and the cunning of Napoleon at Lockers. In the end, huge credit to Olu and George though, who mounted a classic ‘distract and outflank’ move to ensure victory.
Boys are having early showers in readiness for the game tonight. We had better win because I have been winding up the French staff all day and won’t be able to handle the humiliation of defeat. Some boys actually don’t want to watch it so we are going to lock them in a cupboard. Any feeble excuse like, ‘I’m not even British’ will not be tolerated.
OMG, suddenly this trip has become the Best Trip Ever. While I went paintballing, I left my mobile phone in the ‘safe’ keeping of my colleagues. I don’t know how they got through the password security, but somehow just now when I went to the photos app, I noticed to my horror that they have added a dozen or so ‘selfies’ of them pulling the most horrific faces. Real shockers. Clearly they didn’t think this through in advance though, and must have forgotten that there is a staff WhatsApp group, created to share match results on game days for Mr Taylor to use to update the Twitter feed, but can also be used for vengeful Heads of French for get their own back on the feeble pranks played by people who should know better and be offering support to their group leaders instead of setting a bad example. Hopefully 20 or 30 LP staff members will be enjoying some interesting caricature photos in the next hour or so.
Football has gone to extra time, I am going to bed, I can’t cope.
Monsieur le Soleil is back today and it is a welcome return. Yours truly actually got a miraculous 8 hours’ kip and at 7.30 am as I pen this morning entry, the boys are all sound asleep.
In the end during extra time I chatted to Mark (owner of MCF) and Malcolm away from the Big Match. Mark and I started sharing our sporting ups and downs and both agreed that after ’86 ‘Hand of God’, the ’90 crushing defeat at Murrayfield, the ’92 Cricket World Cup defeat to Pakistan, and then the penalty shoot out in ’96, one had no choice but to toughen one’s sinews and just stop caring. The trouble is that by tempering oneself against the pain of defeat, one loses the thrills of victory – perhaps what it is like to be a Man City fan? In the end, we just don’t become sufficiently invested to worry. I suppose the goal is a Buddhist-like detachment, but that is a whole different world. At least the boys went to bed quietly, and there is a whole ‘After the Lord Mayor’s Show’ feel here this morning, but it was a god-awful show at that.
By the way, I notice the parents’ Comments have ceased altogether, I hope you are still enjoying the blog, or am I screaming into the void? It seems that Twitter is the place to see the photos now, by the way.
This is a very sober start to the blog. On the plus side, I am wearing the mums’ favourite ‘short shorts’, so something else for you all to be sad about missing, not just your sons.
Just popped outside for pre-breakfast break duty and sat with Keeley. We were enjoying a pleasant chat about everything and nothing, and then Lucy sat down clutching, you won’t believe this, brace yourselves, a copy of Heat magazine. I presumed she had confiscated it or had found it in a bin, but it turns out that she actually reads it. But it got worse; the two gals then started minutely discussing episodes of ‘TOWIE’, Love Island and Big Brother. Lucy actually showed me a photo of two people she presumed I knew/had heard of/cared about and asked me what I thought. I am now back inside, suffice it to say.
I needn’t have bothered trying to escape as they soon followed me in for le petit déjeuner. On the plus side, no more talk about who was snogging whom, but instead they talked about the merits of, you won’t believe this one either, fonts. Not the sort you get baptised in of course, that would be asking too much, but instead the sort you type with. After an initial mild disagreement about the pros and cons of Comic Sans, it began to get quite heated. It wasn’t long before Lucy actually smashed a glass yoghurt pot and threatened Keeley to disrespect Segoe Script just one more time and see what would happen. Keeley was not backing down from supporting her beloved Lucida Handwriting and had already surreptitiously secreted a breadknife behind her back when suddenly, showing the wisdom of her years, Jane distracted them both by wondering who would win imaginary wrestling bouts between colleagues back at school. That soon risked developing into a whole new mother of all rows in itself before we unanimously agreed that in any combination of combatants, Mrs Whitehead would rule supreme – with one withering stare. Poor Malcolm, he just sat there in a daze of disbelief, confusion and fear.
While they are playing on the swings, waiting for the first activity, let me brief you about the day ahead; the main event is the Posh Meal Out. Great excitement here as we are, drum roll, going to a new restaurant – ditching the Old Favourite since it changed hands and went downhill. We have been advised that the new one is even posher so am beside myself with anticipation. I am upset to hear that there is no longer an ‘all you can eat’ pudding choice but am reliably informed that the starter buffet is a ‘fill your boots’ job, so will make sure I nibble nothing more than a lettuce leaf à midi.
So this morning the boys divided into two groups; one was doing the usual mosaic making – make sure you clear yet another space on your mantelpieces. The others were doing something in a classroom which ended with a surprise request for me to come and judge a plasticine snail-making competition. Obviously judging the artistic and anatomical merits of plasticine snails is the first thing they teach you when doing a PGCE. I gave the highest mark to Alfonso’s group of Year 7s. Louis’ group made two snails and said they were twins, but I penalised them as they were different sizes so not real twins at all, I felt misled. Another group of Year 6s had nothing at all and after the final whistle one boy just quickly rolled a plasticine ball (which was ironic as that was the boy’s surname) and they all looked crestfallen when I awarded just un point.
The highlight of the morning, and this will really get some of you worried, was a boy who came up to us with a sore leg (this isn’t the point of the story, be patient). We got him to put his foot up on a chair and gave him an ice pack. While he sat with the four of us, the conversation moved hither and thither. A bit of ‘would you rather…?’ of course, and some random bits and bobs. Somehow, we moved on to female accoutrements and the boy’s eyes lit up. He quickly regaled us with his own mother’s special relationship with her handbag. Now, we weren’t nosey at all, and weren’t in the least bit interested nor asked about a million follow up questions. Credit to him, he was not the slightest bit shy about giving further anecdotal proof of the mater’s attachment to said sac à main. Naturally, I was suggesting pranks like switching it with a fake and then going crazy with paint and sharp instruments. Or hiding it and replacing it with an Asda bag and pretending he couldn’t see the difference. Or implying that a passing relative had stolen it and seeing how quickly she would run to check. Now, if any of these things do happen to you, you will never be able to prove it was my idea, as I reckon there must be a dozen minimum among you who can’t live without their Gucci so it could purely be a coincidence. Will you ever sleep easily again?
It is now after lunch, the boys have gone out for the forest walk, an abbreviated affair this year apparently and to be honest, I am ducking out of it. I think I have caught the sun and I want to catch up on a bit of reading in the shade. I pinched my current book out of the school library when Mrs Sims wasn’t watching and should probably smuggle it back in when I return. No one likes to be in the way of an angry Michelle.
Boys snazzed up amazingly for the meal; one boy donned his very smart suit and waistcoat. Another two had bow ties. I liked the Hawaiian shirt / black tie combo, although opinion was divided over the ubiquitous trainers. The food was excellent; don’t ask how much I ate, it is a secret!
Last day. No more Comments on the blog so apart from my devoted mother, I don’t know if I am writing this to myself, but it is keeping me sane. We teachers are all in stinking moods this morning. For myriad reasons, none of us slept well. Mrs F is livid with the boy who did noisy aerobics but Keeley and I think it’s hilarious. I stayed up for hours separating two dozen diabolo sticks whose cords had become entangled beyond hope and the girls just laughed at me for wasting my time. Keeley is just plain grumpy but has done up her hair and looks like a unicorn so she is the object of much mick-taking. A sort of reverse version Racine’s Andromaque, in which each character is the giver and recipient of unrequited love, none of us has any sympathy with each other’s angst. Oh, I take it back, Lucy has bounced in as fresh as a spring daisy.
The gals and I were just discussing the boys and a sudden thought just occurred to me. During a recent trip (ie in last 10 years) we had an extra prize so thought we would give it to the boy who had been the least bother. By the time we had eliminated the noisy, the messy, the forgetful, the over-needy, etc. there was one boy left, whose name escapes me. We played the same ‘game’ this morning and actually, the list was absurdly long. A stream of names of boys who have been just a constant joy from start to end. That said, still the market trip and Go-Ape left, so I might be speaking too soon.
Just returned from the market and the boys are busy assembling their wares. They had the idea of a lunch built entirely round sweets and were rather gutted when we placed the entire sweet stall (and it did look good!) out of bounds. Glad to see that no one has bought carrots to slice (the knives are blunt for h&s reasons) and there are no obvious horrors, though perhaps water melon and waffles in a tad unusual. One or two groups have bought cucumbers, for which there is only recipe; slice finely, sprinkle with salt and pepper and then chuck the entirety into the bin because it is disgusting. I have a similar recipe for celery. A couple of tables have purchased candles and a flower to decorate the table, I do hope they aren’t planning on eating them. Oh, and I have spotted at least three French flags as tablecloths, gosh, that is a first. Boys had to give a spoken introduction to their meal in French. One or two wonderful solecisms; clearly one group was about to eat plastic and another some fresh mice. Yummy! The girls bought for the staff table some ‘mushroom crisps’. They were, literally, inedible. Turns out they had to be rehydrated and then cooked. Now the three ladies are blaming each other; I am just happy that finally something isn’t my fault. After the meal, while still at the table, Lucy started singing hymns from her wedding. ‘Shine, Jesus, Shine’ and ‘One more step’ are now going in a loop and I feel like I have died and gone to heaven. Sadly heaven turns out to be a strange hell filled with squeaky angels. Sorry, Lucy.
Tree Adventure was its usual success, though it is now time to go home. Boys tiring fast and some interesting aromas wafting through the coach… Best trip ever? Quite possibly – all possibly the last trip ever, but only time will tell.
Parents often assume that colleagues are paid extra to go on school trips, or consider it a ‘free holiday’ for us. Neither assumption could be further from the truth and with this in mind, I am sure the ladies would appreciate it if the boys could manage a tiny thank you on our return, it would make the week feel worthwhile!
