— 6 Jul 2015, 15:19 by Maison Claire Fontaine
Dear Reader, I feel a heavy sense of responsibility writing this blog to provide some sort of witty diversion following the host of amusing anecdotes I was able to provide in preceding years, based loosely on true facts, or at least apocryphal ones. However, I regret so far an 11 hour journey has offered nothing humorous whatsoever, quite the reverse. I was going to create a fictitious motif involving Stanislav, the eccentric Polish refugee, but quite frankly my mood isn’t up to it.
For example, last night I decided to cunningly divide my three suitcases up into sections, so one bag for passports, EHICs and forms, one for clothes and one for everything else. Of course, once one has started down this line there is no room for compromise, the plan must be adhered to. So the very expensive lightweight waterproof top was shifted to the appropriate case for stowing underneath the coach. Not to worry, methinks, because I wouldn’t need it for the trip down. The gods quickly decided to punish my presumption and bang on cue as we drove up to the terminal, the heavens opened and I was left to defend myself with a particularly natty Ralph Lauren blazer and a Panama hat from Lock & Co of St James. Words like ‘rat’ and ‘drowned’ could be bandied around liberally, along with ‘irritated’ and ‘severely’ by the time we finally got going.
By 10 am, one boy had polished off his entire lunch, and moaned he was hungry for the rest of the journey. I mention that as an aside. When we did actually stop at midday, I headed off to the restaurant for some sustenance, leaving the boys to eat their picnics outside. Being vaguely professional, I didn’t think they should be unsupervised. That said, I didn’t actually supervise them myself nor appoint anyone else to do so. It was more of an abstract thought, I suppose, imagining life in an ideal world. As it turned out, Mr Iqbal ‘volunteered’ to sit with them. As he is celebrating Ramadan, there was no need for him to come and join us inside so quite rightly he did the decent thing instead. This is a working trip after all, and colleagues should jolly well pull their weight.
With my wife’s ringing tones bashing my ears from across the waters, I knew that she would want me to have a healthy meal, avoiding the usual weight issues with the cuisine française, so had no fewer than two fruit portions; one tarte à la fraise (a beautiful custard filled tart with a small strawberry on top) and the same again straight after, this time with a raspberry garnish. 30 satisfied minutes later, I emerged to survey the usual mess the boys leave behind at the picnic site only to see an immaculate array of tables and benches. I was so impressed and praised the boys accordingly. Then someone muttered that Mr Iqbal had made them clean up everything, but he denied this.
So obviously someone was lying.
I told the boys in no uncertain terms that I wanted to know whether or not they had been made to tidy up or whether they had naturally left no mess of their own accord. A furious debate broke out and in the end I decided by definition, since there was no unanimous agreement, that there was dishonesty involved. As a punishment, I made them sit in silence until they owned up as to who was responsible for leaving the place so tidy.
This of course made us late in departing, so my mood deteriorated further. To cheer myself up, I started the Review Section of the Sunday Telegraph. Out of interest, can anyone confirm that Ng4 is the answer to the chess competition? Money to be won on this. Then ignoring the host of boys who only 20 minutes after leaving the service station said they were desperate for the loo, I attacked the Sudoku. After just 5 minutes, I was already half way through and confident of feeling pretty smug soon after. However, it was a fiendish thing and gradually it felt like swimming in increasingly thick glue. As the destination approached, I asked Malcolm to drive slower and slower to give me time, finally creating a false ‘loo stop’ to give me a few more extra minutes but to no avail. It was perhaps a little selfish that I didn’t let any boy off the coach at this stage, and now I think of it, Guy and Keeley were both addressing me quite heatedly about bursting bladders, but I was trying to concentrate and, to be honestly blunt, they were putting me off.
The arrival at MCF was marked by 10 minutes of appalling singing of ‘All hail to the bus driver’ as we approached and then the extraordinarily rapid exit from the coach of at least half a dozen boys, all clutching themselves in a most inappropriate manner. I tried to call them back to ask them what the infernal rush was (how rude, after all), but they were gone. I will speak to them later. To their credit, they remerged calmly only a few minutes later, so I may forgive and forget their indiscretion.
So we have just had the obligatory fire practice. The MCF staff talked me through what I would have to do if the alarm goes in the night. I am rather hoping that there isn’t a fire because I wasn’t listening to a word, still mulling over the exhausting trip down. Except I was intrigued by what they said regarding what sets the alarm off: ‘Just two things’ (I am quoting verbatim) ‘excessive aerosol spray and pressing the alarm button.’ So not smoke or flames, then. Sounds rubbish to me.
About to tuck into supper. Overall, not the most auspicious start. I look forward to catching up with the grexit referendum. Everyone is missing the main point of the story, which is how can a European language have ‘nai’ to mean ‘yes’. A ridiculous linguist infelicitude and I have no sympathy.
On that note, I will leave you to it.
Not the best night’s sleep. At some ghastly hour, the local youth population of Méluzien (total: 4), came home from an evening’s carousing and decided to start an explosive argument right outside my window. I think it was three males and a shrieking girl. I lay there in bed seething, working out what exactly I should say to them. I was working on the lines of:
1. Point out that Burgundy was in fact probably still an English territory.
2. I was a French teacher at a school of not insignificant standing and the village of Méluzien was blessed with our presence.
3. It was well past their bed times and would need some sleep if they were to do their bit to dig their rotten economy out of the hole people like them had got it into with this sort of selfish attitude.
It was really a bit of a shame when they peeled away. After half an hour or so I really was ready to spontaneously fling off my bedcovers and give them a piece of my mind. They should consider themselves lucky.
Not to worry, I thought, as in the morning I would luxuriate in a deep bath, a treat I rarely get to enjoy as I have only a shower in my flat at Lockers. My eyes tripled in size as they bulged at the sight of a plugless draining hole. Curses. This will be a long week if my bathing needs are not met.
By the way, I am holding back releasing the name of the boy who looked petrified this morning when told that they all had to make their beds after breakfast. He plaintively cried that he didn’t know how, he had never made a bed before. My silence comes at a price, so if you think it might be your boy, email me privately I and will give you my bank details for an early resolution.
Speaking of resolutions, or unlikely ones, the Greeks voted a resounding ‘Oxi’. Why on earth have a two syllable word for ‘Yes’. I refer you to yesterday’s blog. Mark my words, future generations will bear me out. Don’t underestimate the power of ‘Yes’. The region of Languedoc comes from the southern word ‘oc’ while once the north was called Languedoil, hence ‘oui’. And you thought this blog was purely frivolous.
Quite a good morning. Mixed emotions towards GE-N. Every time I try and talk to him, he seems to have his headphones on. I don’t know why this isn’t the case when Ansar and Keeley feel like chatting with him, just poor timing I suppose. Anyway, it turns out he is listening to an ‘audiobook’, some sort of book that is on audio, I am guessing. So I tried going to iTunes and spotted a book called ‘Life of Pi’. Perfect; either about maths (ideal), food (not bad) or something connected with a tiger – judging by the cover – which might be good. This cost an eye-watering £12, so I am expecting Guy to fork up with some of this. I have spent an hour or so listening to it, and all that has happened is some annoying Canadian has been listening to a slightly less annoying Indian who has gone from a swimming fixation to liking a zoo. Riveting.
On a side-note, I will give a guaranteed ‘G’ in Effort Grades next term to the parent of any child who can tell me the significance of: ‘May I have a large container of coffee, milky and sweet.’ Send your answer via feedback to this blog, deadline Tuesday night. Bonne chance. I will also tell your children that this competition is now in progress, so don’t be surprised if they feel let down by any failure on your part.
It is hot hot hot. For those who read last year’s blog (available on this website), you will remember my shenanigans with the crème solaire. This year I have learnt my lesson, so I await to see what happens next, after a liberalish splashing of sun cream. I was trying to snooze without my top on earlier while the boys were in cookery class, etc. and there was some annoying fly buzzing around as something kept tickling my chest. Keeley didn’t help, she just stood by giggling. Useless.
Unbelievable, Malcolm (driver) and Mr Iqbal just came back from the shops and didn’t bring me an almond croissant. I am not going to sulk for I shall hide my pain stoically. But I won’t be talking to either for the rest of the day, I can tell you now. And to think I denied myself a free Twix from the tuck shop at morning break, in anticipation. Malcolm, as I type this, is showing of his brand new Teflon frying pan that he did manage to remember (for himself). Hard to know where to start on this level of thoughtlessness.
GEN here: all is forgiven, CP is ecstatic and has (again) flipped from depression to utter mania. Plug-gate is resolved! A replacement bath plug was picked up on the aforementioned shopping trip and I have never seen CP move so fast. Up he jumped, first to hug Mark (Director here, and apparently Master i/c Shopping and Plugs), then to try out his new bath plug.
Mark is our new best friend: CP is behaving like an adult again and I’m hopeful that he’ll soon forget about his almond croissant, or lack thereof. There can be no doubt: there is a God and he is alive and well in Méluzien.
Ooh...I can hear CP singing and skipping along; he’s coming back so I’d better put the computer down...shhh, nothing to see here.
Ignore Guy. He won’t be coming next year.
OMG, I have just noticed that my sister, Clare, has posted on the blog underneath. This is the girl (well, hardly that now, she must be ninety if she’s a day) who sickeningly retaliated against all my irritating childhood jibes and attacks with patience, kindness and love. She was no fun at all then and hasn’t improved much since, always looking for the niceness in everyone. Why couldn’t my parents have given me a brother?
Boys are getting ready for the forest walk. One lad is a little under the weather and is staying behind, so I must eschew the six mile trek in blistering heat that I have done a million times before to look after him. This boy is SO getting straight Gs next year. Even if (or perhaps especially if) he leaps up five minutes after they all leave proclaiming a miraculous return to health. I feel a Life of Pi session coming on, with some keen sunbathing.
The boys are now back from the walk and I am fuming. Refer back to an earlier paragraph and the fly landing on my chest while I was snoozing. Well, it wasn’t a fly. Let me explain. This afternoon, I was merrily sunbathing again, and I soon feel asleep in the warm, balmy heat, while the ultra-violet rays worked their magic on my too pale skin. As I awoke later on, the boy whom I had been looking after (yes, you can look after a boy in your sleep, don’t be pedantic) took one look at me and starting giggling. He point blank refused to explain why, so I ignored him and tootled off to my room to enjoy a cooling bath with the new plug. I looked in the mirror to see ‘Old Git’ emblazoned on my chest. I quickly worked out that the fly this morning was nothing more than Keeley putting factor 100+ on to me to make sure the six letters of shame were left in perfect white as my skin browned around them. Oh ha ha ha. Never let it be said that I don’t appreciate a good joke, but if it is at my expense, somehow it is totally inappropriate.
People should jolly well grow up.
(much, much later)
Okay I have calmed down now. This is despite of, or perhaps because of, a row with one of the MCF staff about a quite intriguing game the boys have created. I suppose one would call it Bum Ball. Player One places the ball on an imaginary penalty spot while two or three others players block the (very small) football goal by sticking the bottoms out. Player One then kicks it as hard as he can at the target. Which, trust me, is not the goal. Only Lockers boys would find this entertaining. That it apparently contravenes the MCF H&S policy is not of interest when you consider the sheer hilarity of the concept of the game. There is something very Darwinian about it so I am sure Mr Iqbal would approve.
(After supper) About to start the jigsaw competition. We teachers are forming a team this year. Will let you know the results shortly.
And victory was ours. When I say ‘victory’ it was an absolute rout, our superior teamwork, intellect and general excellence easily enough to put a bunch of 10 year old children to shame. (In literary terms, it was as easy as Pi, ho ho.) Our celebration was not muted and perhaps are our boisterous cheering was a tad undignified. But the boys must learn it is all about winning. For those parents who insist on caring about the boys, there were some Year 6s languishing behind in second place who, I suppose, will count as the eventual winners, in some small way.
After another disappointing day, the warm, sweet glow of winning the children’s jigsaw competition is enough to make me forgive and forget the appalling treatment I have received from my colleagues and for once at last I feel at one with universe.
7.20 am Firstly, congrats to Mrs Billy for scooping the prize on the quiz set in yesterday’s blog, Gs all round next term! Also, congrats for the wedding anniversary. (I always like the gag ‘Why get married, just find a woman you can’t stand and give her a house.’ Sue excepted, bien sûr!) It was of course a mnemonic for remembering the first 11 digits of pi. I set a more fiendish question this morning. A certain great 18th century writer and philosopher (I withhold the name to stop you googling), was once invited to dinner and his reply was a simple ‘G a ‘. The ‘G’ was particularly big and the ‘a’ was equally small. What was the meaning of his reply? Some French is required for this, and it helps if you say it out loud.
A very pleasant start to the day. Firstly, of course, it was a pleasure to see that someone (ie aforementioned mother) posted a nice comment, let alone the right answer, was worried no one was reading it at all! Secondly, I was still chuckling about a couple of incidents on the walk yesterday that were relayed to me, as I had to stay and tend and care for sick boy (we shared Coke and Twix bars while exchanging jokes, it was hell). Mr Iqbal took a long but thin twig and scratched children behind the ear making them think they were being bitten and they were swatting furiously away at thin air. But that little joy is trumped by some quick thinking wit from one of the Chinese boys present. As they were trying to make headway, Miss Connelly was regretting not to have the time to pet a lovely French dog walking past and said: ‘You have no idea how hard it was for me not to stroke that dog’ to which the instant reply was ‘You have no idea how hard it was for me not to eat that dog.’ Aaah, cultural stereotyping, you just can’t beat it.
To be fair, I am also in a good mood because
1. I have had a bath
2. Actually, the children were amazingly well behaved yesterday
3. Keeley has just made me an early morning coffee as I write this before the darlings awake.
For a terrible moment I did think that the plug wasn’t holding the water in and I thought to myself that I just couldn’t bring myself to mention this to the MCF after the fuss I made yesterday, but all was well with patience.
Today I am resolved to be kind and loving to all. I sense there may have been occasional negative undertones in previous blogs and that simply won’t do. Never mind the mosquito that just bit me, nor the fact that I just heard some children off their beds before reveil, I will rise above it. Just you see. Malcolm just came in, having returned from an early bike ride; no, he didn’t bring me an almond croissant, but I bit my tongue, in the spirit of the day
The morning is getting better and better. Just as I had given up all hope of people thinking of me and not just about themselves, Mark, the Bringer of Plugs’, revealed two lush almond croissants, fresh from the boulangerie, for my petit déjeuner. Truly, God loves me. Guy has looked at the blue sky and promised a beautiful rain free day. Life is sweet.
9.30 am And just as the day couldn’t get any better, I can proudly announce that I have finished writing the third and final ‘Christmas Cracker’ play for the end of next term, my one project for the week, so can well and truly put my feet up. Good job I finished when I did, the heavens are just starting to open. Just a passing downpour, I hope. GEN has mysteriously vanished.
12.15 pm So with time on my side, and half the children off doing circus skills and the other half doing archery, I thought I would resume Life of Pi. I was now resigned to the Indian speaking interminably about his life, a life that is clearly more interesting to him than to any poor tortured soul who has to listen to it. There is one fringe benefit, it is almost impossible to listen to his story without drifting off to sleep, so I have just emerged totally refreshed from my room and lunch should soon be on its way.
What is going on with the Grexit? French and German at loggerheads it would appear. Have the French ever won a battle with the Germans?
Oh, btw, here is a joke. Answer down the page. Needs to be said out loud. Some linguistic knowledge required:
Q: What comes between fear and sex?
Anyway, back to the real world, the thought of the nation that brought the world democracy being ignominiously dismissed from Europe and the ensuing bank crisis bringing country after country into turmoil is of course a small drop in the water compared to the real event that is about to shake our lives from tomorrow after so many months of anticipation. Yes, I refer of course to
The Ashes.
To encourage you parents to actually respond to the blog on the MCF website (you are the only ones from any school to shy away so obviously), I will extend my offer of ‘G’s to any of you would like to append a word or two on who is your favourite England player and why. As long as his initials aren’t KP, obv. Or your favourite Ashes moment. Anything at all!
On a different note (literally), I am listening to the strains of the Pie Jesu from Fauré’s Requiem, one of the great pieces of the last 150 years, so simple yet so beautiful (reminds me of an old girlfriend) and one can never tire of it (unlike said beauty). So when Clare (see Day 2) asked for the Pie Jesu to be sung at her wedding, our mother was overjoyed at her unexpected good taste and booked in a good friend who knew the piece well and could reduce a church to tears with her rendition of this timeless wonder. A few weeks after the service, Clare finally plucked up the courage to admit that this wasn’t what she wanted at all. After much q&a, it turned out that the only Pie Jesu she knew was by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Ye gods, and to think she went to one of the finest girls’ schools in the land. Not as bad as when she asked in the 80s if Roy Hattersley was in the Thatcher cabinet. But I had better be careful, she knows infinitely more embarrassing stories about me than I about her, so instead we move to the answer of earlier joke, which is of course:
A: Fünf
Genius.
Heavens, it is hot. This is my fourteenth trip here and I don’t remember ever before melting inside the thick stone walls of the main building. I swear the armchair I am sitting on is actually melting. There is no escape, and how Ansar is faring in Ramadan is a mystery. In solidarity, I am reading up on Tawheed and thoroughly recommend everyone does the same to build understanding between faiths and cultures. Guy has just asked me how the boys are getting on, but honestly, the mere thought of getting up and crawling over to the door to look is too exhausting for words. I am pretty sure those arrows are quite blunt, so what’s the worst that could happen? Speaking of which, I know another great joke but am too hot to bother typing it. I found this link instead.
http://bacontoday.com/bacon-tree/
Lunch was stuffed tomatoes. It was a farce. (Malcolm, the coach driver/pro chef got that one. Too subtle for GEN)
Afternoon spent disintegrating in heat. Thank you to Mr X who pointed out that Oxi was No not Yes in Greek, which I knew but my brain is frazzling. If you want to know the identity of said parent, hunt for the trail of S? in Effort Grades next term. Loving and kind I may be, but vengeful too in this heat.
Have abandoned life of pi, also can’t cope any more with the DK history of American Civil War (which certainly wasn’t civil) and am descending to Jack Reacher, which is all I can cope with. Where are these promised storms?
Nothing to report from the Circus Skills activity. One boy tried to kill the circus. He went for the juggler.
And the day is nearly over; a football tournament and then early nights all round.
7.30 am Yes, Mrs K, we all remember it is Edu’s b-day and we will be wishing him well thusly in a few minutes when we wake them up. As I was abluting this morning, I looked at my long sleeved tops in disbelief that I was so stupid to bring anything other than T-shirts, then opened my door to a devilish black cloud and an icy blast of cold air. Like a certain teacher on a daily basis (first name rhymes with ‘Hazy’) in the 2013 blog, I shall be making a change of clothes even before breakfast.
By the way, I notice no takers for the ‘G a’ invitation reply brain teaser, I will give the answer tomorrow unless someone has a brainwave.
More to the point, how is the weather in Cardiff, we all ask ourselves? Not a drop of rain in sight, so roll on the 1st Test.
Roller coaster ride this morning, currently languishing on a low. To wit:
Moi: Damn and blast, can’t get Sky Go in France to watch cricket.
MCF: Yes, you can if you download a VPN.
Moi: Fab. Damn and blast, the leading VPN site won’t let me join.
MCF: Try a different company then.
Moi: Fab, all logged in. Damn and blast, still won’t work.
MCF: Try live chat on the VPN website.
Moi: Fab. Discover I need to change settings on network. D & B, still won’t work.
MCF: Try reboot.
Moi: Fab, that never fails. D... still not working.
MCF: Get a proper service ticket from VPN website for a repair.
Moi: Fab. .... and still no progress.
MCF: Don’t worry, another wi-fi network available in different building.
etc.
Well by now, you can guess which way this is going. The VPN providers now want to effect a fix by taking control of my laptop. Might as well hand over my life savings to the wallet inspectors.
For those of you who want to know what the children are doing today, I can’t really say because I am typing this sitting down and I can’t see the timetable which is across the room from my sofa. But this afternoon I am pretty sure we are going to Vézelay which is always pretty amazing and the darlings will also have the opportunity to buy presents. Personally, I will be tucking into the ice cream cones. And visiting the World Heritage Basilica, too, of course. Even if at a distance from a nice café. Mind you, if the weather doesn’t buck up, I may choose to go without and boldly hold the fort here. I may have to pay off another child to be ‘ill’.
(later) Not at all happy with Mr Iqbal. I have just discovered that the boys have been doing mosaics this morning and Ansar has been sitting with them the entire time joining in. This of course is totally unprofessional on his part as it shows me up as looking uncommitted and uncaring about the boys’ activities, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Just because I sit inside all day reading, doesn’t mean I am not interested, even if in a purely theoretical sense. I remember a similar problem with Mr Wilson last year and this sort of smug, “it’s all about the boys” kind of attitude I find quite abhorrent. If needs be I will come on my own next year and make sure the job is done properly.
(lunchtime) Have just returned from Avallon, leaving the boys to their activities. Ansar came with me, just proving that his earlier attempts to curry favour were merely for show. Anyway, we are both somewhat in shock at what we witnessed at a pâtisserie. It is hard to describe accurately without sounding horribly racist, but honestly it is only what we saw. Imagine an edible chocolate figurine of a well-fed and well-endowed lady of an Afro-Caribbean heritage, dressed only in her finest birthday suit, with pink lips iced on in the least subtle manner possible. If Greggs in Berko put one of these monstrosities in their shop windows, you could count the minutes, nay seconds, before a brick would come hurtling through and by nightfall our favourite town would be resembling the Brixton riots of 1981. I was so shocked that I bought one to take back to the MCF (and as Mr Iqbal pointed out, thereby tacitly supporting their manufacture. Thanks Ansar). But I was wondering if she tasted as good as she looks. Apparently they do an equivalent male model. Mind boggles. Keeley’s eyes lit up when I mentioned this. ‘Nuff said. The French staff took one look and shrugged their Gallic shoulders with indifference. (Being épauled, not appalled, I suppose.)
And I have returned to discover that Keeley and Guy have also been sharing time with the boys making mosaics. I am frankly appalled at their lack of solidarity. Keeley’s apparently fell apart, and if that isn’t divine justice, I don’t know what is. Oh, and this morning GEN dropped and shattered his £365 bottle of Gucci aftershave so he came in smelling of a dodgy Soho boudoir. God was obviously getting his retaliation in early.
We teachers are noting with interest how few days some of you parents held out for before enquiring discretely by personal email how your individual child is getting on, somehow indirectly implying that this blog isn’t sufficient. We still have at least 20 of them here, so all is fine. Hopefully that puts your minds at rest. The others should emerge from the forest in a day or two, touch wood. Those remaining are showering every day and we make them change their clothes every now and then too (though in yesterday’s heat, some shirts were attempting to commit suicide by jumping off the boys’ backs and crawling away all on their own).
Not even going to dignify the lunchtime cricket score with a mention. Suffice it to say that by the end of the day, I imagine the number of English wickets down will be significantly greater than the number of comments on this blog.
Back from Vézelay. GEN masterminded a very silly, rather juvenile joke at my expense. I rose above it. Not much to add.
GEN here: revenge is a dish best served cold, or at the top of a hill in Vézelay it seems. Rather typically, CP disembarked the bus and disappeared for some self-absorption (or almond croissant, possibly) while the rest of us merrily assisted small groups of boys on their written quiz. Imagine our delight when the time limit was up and the group assembled on the steps outside the Basilique Sainte-Marie-Madeleine de Vézelay, only to be met by Elodie and her trusty camera. After a handful of group shots, yours truly spotted CP enjoying a coffee at a nearby bar, book open, Panama on head, engrossed in his latest intellectual tome. After some quick instructions to the Lockers faithful (and the boys were great at this; double practical jokes on a Tuesday morning is clearly paying dividends), I called CP over so he could join us for a photo. And my goodness did he milk the attention! So casual was he, and displaying such faux horreur, that I thought he’d never make it. When he did eventually grace us with his presence he pontificated about his seating place, made silly faces, stood in daft poses and generally delayed the inevitable gag as long as he could. When at last, he placed his behind on the steps, the boys all stood as one and, in perfect unison, shouted “Nothing!” before disappearing – leaving a rather bewildered CP sitting entirely alone surrounded by laughing boys. 1-0 to the boys. Well actually, that probably brings them up to about 16-1 (to CP).
Like I said, silly and juvenile.
On a more sensible note, Edu had a great day, happy birthdays sung in 2 languages, lots of fussing. It is nice to see that at least the MCF have a professional approach to this trip.
Let’s hope tonight’s boules tournament restores some sense and sensibility – like Joe Root for England today, indeed.
And what a tournament it was, with the final results now in. All boys and staff (minus KC who was called elsewhere) fought in the initial rounds. I can only comment on the staff match in which Guy the Cunning, Ansar the Destroyer and Charles the Magnificent clashed in a thrilling contest. However much GEN and CP raised their games, Monsieur Iqbal snorted in derision and extended his lead yet further. It was only a matter of time before the experience and guile of seniority took AI to the final against Basciano Major and Basciano Minor. In a display of mercy, Mr Iqbal stood aside to allow the brothers to slug it out man to man, first to 2 points. Well, all I can say is that there will be rejoicing in the Basciano household tonight for they both managed, in their own way, to emerge victorious. Harry secured the necessary two points avec deux boules to secure a rapid win, to which Mikey’s instant reaction was one of extraordinary sportsmanship, smiling with genuine compassion for his junior sibling and offering a friendly handshake before the celebrations started. So the final honours of the day to Harry for some outstanding play.
Suddenly only two days left, but truly some great highlights of the week to look forward to.
And the clock is ticking for you parents to achieve immortality by posting a witty comment on this blog...
7.30 am and it is a cloudy, dull day. Some hot weather would be much appreciated. Green Slips all round to you parents for finally responding to the blog. Not quite sure about the 32-1 reference on the cricket as the score had already gone past 43-3, but as ever, it is the effort that counts, as my example in this blog clearly indicates. By the way, no more almond croissants, I have been put off for life. I forgot to recount the horror of the one I bought in the pâtisserie yesterday, my mind had been distracted as you know, but as I bit in with excited anticipation, I got a mouthful of sickly sweet chocolate. Inconsolably disappointed. The thought of a Turkish 81 (thanks, Mr K!) sprang to mind as a cure, but my religious practices (and desire to stay married) prevented further pursuit down those lines.
And now the answer to the ‘G a’ question. Needs saying in French: the letter ‘G’ is pronounced gé, so you get ‘gé grand, a petit’ (big g, small a), which would sound identical to ‘j’ai grand appetit’, ie saying I have a large appetite for the dinner to which I am invited.
A battle in two parts today. Firstly, to stave off the food at breakfast and lunch, never an easy feat. I have asked for salads. For the second battle is indeed the much anticipated ‘all you can eat’ challenge at the posh meal out. The boys get a plateful of whatever they are given, but we staff have full access to the whole shebang and unlike previous years when I have had to admit defeat after a mere 4 or 5 platefuls, this time I plan to do Lockers proud.
Also the kayak later. Not sure if I will be taking part this year unless it warms up a bit, though it would be a shame to miss the boat.
I hear the patter of tiny feet so am off to make sure the boys are behaving getting up. Hopefully by the time I come back someone will have had the decency to make a pot of coffee. I have been staring at the cold kettle for at least 15 minutes and no one has bothered even turning it on.
The good news is that the clouds are lifting and I have bagsied a kayak to myself this afternoon and am planning on wreaking havoc.
Back with 45 minutes to spare before the grand night out au posh restaurant. It was an epic kayak. Happily the kayak company didn’t feel the need to stop us every 100 metres to regroup, as though we were likely to get lost, so we were able to proceed freely. It was the usual wonderful chaos, with boys zigzagging from bank to bank, getting stuck in branches and waging splashing wars with teachers that they could start but not finish. (After 15 years’ experience, a boy can go from bone dry to totally soaked in under 10 seconds with judicious use of a paddle). Favourite moments included the two Year 4 boys who somehow became separated, one stranded on a huge boulder like a miniature Robinson Crusoe, the other drifting off down stream into some trees. Mr Iqbal and Mr E-N were sharing a boat one minute, and then the next, after some wild screaming and splashing, and an upside kayak, were sharing vessels with completely different children. Not a clue about that one. Happily on return to the kayak base, I found my hidden room which has a shower and a lock on the door so could emerge cinq minutes plus tard fully refreshed. It was a trifle mean that I did not tell either Guy or Ansar about this, but no point having a secret room if you let others know where it is.
Happily I have built up quite an appetite and will be tucking into starter number 1 within the hour. You will hear more later.
Well, a memorable evening. The starter as ever involved an ‘all you can eat’ buffet. Keeley and I, old hands, knew the importance of restraint at this early stage and held back to some degree. Not so, GEN, who piled his plate high – it would have made a substantial main course in its own right. But to do Guy credit, he munched his way through sans problème. This was followed by a wonderful duck (GEN/CP) or steak (KC/Malcolm). AI still celebrating Ramadan and sitting on the spiritual high ground. As one who fasts myself (in March, Baha’is have a 19 day fast), I felt great solidarity with Ansar and thought it would be nice to describe the dishes to him, but I was told off by colleagues. The pudding was another ‘all you can eat’ job and I piled up 7 different tarts/puddings/cakes/mousses and did pretty well. All eyes were on Guy, who went for a greater total quantity, albeit of fewer items and just as we thought we had the next Mr Creosote in front of us, he baulked at the chocolate mousse, to our collective chagrin. The boys had the buffet, chicken and choc mousse and behaved truly impeccably. The sea snails got mixed reviews from les enfants, with two completing the 20 yard dash aux toilettes in under 5 seconds.
Back at the ranch, a quick ten minutes of football before bed. One or two boys are starting to wilt, but mostly their energy levels are quite extraordinary. I wish I had their tirelessness.
So last day tomorrow. Market and Go Ape. Not at the same time, obv. One of the great trips so far, fingers crossed all goes well demain.
Not a cloud in the sky, shortly off to the market after a good night’s sleep and for the first time in years, no chronic indigestion! Boys are emerging in hoodies and jumpers after the coolish weather yesterday. Today is due to be 30+ degrees so they will boil. I am not sure if I should directly instruct them to change or let them learn from experience, the perennial dilemma for pedagogues since the dawn of time. I will let them make their own mind up as the sun rises, and in years to come allow history to judge me.
Back from the market now. What did the boys buy, I hear you ask? Not sure, but we staff have foie gras, so I don’t really care. I gather they bought lots of candles, so either they will be having digestive nightmares later or I have blown the surprise for you when they get home. Remember to wax lyrical about them, whatever happens.
Guy has just said that I should mention that Ansar is putting the teachers’ lunch together single-handedly even though he is fasting and therefore won’t be partaking with us. Not sure why this is either significant or of interest. The blog is not all about him, after all. People shouldn’t be so self-obsessed.
I am getting pretty hacked off now. Even though our teachers’ lunch is all ready to go, we can’t start apparently because we have to wait for the MCF staff who are helping the children prepare theirs and then judge them for the ongoing boys’ competition, etc.. So I am just sitting here on my tod, staring at the quiches, cheeses, paella, etc. and am supposed to wait. I just took a small corner of the foie gras, hopefully no one will notice.
Two early wickets for England, dare we dream?
Heavens, still waiting. I don’t think all colleagues realised I bought the foie gras, so no one will even know if I take a little more away.
Oh hang it, I will go and see what the boys are up to.
Not much. Dragged Malcolm back inside so we could lay into the foie gras together, now I can blame him if anyone asks where it went. Left a tiny dollop for the four other teachers, they should be able to divide it out. Hopefully they will leave me some. GEN has just found it, curses. Will try and persuade him to share the last bit. And no sooner had this great plan crossed my mind, than the MCF have just called all of us out to listen to and judge their oral presentations of the lunches. Unbelievable. I will be giving points to whichever team speaks the quickest, irrespective of any conceivable merit. Am quite appalled by their accents, what on earth have they been doing in French lessons this past years?
Australia all out for 308. They were probably racing to get back in to polish off a small remaining slice of foie gras.
So just finished lunch. Better than I could have dreamed. The MCF spotted the foie gras and offered it round (I looked sad and muttered that I had had some – thinking ahead at this point) giving themselves a postage stamp sized piece each. Leaving one good slice which they offered to me! Result!
Boys now starting to pack their bags, so the trip is truly near the end.
Sadly, I wasn’t able to spend the afternoon standing underneath a bunch of trees looking up and praying a boy wouldn’t fall out and squash my Panama, since I had to wait for a mother to come and pick up her son a day early so ‘held the fort’ once again. Annoyingly, MCF offered me a lift up to the Go Ape just after said boy and Mum left, just as the boys were starting to finish, so was left with about an hour of ‘Sir, can I have a drink?’ ‘Sir, can I have a snack?’ ‘Sir, can I have another drink?’ ‘ Sir, can I have another snack?’ etc. ad nauseam.
So now the blog enters its death throes. Boys now showering and packing ready for the early start. It is a well oiled drill, perfected over the years. After supper, we will assemble on a table all the unclaimed and unnamed belongings left lying around and march the boys around them to see who belongs to what. They will all deny that any of it is theirs and this time tomorrow, you will be emailing me as to why little Johnnie has come back minus his favourite sock. My favourite bit of the trip.
They will all but sleep walk on to the fully laden coach at stupid o’clock demain matin.
So barring anything very odd, I sign off now and bid you a fond farewell until tomorrow mid afternoon. Mr Gilden, I hope, will be texting you with an ETA. Otherwise, we should get to Lockers at 2 pm.
Usual thanks to GEN, AI, KC, Malcolm and the whole MCF staff, though to be realistic, they should all be thanking me.
