— 14 Jul 2014, 16:25 by Maison Claire Fontaine
The Journey Down - Like that natty Radio 4 show at 6.30 pm, in which the panel must work out the six correct statements in an onslaught of bilge, so I challenge you to separate fact from fiction with this week's daily blogs!
Things got off to an inauspicious start as the M25 was actually flooded. Our intrepid driver, Malcolm, looked at the map and realised that the motorway formed a sort of circle so performed the most brilliant handbrake turn and off we headed in the other direction. In the age of the digital watch, there was confusion as to which way was clockwise, but soon we arrived at Folkestone.
The trials and tribulations continued at customs. One parent hadn't noticed that a younger sibling had hidden himself in his brother's luggage and popped out just as the passports were being counted. Some frantic euros changed hands and the stowaway was bundled into a taxi back home, hopefully before his mummy realised his absence.
The crossing wasn't ideal. We were next to the coach of a Yorkshire girls' school in the train. One of the Year 7s was actually caught in the clutches of a beautiful northern lass (from which there could be no escape), though he swore blind he was just removing something from her eye. As the queue for the loos was horrendously long, one boy tried the coach facilities and screamed as what looked like an illegal immigrant emerged therefrom - it turned out to be a Eurostar employee running some security, but it caused quite a stir.
We finally arrived in Calais. Malcolm, still reeling from the various shocks, took an unfortunate turn and as we crossed the Belgian border, one or two eyebrows were being raised. We silenced the boys with some local chocolate - which was a shame as one boy turned out to have an allergy to non-organic cocoa products. A quick trip to the local hospital revealed no serious damage done and we were soon on our way again.
The coach nearly ran out of petrol, the engine was screeching warning messages, but we made it just in time for the kick off the World Cup Final. And then the wi-fi conked out.
Not to worry, we are here now, the boys in good spirits and Mr Wilson has located the beer in the fridge.
In case any of you parents couldn’t sort out the baby from the bathwater in yesterday’s blog, I am promising utter honesty in this one. At least, that is the aim as I start writing. We shall see by the end...
The first full day. It poured with rain overnight, fireworks at midnight (quatorze juillet getting off to a noisy start for the revolutionaries) and a terrible case of indigestion all meant a bad’s night’s sleep for your intrepid leader, who vowed a day of general abstinence to get the body back on to an even keel. Obviously couldn’t say no to the croissants that appeared at breakfast, nor to the taste of childhood that is Nutella, and after a few coffees felt the caffeine kicking in to replace the stomach pains and decided on balance life was for living and it was business as usual before I knew it.
It was a tough morning. I sat on a comfy chair and watched as half the boys took the coach off to the other centre to learn the annual circus skills, with Valda and Mr Wilson in charge. The other half split again into two (like amoeba, I suppose), some to learn archery (no blunt arrows – that would be pointless) (the boys didn’t laugh at that either), the others to learn French, and then swap round after mid-morning break. I gleaned all this from my chair, where I plugged in my fantastic new ‘Beats’ wireless speakers, turned on the playlist from my iphone and sat back. To avoid any possible need to get up again, I handed the camera over to Keeley and appointed her Trip Photographer, picked up my book and started reading, my work done having successfully delegated every possible job that could disturb me. For those of you who are interested, I started the Girl who Saved the King of Sweden.
Just before lunch, I was told that one parent had already contacted the MCF to ask where the blog was, before the day had even started. So reluctantly, I sauntered over to the other building just before lunch to find out what the boys had been up to. Okay, this is a lie. Obviously, I stayed put and waited for some boys to be pulled into my post-breakfast gravitational orbit and then grilled them as to what they had accomplished. Some boys (can’t remember who) broke some record on another at archery. Others learned about something in French and played some game or other and looked at some French something or other. Hopefully that should satisfy the most curious among you. Oh, and I asked a boy how the circus was, demanding as much detail as he could muster. “Fine” was the reply. He will make a great husband one day.
Lunch (for staff) was melon, chicken, cheese and fruit salad. The boys had the same, but all mixed together to save time.
There was general joy abounding as they were given the first tranche of their pocket money to go to the tuckshop. Several boys asked to hold on to their cash for a later date; I don’t know what they are planning. I saw some boys club together and heard them talking about buying knives and fireworks. I thought about investigating further, but the book was taking an exciting turn, and my favourite Pink Floyd song was on, so let it go. The headmaster is here, he can deal with it.
The afternoon was the same as the morning except in reverse, plus a most unfortunate mishap that deprived me of reading and music for a good hour or so and Mr Wilson had to teach some French, so a catastrophe all round. And ‘le comble’ was when it turned out I had got massive sunburn on my legs – perhaps my quip ‘suncream is for wimps’ to Valda this morning was a mistake. I tried currying sympathy, but strangely none was forthcoming. Some people only think of themselves.
I am writing this after supper, just before the jigsaw challenge. Hopefully there won’t be any bad losers – I won’t be there to pick up the pieces.
On that note of excellent wit, I will sign off. Still 170 pages left to read and I have to download all of Keeley’s photos, I fear perhaps she has taken the job too seriously, but this is the price I pay for just caring too much. Also Mr Gilden wants some emailing to him too for the website, there is no escape from some colleagues.
And bizarrely, no boy has asked to call home yet, all boys inexplicably happy without someone fussing over their hair and food round their mouths...
9.05 am The day has got off to a mixed start. I thought I would finish the book before breakfast, so sat on my comfy chair and got going. Annoyingly, some children thought they would like to come and chat with me. Sweet, I suppose, but I didn’t go into teaching to waste my time cultivating boys whose sole aim was to get to know me better and ask me my views about life. Anyway, I feigned interest, which delayed the reading further.
On a side note, though I heartily recommend this book (available on Amazon or at all good book shops), I warn you now that the title is a complete misnomer. I suppose, technically the girl did save the king, but only because she was 99% responsible for getting him into the predicament in the first place, so don’t be fooled. The author’s other book is allegedly about a 100 year old man climbed out of a window or something. I am hoping for more accuracy on this one.
Anyway, by the time I reached the petit déjeuner table, my croissant had gone. I knew my colleagues had only hidden it and were just pretending to have eaten it, but frankly, somethings just aren’t funny and you can’t mess with a man’s pastries, especially first thing in the morning. (There is probably a good joke here somewhere, but I am too cross to let my mind sink to that level.) Once they realised that the joke at my expense was completely immature and gave back what was mine, I settled down a bit. Afterwards, Valda offered me the suncream. Despite yesterday’s problems, I figured that lightning can’t strike twice and the odds of sunburn two days running must be slim to zero, so just slapped a bit on the already burnt parts, thereby safely bolting the stable door long after the horse has fled.
Oh, and don’t worry, you mothers who I know for a fact will now be worrying if their little darlings are covering up, Valda is on the case. Perhaps if the boys spent less time trying to bother teachers who are clearly busy with their innane chatter, and more time harrassing the matrons, we wouldn’t have to worry.
Speaking of mothers, I will spare the blushes of the one among you who emailed me last night in panicked tones to ask how the plug to her son’s fish tank pump works as it had conked out. An MCF first in 14 years. The boy looked at me blankly and said ‘give it a wiggle’. Perhaps, in so many ways, this could be the answer to all of life’s problems.
I have now started ‘Predictably Irrational’ by Dan Ariely. It isn’t about the Fr Dept, by the way. Just read that by calling something ‘Free!’ makes a huge difference to consumer reaction. One of you should send a copy to the bursar.
11.40 am You won’t believe it, but the exact bits of my legs that I put on the factor 50+ for whoosy girls and albinos, are the bits that are now scorched to cinders. I hadn’t actually noticed, I assumed that unpleasant tingling sensation was the cream fighting off the sun’s rays. Then Keeley started laughing her head off, Valda started to tut and Mr Wilson passed on some words of wisdom (truly, they did not help) and I realised that lightning had indeed passed over the same place again. But this isn’t the point. The point is that Keeley has a lovely canister of spray-on lotion that she could have lent me yesterday (I find that globulous cream is just so off-putting). She is now trying to disguise her utter selfishness and thoughtlessness by saying that I should have brought some with me, wasn’t I aware after all these years that it was hot here. I said it yesterday, and I’ll say it again; some people only think only of themselves.
Apparently boys have been cooking (preparing a ‘pomme clafoutis’ for tonight) or playing some fun outdoor French games this morning, in case you think this is actually more important then my feet, which now resemble a sort of chess board, thanks the sandals that my wife made me buy on Saturday – so it’s her fault too. About time people starting taking responsiblity.
12.53 pm Just read parents’ comments about the blog from first two days. Seems the Year 5 parents want to see pictures of their children. We have struggled to find them as we lost a few on the way down, but happily we were able to cobble something together with photoshop. Okay, if you don’t believe this, you can alternatively blame Keeley, she is in charge of photos. So today you see nothing but Year 4s and 5s. Tomorrow will be nothing but pictures of me, in case my Mum wonders what I’m up to. Mr Wilson says he doesn’t want to be photographed expressly because he doesn’t want Mrs Wilson to know where he has gone.
5.41 pm Just returned from two hour walk. I say ‘two hours’, it actually took more than three, mostly down to some Year 4s who added a new dimension to ‘taking your time’. Kudos to the Head who had the patience to walk with them, though he did get the fringe benefit as two boys picked large ferns and fanned him around, as an ancient potentate with his trusty servants. Well done also, you parents who have brought up such clean children, as so many went for extra showers.
7.26 pm We have just finished judging the apples puddings; not overly easy considering they followed the same recipe with the same ingredients. Two prizes were awarded (presentation and taste). We did decide on winners, can’t be sure exactly who was in each team, but if your son’s name is ‘Ben’ I’m pretty sure you can hold your head up high. Naturally, we really didn’t hold it against any boy whose mothers have been sending critical comments to this blog.
8.10 pm The boules tournament has just started, but with the MCF deadline on blogs fast approaching, we will keep you on tenterhooks until tomorrow for the final result!
STOP PRESS!!! 9.00 pm The winner was Fergus, edging out Toby in the final!
9.13 am Keeley offered to make the coffee this morning. Your scribe brought with him to France some beautiful fresh beans and a proper grinding machine to use with the MCF cafetiere and gave Miss C rough guidelines, without mentioning actual proportions. The jury is out on the final result. If you think you have had strong coffee before, think again. After a couple of sips, my head began to thump and the world started spinning around. Malcolm had a whole cup and was last seen climbing up trees and proclaiming himself le Tarzan de Avallon. Mr Wilson drank two whole cups in one go and was actually heard to mutter something about acting on impulse, so the world surely is turning upside down.
Anyway, whether it was the coffee or something else, breakfast again wasn’t a hit. I thought it would be funny to sit in Valda’s place, where she has sat every meal for every French Trip since the dawn of time. Dear oh dear, the sense of humour failure, it was ridiculous. Some people just don’t know when to laugh and I was shocked that colleagues should react so immaturely just because someone is having a little joke at their expense. A shame, really.
Some boys have woken up like bears with a sore head too. One boy was so irritated by a classmate that he actually rugby tackled him in the dorms. I investigated thoroughly and actually discovered that it was a pretty rubbish tackle and this is a boy hoping to play in the 1st XV, so had words with him about correct head position, landing safely, etc.. After all, they are here to learn. Another boy (whose name I won’t reveal, but is linked to a perennial flower and is a middle brother of 3 at Lockers. Rhymes with Cardy.), was put out because he was evicted from my comfy chair. On a serious note, he should learn that we teachers are creatures of habit and our natural desire to have our ‘own place’ should always be respected. You can’t take this sort of thing lightly.
12.35 pm After breakfast, the boys either learned to play handball (ballon de main) or made mosaics and then swapped around after break. I maintained a healthy tradition of 13 years’ non-participation. (Mr Wilson, curse him, showed enthusiasm and joined in, making me look lazy, which is of course a great travesty and I’m not happy.) However, I did continue to make progress on my new book (see above) which talks about how we behave in odd, counterintuitive ways, for instance by buying three pineapples for the price of one, even if you don’t like pineapples, just because it is a great deal. All fascinating stuff. So I am now going to try an experiment of my own and you, dear reader, can be an active participant! I am banking on Mrs P not reading this blog (I won’t send her the link this evening, to make sure) and will secretly tell you all that I have been shovelling away twixes, mars bars and fizzy drinks away like there was no tomorrow. My head will be for the chopping block if this is discovered, so I ask you all to keep this bit of info strictly to yourselves. I am guessing that most people reading this will be women (the men being hard at work, not ‘having lunch’, going to Costa, playing tennis and shopping at Waitrose). Therefore keeping silent will go against many of your natural instincts to stick together as mothers, WI members, car park gossips etc., ie and not to land a male French teacher right in it with his wife when given a free opportunity. I challenge you all to fight against your inborn values! Please feel free to feedback your thoughts and outcomes on this, either by private email or indeed by adding a message to the bottom of the blog. Oh, and speaking of the comments at the bottom of the blog, they are changing their clothes, honestly, at least the pants, socks and T-shirts – please keep your expectations in line with reality, ie 29 boys on a trip principally run by two men. I note also that not one of you has asked after my sunburn. Well, in case you wanted to know, it is much better, thank you. Still, I love your sense of priorities, ie can you see your boy in a photo and is he keeping clean. I bet your hubbies are passing different comments, like ‘I was wondering where he was!’ or ‘So he is in France!’ or just ‘Who??’
Btw, that post by ‘Clare’ is from my sister. Ignore her.
12.55 pm Keeley and Valda have just come back from Avallon to stock up on essentials, ie sun cream, beauty cream, cream de la cream, etc.. I was hoping/expecting a little present for all my hard work. Very disappointed. This won’t be forgotten in a hurry.
6.48 pm Quick break to write a few words about this afternoon before the posh meal out – all boys looking resplendent in their shirts and ties. Apparently we are the only school in the whole year who gets dolled up, we are proud!
So this afternoon we visited the Basilica at Vezelay, one of the most important cathedrals in France, truly a building of stunning simplicity and beauty; and also a major place of pilgrimage as it boasts at least one of the 50+ fingers of Marie Magdalene that can be found around the world. When I say ‘we’ visited, the boys had the full guided tour while I sat in a cafe and chin-wagged with esteemed colleagues. I poked my head in at the end, but that seemed enough. I did however show remarkable restraint in other ways. For example, I eschewed having a third ice cream in town, thinking this greedy, and instead had a fruit sorbet as one of my ‘five a day’.
The boys enjoyed buying gifts to bring home for their parents and siblings. Before you get your hopes up, don’t expect too much on this front; I have seen what they bought. (Either way, it is more than Keeley and Valda got me earlier, but enough on that.) They did also buy ice creams as a reward for being dragged round a church.
9.25 pm Oh my God, I am actually dying. I would like to apologise here and now for any sarcastic emails I may have sent to any fussing mothers over the last 15 years at Lockers, to beg the forgiveness of any boy who may have received an unfair Red Slip and to make peace with my beloved sister who has shown me nothing but kindness and generosity of soul. For I have discovered that an ‘all you can eat buffet’ should not be taken entirely at its word. The second trip to the starter buffet was perhaps unnecessary, especially after the ‘bonus’ delivery of smoked salmon and Parma ham to the table. And after that large helping of veal kidneys, with hindsight, trying each and every pudding from the dessert trolley was an edible bridge too far. I feel sick.
My only consolation is that Keeley is even worse off. I limited my starters to just the ham, salmon, beetroot, pate, bread and some charcuterie. Keeley turned her first plate into a sort of edible pyramid, showing architectural skills I never knew she possessed. She struggled to finish off her steak though (I helped her in the end) and didn’t even touch the meringue that came with the coffee (again, I hated to see food go to waste, so did the decent thing). Mr Wilson is chuckling away, tacitly referring to us as lightweights, which is probably fair enough, considering what he managed to eat. Suffice it say that I saw the manager leaving in tears by the end, heading off to the local supermarket to replenish supplies for the other diners.
The boys are charging around the field in their ‘best’ clothes. Keeley pointed out that parents might complain about them getting muddy and grass stained. Wittily, I reminded her that we didn’t have to clean them, so we didn’t have to care! Touché!
I’m off to bed now, but I fear a sleepless night.
Happily, I needn’t have feared it; I had the best night’s sleep since arriving in France – perhaps due to an absence of cheese last thing at night. I did wake up to a perplexing dream of integer solutions to Pythagorus’ theorem, but was cheerfully impressed that some of the triplets had stuck over time.
Unsure whether or not my digestive system was still operating, I tested the water with some croissants and baguette for breakfast and all was well. Happy that survival looked secure, I tootled off to Avallon with Mr Wilson to have a little exploration of our sleepy ville voisine.
We left the boys preparing for the market trip tomorrow, learning how to ask for food in French, etc.. If experience has taught me anything, it is that in each group, there will be one fall guy sent to the battlefront and speak French. All the other children will stick to English, safe in the knowledge that the market traders have a different MCF school coming every week of the year and must be pretty fluent in our mother tongue by now.
After language came sculptures, another perennial art and craft activity, which the boys seem to enjoy.
(written later in evening)
I was afraid after this morning that the blog was looking on the dull side. However, the kayak has rather livened up the day. I could tell you about the ferocious splashing that left Keeley looking like a drowned rat. Or I could regale you with the fixed grin on the face of the nervous Year 4 boy who shared a kayak with Mr Wilson. Or the belly flop of a Year 7 boy over some minor rapids. But the highlight of the day, if not the whole week goes to two Year 5 boys sharing a kayak and not, perhaps, the most experienced at the sport. Let us call Boy A ‘Danny’ and Boy B ‘Harry’. Struggling with the whole mechanics of steering, they sooned landed on a bank. Harry got out of the boat to push them off and then sat back down again – facing the opposite way to Danny. But as they had their backs to each other, neither could understand that however hard they paddled, no progress could be made. Tempers rose and they started shouting at each other to make more effort. They paddled harder and harder, churning up the water, but of course one was trying to go upstream, the other down, both blissfully unaware that night would fall before they would make it home. Sadly, an instructor came along and put them out of their misery. Certainly, Mr Wilson and I had no intention saying a word, just looked on with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement, an occasional tear of pure hilarity trickling down our cheeks.
We are back at the ranch now, boys about to play a football tournament. I am pooped, so will be having an early night.
7.42 am Damn and blast, I signed off the blog far too early last night, but not too worry, I can tell you all about it now. There were two matches that comprised the football tournament, a Year 4/5 game and a Year 6/7 one. While I was finishing off the blog and uploading the photos, they had already kicked off so I missed the start and, most importantly, the arrangement that had preceded it. I would have been there more promptly, but I had to oblige one mother who had posted a special request that her son be shown in a photo and it took an age to find. As always, I will spare the mother in question any embarrassment and keep her anonymity. (despite her post being there for all to see) However, Mrs ‘M’, if you look at the group photo, you will find him 6th in from the left on the back row.
So before kick off, Keeley and Valda bet each other as to which team would win. Not a ‘sportsman’s’ bet, no, but something with real bite; the loser would have to pick up the winner’s duties for the rest of the French Trip. As a side note, I was perplexed with this, since I am the only adult here actually doing any work, what duties could they be talking about? Anyway, I arrived a few minutes into the game to wonder if I had strayed into some fish market with a couple of wives arguing the toss about the freshness of their soul (this is not a typo). I suggested they might want to tone it down so not to set a bad example, but Mr Wilson gently informed me what was happening and that for my own safety I should perhaps leave them to it.
If you thought women don’t take an interest in football, you haven’t seen Valda in full battle cry, nor Keeley, with her deafening screeches. Mr Wilson and I sat there, as two gentlemen would, debating whether a 4-4-2 formation would best suit the individual skills of each team or perhaps if wing backs would utilise the extra space down the side of the pitch. While next to us, two harpies screamed ‘COME ON, SHOOOOOOT!’ It was like that wonderful moment when Delia Smith came down at half time in a Norwich City match and started her ‘Let’s be having you’ rant (do look on YouTube, it is worth it). The football itself was quite excruciatingly dull, but listening to the ‘fairer sex’ on the other hand, was superb! Keeley eventually wrestled Valda to the ground and stuffed grass up her jumper to which Valda replied with a headlock and a Chinese burn. In the end, Mr Wilson filled a bucket of water and poured it over both of them to cool them down. And the result? A draw after extra time. Rubbish. There was a penalty shoot out, but by then they had kissed and made up. Even more rubbish.
(Both ladies have asked me to say that elements of this story are very slightly exaggerated, but I won’t say which bits.)
So now we enter the last day. Shopping at the market and Go Ape. Plenty of fuel there for the blog, I hope. One mother, who we shall call ‘Mrs B’ has contacted Keeley about the escargot eating this evening. Keeley wasn’t actually aware that we do this and was appalled. I told her about the man who painted the letter ‘S’ all over his car. So when driving through France people would say ‘Look at that S Car Go’ (say it out loud, it works better). I also once had a racing snail. It was very slow, so I took off its shell. Disaster. It became sluggish.
12.54 pm Just returned from the market, bags in tow. Am excited that Mr Wilson, who with Keeley was put i/c buying the staff lunch, is promising nothing but puddings. That is what I call entering the spirit of things.
Anyway, that is not what I want to talk to you about, dear reader. Instead, I shall entertain you with something even funnier than ‘Danny’ and ‘Harry’ in a kayak.
For when we went on our forest walk a few days ago, the boys were shown some local breed cows called ‘Charolaise’ and were encouraged to shout the word every time we saw them. This was probably intended as a challenge during the walk; the teacher said that no other school had been able to remember the name of this cow (referring to the herd, not Keeley or Valda, obviously) for the duration of the hike. This ‘défi’ turned out to be a tactical error on the MCF’s part. For example, on the entire journey to Vezelay yesterday – and the way back, the boys did nothing but shout ‘Charolaise’. It was very, very annoying. Happily, today, being a new day, they had tired of that game and forgot about it. Two miles from the market, however, I spotted two things. Firstly, some cows on the horizon, nestling under a tree. Secondly, that Mr Wilson (who had nicked my ‘coach pillow’ one time too many) and Keeley were snoozing in the heat and dead to the world. So, I thought, now was the moment to strike. Conjuring up every memory of forty years of singing practice, diaphragm control and volume creation, I took a deep, deep breath, moved that extra inch closer to Keeley next to me and bellowed at a decibel level hitherto unknown to mankind:
‘CHAROLAISE!!!’
Never in my life have a seen a lady jump out her skin quite like Keeley on this occasion. It was so loud that even Mr Wilson not only woke up but also raised an eyebrow by a quarter of inch, Jeeves-like, in pure astonishment. All the boys, bless them, understood the gag within a nanosecond and didn’t let me down. Within the time it took Keeley to swear an eternal enmity to me, we had 29 boys all baying their new favourite word. That is what I love about Lockers boys; they never let you down when you most count on them.
The market was fun. The boys had been briefed as how to shop in French (see above). I did add as they arrived there that a correct local greeting to market traders was ‘Mon prof est génial’. God bless the Year 4s, they actually fell for it. No major surprises on what they bought, apart perhaps from the group that bought a kilo of carrots. They spent their entire preparation time peeling them, and while doing so managed to completely change their shape to some sort of mutant carrot from Mars. Still, they were proud, that’s the main thing.
6.05 pm Sadly, this will be the last entry before I pack up the laptop and get ready for an absurdly early start demain matin. 4.45 am get up for 5 o’clock departure. Doesn’t bear thinking about.
The go-ape was its usual success. Some boys surprised themselves with the head for heights, others surprised themselves for the opposite reason, but everyone gave it a fair crack of the whip.
So au revoir Maison Claire Fontaine, at least for one more year. Many thanks to all your staff for your kind help and care. And a huge thank you to Valda, Miss Connelly and Mr Wilson. Hopefully, if you come again, you will know what you are doing so that you can actually try and help a little bit more and not leave it all to yours truly. On balance, I do forgive you and hope you will certainly come back again.
FIN
