The countdown

I have four weeks of teaching left. Two pre-holiday, two post-holiday. This means several things.

1. The Good
•I will no longer have to worry about what to talk about with my next class of unimaginative students. Already, I have vague plans for all my remaining lessons, which means more free time and less panic.
•I will no longer have to take the metro at 7.30 am to get to school by 8, in fact I only need to do this eight more times.
•I will have completed my obligatory time abroad and will therefore be "free" to go home/elsewhere as and when I wish, although in reality I shall be staying in Lyon another two months or so.
•I can do more new things (including, perhaps, some travelling around France), and actually get on with my dissertation (this will be a Very Good Thing).
•In only two months I will return to the land of friends, family, short skirts and common sense.

2. The Bad
•Several of my friends will disappear off home/to other exciting places.
•I will no longer be paid a salary
•I will no longer have any excuse not to be working on aforementioned dissertation
•My year abroad is nearly over. But it only just began!
•Because of the aforementioned lack of salary, I need to finish writing my CV and lettres de motivation in order to make some attempt at getting job of some description for some/all of May and June.
•I will shortly be 22––and 21 already seemed grown up!
•I need to think about The. Dreaded. Oral. Exam. (and other similar academic nasties)

3. The Indifferent
All in all, not a lot will change vis à vis normal life (except the removal of teaching)–unless, that is, I do something totally wacky à la Mylène, on the topic of which…more soon!

What this "end is nigh" feeling, coupled with the arrival of some pretty spring weather, also means is that we are beginning to make more of an effort to go and see all the places we intended to see this year and haven't yet got round to. With Saturdays no longer dedicated to lesson planning, last week a bunch of us English, German and Italian assistants, went on a very windy daytrip to Avignon, and just today I went (despite missing two trains this morning, oops. What a spectacular achievement!) to a tiny place between St Etienne and Puy en Velay…it's called Monistrol sur Loire, and it's where Lucy is an assistante. Very cute, very French–the rugby club were celebrating St Patrick's day in one of the town (village?) squares in a somewhat continental fashion (french folk music, waffles and crêpes and dancey people in regional dress). We had lunch in a crêperie (yum) with her friend Maggie who is a primary assistant from Georgia, and then went on a wander into the countryside where we met some very friendly, rather beautiful horses whose legs were puzzlingly short. All in all, it was a lovely day.
Next on the list for visiting are Paris (during the Easter Vac), Annecy, potentially Annemasse and Geneva, and Le Puy en Velay itself, which I am told is a lovely place. Oh and Montpellier once Lucy has moved there in May. Oh and Dijon. Think that's enough to be going on with!

Le son de Lyon

This evening we (being Laura, Victoria, Emma, Chiara and I) were ambling towards the Epicerie for a drink and some pudding (yummy) when we were accosted by a girl who turned out to be Austrian. She was doing a project for her theatre studies in Frankfurt which is called "Le Son de Lyon". It involves her recording live extracts from the streets of Lyon, first of all of people singing, and later on (good luck to her) of people dancing. After this she will compose a medley-type symphony of all the songs she's recorded, and it will be accompanied by the video of danse, to make some sort of a spectacle at an exhibition in the summer along with her fellow students' other Lyon-based projects. So, she wanted us to sing. Now the problem is, what to sing, when one is accosted in the street, and is not a group of drunken football fans right ready to sing "we are the champions" or the national anthem, or somesuch. So it took us quite a while to find something, especially as we weren't even all British! Ideally we'd have sung in French but we didn't know all of the words to the Marseillaise (quel honte) and Frere Jacques only occurred to me later. So we decided the simplest thing was to sing a nursery rhyme, and we gave a beautiful rendition of Ring a ring o' Roses. The girl was very pleased with it. And then, so as to include Chiara and show off Lyon's multiculturalism, she and I gave a somewhat dubious rendition of "Volare…". Who knows, maybe we could be famous! (Or then again…)

Only the French…(part 2)

On Sunday, as one does, we were playing football in the park. There were fourteen of us, so we could afford to play on a fairly sizeable pitch. It was also fairly obvious that we were playing, and where we were playing. Yet there were two surprising things about the French park-goers reactions.
Firstly, several small groups of French who were sat around the edge of our pitch continued to sit there despite occasionally getting the ball in their laps and/or getting run around. This is not particularly bizarre if they were enjoying watching us play, I suppose.
Secondly and far more bizarrely several groups of people fearlessly and apparently obliviously walked (and not in a hurry) across our pitch, variously with bicycles and/or babies. It might just be me, but I think most people in the UK would try to avoid entering a football pitch upon which 14 students were in the middle of a fast game of football…?

In other news you'll notice a new link to a new Hewitt-Jones brothers venture. May be of interest to some.

Omission

I knew there was someone I'd missed out of my recent post about how small the world is. The first time I went to the Lyon Anglican Church I sat just behind Rebecca Jeffries, who turns out to be on the same UCL course as my friend Sarah, and to have shared a room at boarding school with Cecily. In addition, her boyfriend Ben, who was visiting that weekend, is an assistant in Amiens, but is also on the French/Politics course at UCL, and comes from Oxford, went to MCS and played in Oxford Concerto Orchestra, although we think we must have only coincided in that for one term. Bizarre eh!

J'ai craqué!

Today Mylène, Jéjé and I decided to go all out and buy rollerblades. Lyon is a very rollerblading city, and Antonia and Max, who already have them, were getting frustrated at us not being able to go with them. Plus now that it's spring, it's a good way of getting around the place or stretching one's legs…so there we are. We were lucky too, as we got them at half price in the sale :) So then we went out on them all together, on the banks of the Rhône where they've put in lots of roller-friendly paths and pretty patches of grass and flowers. Lovely.
Then, when Anto and I were on our way home a young boy stopped me, "excuse moi, madame!" Slightly puzzled, I stop…"did you work in Cambridge" asks the boy, so I says yes…but why? And it turns out that he was in my punt sometime last summer! Am impressed that he recognised me in the middle of Lyon on roller blades…unfortunately he may have been a little disappointed that I didn't remember him personally, but such is life! He was very sweet and asked what I was doing this year and seemed rather pleased with himself for having recognised me, so hopefully he has good memories of his punt outing!
In other news, I have a new private conversation student. How exciting.

A small world

Recently, Jack wrote on his blog (which is linked from this one) about how he seems to run into people in bizarre ways, either because they're people he knows but in bizarre places, or because he thinks he doesn't know them and promptly discovers they know some of his friends.
Now I know people are always pointing out that I know too many people (this might, partly, come of having been at school in both cambridge and oxford), and my sister maintains that whatever the usual degrees-of-separation theory is, in my case you only need one or at the very most two people to link me to someone else. I'm not sure I'd quite agree with that, but I certainly seem to know a lot of people–sometimes I just think it's because I have a better memory for people I met only once and/or a very long time ago. Anyhow, I thought I'd entertain you with a few coincidental rencontres this year. The world is *very* small.

Firstly, there's Claire. I may already have told you this story…you've certainly heard about her a fair bit. Claire is an assistante just like me but in a different school. I first met her, with Chiara (an Italian assistant) in a pub in vieux lyon where I had gone with my flatmate Gareth. This was about a week or two before our induction day so we met up again then, and with a couple of other assistants we went and drank tea at the Epicerie. It was very lovely, and absolutely hilarious, because Nick (an american assistant) who was absolutely convinced that Britain was so small that all British people must know each other had his theory spectacularly well proved. Claire lives in Cambridge. So do I. Her mother is a Classics teacher. My parents are both classicists. Her mother teaches at one of the schools I nearly went to, in fact, she interviewed me for a place there. Claire went to school with several people who I went to sixth form with, and also with a few of my university friends. Meanwhile, she is now at Oxford for university where she is good friends with several people I know through either music or school. She is now on her year out in the same place as me doing the same job. I've a feeling there's another link I've missed…but you get the general idea.
Secondly there's Laura. Laura was a good friend of mine all the way through primary school, but we both left for different schools when we were 11 and lost touch. One day Victoria (who's at Selwyn with me and also in Lyon this year) said she'd met a lovely girl called Laura, and I happened to notice on her facebook wall a few days later that this girl was called Laura Brodetsky. Well, thinks I, there can surely only be a very few Laura Brodetskys my age around…and sure enough, it's her! Amazing!
The third coincidence of the year also involves Victoria. When I was going home for Christmas and my plane was delayed by two hours I got chatting to a lovely girl called Fiona, who is bilingual, studying hotellerie in Lyon and was on her way to visit her boyfriend who is a designer in London. At the other end of the christmas holiday, Victoria ended up sitting next to Fiona as they travelled back to Lyon. Coincidence or what?!
Incidentally, that same night when my plane was delayed, I hitched a lift back to Cambridge. The lovely people who drove me home were a couple fetching their sister who was just back from the first term of her year abroad in Bilbao, as she's studying french & spanish at manchester, but she'd been at hills road in the year below me. Her big sister teaches English at Melbourn village college.
Is there a fifth? Doubtless there is even if I can't think of it right now. As Jack said, if these are all the people I have met, how many more people are there out there who I pass in the street without realising I know them? Far too many methinks!

1968

Yesterday I discovered that my lovely "prof responsable" at the lycée took her bac in 1968. Today I mentioned that to Claire and she said "1968? what's special about 1968?". Now I know we English believe the French are always going on strike (and they are), but in 1968 they *really* went on strike. Even more than in spring 2005. That wondrous fount of knowledge wikipedia introduces the topic thus:
"May 1968 (in this context usually spelled May '68) is the name given to a series of events that started with a student strike in France. It turned into a general strike which paralyzed parts of the country and caused the collapse of the de Gaulle government. Most of the protesters espoused left-wing causes, communism or anarchism. Many saw the events as an opportunity to shake up the "old society" in many social aspects, including methods of education, sexual freedom and free love. "May '68" was a failure from a political point-of-view; however, it can be argued that it had an important impact on French society and its values."
It goes on to tell one a lot more about the events, and even includes many of the slogans used by campaigners. I feel it's something one ought to know about, and it might tell us something about why the French think strikes are so normal…

Either way, my 'prof responsable' was taking her bac in Lyon and she didn't take part in the demonstrations because she needed to work, as she wanted to pass her exams. As it is, ironically, she'll never know if she passed because she deserved to or because it was 1968…though we can suppose the former!
This week my terminale students are taking their mock exams, known as "le bac blanc" (why a mock is white I am not entirely sure). At Claire's lycée, which is the biggest and best in Lyon, the teachers have boycotted the bac blanc and so the students are not having mocks this year. I feel there are two things to remark on here: firstly, it seems a stupid way for the teachers to campaign, as it is not the students' fault that the education system is changing, nor will anyone except the students really notice the absence of the bac blanc. Poor things.
Secondly, on the other hand, I can understand that the students need the practice and that in the long run they would regret not having done a mock but I know for sure that we'd have been over the moon if someone had cancelled our mocks…yet these french students seem upset about it. I think that's a bit odd.

Following the yellow blob path

On Friday Claire, Rebecca and I went on an adventure. The adventure began with buying mini brioche at the Brioche Dorée, and taking the metro to Vaise, but managing to leave Rebecca stranded on the platform at Bellecour (it was okay, she took the next metro). At Vaise, we took bus number 84 to Poleymieux aux Monts d'Or. Bus number 84 turned out to be a minibus with 8 seats and a bit of standing room. The card bleeper was broken, but in any case they didn't seem to care whether one had a ticket or not. The journey was about 15 minutes, given that the distance is not that great and the minibus bombed along the tiny windy country roads at a rate of knots. Amazingly, we managed to get off said bus at the right stop, just next to the church in Poleymieux, where we were pleased to find a noticeboard telling us about walking in the Monts d'Or…after all, that's what we'd come to do but since none of us had been before and my map was a bit stupid (more on this in a moment), we'd have been a bit stumped without any signs. From a little home research I had already discovered that the Monts d'Or (which are not mountains, in case any of you were wondering, but rather diminutive–but pretty–hills) have many many walking/mountain biking paths but these are organised into circular routes most of which are about 6km long (a nice sunday afternoon stroll but not a day's adventure), and two of which are more like 30km (a day's adventure, but sounded like a lot to us, we'll do this next time). There is nothing in between, and most importantly, there is no map which has them all marked on, so deciding to do part of one walk and part of another is a fairly complex affair. Actully, it's more complex than that: the mont d'or maps themselves never cover the whole area but do mark separate circuits and tell you in what colour they are "balisé" (signed). I managed to find an OS map (well not OS but you know what I mean) which had the whole area and all the paths on it, but ALL the signed paths were marked in dark pink. So when you saw "red route this way, yellow route right" you had no idea which was the one you were following, or indeed what would happen if you took the red one instead. However, with some map-reading and a little common sense, and a few real signposts telling you where each path was headed, we managed to do exactly what we'd planned. It was about 10km, so pretty short but as a result we had time to take it at a most leisurely pace, and even to stop for a drink in a mid-way village where we found a very french village bar in a square where the old men were playing boules, and which had tables outside in the sunshine. Aaaah. It was very sunny and very pretty. A good adventure.

Poems #2 (words from my wall)

Here in Lyon I have a medley of things on my wall, including a selection of my favourite photos, my PACE flag (yes, that's Peace with a missing E, and not because I can't spell but because it's in Italian), a couple of posters for this and that, a calendar, lots of reminder notes and all the postcards I've been sent this year. In amongst all of this I also have three poems stuck to my wall. Well, two poems and a not-quite-poem.

Poem 1. is a poem that my sister has had pinned to her pinboard (which now resides in her little kitchen) for several years now, and which she herself wrote out in lovely silver calligraphy on a black card, presumably just for fun because she liked the poem. Mine is not silver on black, however. It's by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and it goes like this:

What if you slept,
And what if, in your sleep,
You dreamed,
And what if, in your dream,
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if, when you awoke,
You had that flower in your hand,
Ah, what then?

The second is a poem that makes me happy and sad all at once, if that is possible. It's beautiful. If I was good at composing I would write music for it. As I'm not, it's just on my wall. It's by Robert Bridges and it goes like this:

Thou didst delight my eyes:
Yet who am I? nor first
Nor last nor best, that durst
Once dream of thee for prize;
Nor this the only time
Thou shalt set love to rhyme.
Thou didst delight my ear:
Ah! little praise; thy voice
Makes other hearts rejoice
Makes all ears glad that hear;
And short my joy: but yet,
O song, do not forget.
For what wert thou to me?
How shall I say? The moon,
That pour’d her midnight noon
Upon his wrecking sea;—
A sail, that for a day
Has cheer’d the castaway.

The not-quite-poem is a christmas-time 'dedica' that my wonderful friend Laura sent me a year or two back. For those who read Italian, here it is:

A

chi

ama

dormire

ma si sveglia

sempre di buon

umore. A chi saluta

ancora con un bacio. A

chi lavora molto e si diverte di

più. A chi va in fretta in auto, ma

non suona ai semafori. A chi arriva

in ritardo ma non cerca scuse. A chi spegne

la televisione per fare due chiacchiere. A chi è

felice il doppio quando fa a metà. A chi si alza presto

per aiutare un amico. A chi ha l' entusiasmo di un bambino

ma pensieri da adulto. A chi vede nero solo quando è buio.

A chi non aspetta Natale

per essere più buono.

Poems #1 (reminiscences of English Lit GSCE)

I thought it would be quite fun to put some poems on my blog from time to time. So here are two to begin with.
The first (which is kind of relevant for this time of year) is a valentine's poem by Carol Ann Duffy that was part of our set texts anthology at English Literature GCSE. In general, I didn't get along very well with English at GCSE. But this one was fun–thanks to Miss O'Neill–and I even wrote a poem based on it, which must be the most successful poem I ever wrote. It was (unsurprisingly, for those who know me) not about an onion, but a button. Sadly, although I believe it was rather good, I can't remember how it went and I never managed to retrieve my english coursework folder, so I suspect it is lost forever in a sea of shredded paper somewhere in the recycling archives of Oxford High School (or perhaps now part of an oxfordshire wormery). In any case, here is the original poem:

Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

As far as I can remember, the only other poem I really enjoyed studying at GCSE was Auden's 'Stop All the Clocks'. I even taught two lessons on it to one of my classes this year! Today is Auden's centenery. So I suppose I should include it:


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

A busy week

I'm now back in Lyon after my week at home in Cambridge (and not back before May Week, if then). It was a great week, though it felt very odd being back in term time–a little like I had graduated…but didn't. Très bizarre. Lovely to see everyone though, and nothing has changed in Cambridge while I've been away! The only difference is there are a few freshers around.
I spent my week dashing from place to place seeing people left, right and centre, rehearsing (and then giving) my recital, and even (shock, horror) doing a little academic work. I even fitted in giving a punt tour on Friday! Even then I didn't manage to see all the people I would have liked to…but then, a week is not really that long! Thankfully my recital went rather well and lots of lovely people came to listen, so the week ended on a very good note.
I returned to find the flat without any French people in it for the first time this year–Antonia and Jérémie have gone home for the holiday, and Mylène has run off to Paris to be a cabaret dancer (yes, really!), so just Max, Gareth and I are here (and Alex, who's staying for a few days). It feels quite different, but lots of fun. Last night we played Lyon monopoly with a huge bunch of Germans. Unfortunately, the French had also left us to deal with a significant plumbing problem that had resulted in everything that went down the kitchen sink returning in the bath. Mmmmm. So the plumbers came at 8 this morning and (fingers crossed) they've done their job properly. Still need to clean the bathroom though…
Today many exciting things are happening. Claire is back from Prague, the photos for decorating our kitchen and living room are finally printed, and I've heard from Antonia that we might even get a contract for our flat next week (pigs might fly).

Skiing

On Thursday there was a teacher strike. On Friday all the kids were dressed up in carnival outfits, as it was the last day of school before a half term. And in February, French children get not one but *two* weeks of half term, because it is skiing time. So on Saturday, we went skiing!
"We" were me, Rebecca, Hattie, Elsa (a French friend from choir) and Thomas (her Belgian boyfriend)–Hattie had never skiied before, Rebecca had done one week with the ENS a couple of weeks ago, Elsa and Thomas are pretty seasoned skiiers. We went (on Elsa's recommendation) to Arêches-Beaufort. The coach left Bellecour at 6am, rather too early for our liking, but with the advantage of depositing us in the ski station at 9 so that by 10 we were all set with skis and (in my case) snowboard, and could head onto the pistes. Hattie took 2 hours with an instructor, while the rest of us trundled along a long flat snowy path to the other side of the station where there were a more suitable selection of slopes. There we re-discovered what it was like to ski not only with loads of snow on the ground and a decent angle of slope, but also with snow falling-at times in great quantity-for the rest of the day! Hattie joined us for lunch (mmm sausage) and we did a big blue slope together (it was so white we thought the chair lift was taking us to the end of the world) before taking the long red back to the bus at the end of the day (an annoying piste that was flat, then very steep, then flat again. Grr I don't like flat). All in all the day was muchly fun, and it was lovely to get to know Elsa and Thomas better, and good fun to tease Thomas with tales of mint chocolate (the belgians can't stand even the idea of it…)
Photos of the day can be found in the second half of this photo album (the first half is previous ski-day in january): Snowy fun

A recital, and half term

I mentioned a while back that I would be home in February in order to be able to give a lunchtime recital at the Fitzwilliam museum. Well, I am now back–for a week–and looking forward to catching up on all the news from the last 6 months.
The recital itself is on Sunday 18th (that's next Sunday) at 1.15 in the red gallery that is straight up the stairs as you enter the Fitzwilliam. It's free, will be over by 2pm and the programme, which is attempting somehow to be a musical picture of my year abroad, will range from Purcell and Vivaldi to Debussy and Poulenc. It would be nice to see some of you there, if you can make it.

Doorbells and letter boxes

In Britain, if you want to send something to someone who lives less than 15 minutes away from your house, you generally don't bother posting it. Even though you know that if you did, by first class it would definitely get there the next day. So you pop on your bike or your own two feet, and slip it through the letterbox of the house they live in. If they live in a block of flats, there is still, usually, some kind of general letterbox that gets sorted later, or at the most awkward, a doorbell marked "traders" or "postman".
In Italy, people often had their letter boxes outside, and if they didn't, there was some kind of general hole through which you could put things, for the whole building.
In France, despite the fact that the postal service is useless and won't get your letter there the next day unless you pay them €30 at least, people don't ever seem to deliver by hand, or at least, if they do, I'm flummoxed as to how. Letter boxes are in the main hallway, inside the main entrance door. Usually the postman has a key, or knows the code to each building. If not, as here, he has to ring the bell for every flat until he finds someone in who can open the door for him. But an individual wanting to deliver something is stuck–there is no "let me in please" bell, and often not even named bells but just some numbered bells or worse still, just a number pad for an entrance code you don't know. So you end up standing around outside wondering when someone will turn up and open the door for you–hence my conclusion that they must just never deliver things! How odd.

Colour burst

As you will have noticed, my blog has gone colourful. Alex said the previous colour scheme made his eyes go funny. So I'm hoping this will be a change for the better–do let me know whether you like it!

New ventures and doing Good Things

This year in general, and especially recently, I have been doing new things. After all, what is the fun of having a new life, new friends, new places, new jobs, etc, if you don't take it as an opportunity to change how you do things. So far in my new things list (in no particular order):

1) I play football most Sunday afternoons, with "the girls", who are mostly English or German.
Most of you will know that I am *not* a football fan and probably never will be but it's great fun to play.

2) I go to student parties to meet random French people (see a few posts back).
Not just that, I have also learned to drink beer and we have been to a 'peniche'.

3) I went rowing.
Once. Who knows if I'll go again, but it was jolly good fun!

4) I'm improving my snowboarding
(this is not entirely new but doesn't happen in Britain)

5) I've been to see both Snow Patrol and Razorlight live, in little French venues, which was fantastic. I probably ought to go to an entirely French gig at some point!

6) I go running with Claire (and sometimes Hattie)…
and the two of us are going to do a 10Km charity run in April!

7) I am expanding my knowledge of French music, gradually
with the help of Jérémie's enthusiasm

8) I am trying, for the second time in my life, to learn solfège (stupid foreign system of music notation)

oh and not least
9) I am teaching.
I have never wanted to become a teacher.

Number 10 in the new things list has got to be about doing voluntary work. Since Christmas on Bellecour there has been a colony of Quechua tents. And yes, it's been very cold. These are not some kind of freak tent-lovers, but homeless people that the state can't house, including a number of young people around our age. There was a lot of press about this at new year and so the colony has gradually got smaller as the city made an effort to house some of them, but the rest are now stuck there, and people have generally lost interest in them. The other day I was in Carrefour and realised that a single duvet cost only €10. A moment's thought told me that split between 6 of us, the cost of this was nothing, and so we could replace the old one we use for guests with a new one, and donate the old one to the tent people. So I got it, and last night Mylene and I popped over with the old one, and met a young couple. She was called Vanessa, I forget his name, and they were nice, normal people, to start with I even thought that he was helping out rather than living there! Intelligent, polite, really very normal. They've been homeless for two months (we didn't discover why–maybe we will next time), and in the tents for one, but they're not mad, or alcoholic, or dirty like a lot of the older tramps they live with. They were very grateful for the duvet and chatted to us for a while about life in the tents and how people were gradually losing interest and stopping bringing them food etc. Mylene and I, on our way back, wondered just how it was that they came to be there, but it certainly makes you think about how comfortably you're living, just two minutes away. We won't be wasting any food in this flat now! Interestingly, this venture came just a day after Claire and I had been talking about voluntary work and decided to investigate whether there was something we could help out with just one or two hours a week. Of course, we have dissertations to write, but if you're keen to do something new, as we all are this year, then this is a good way to go about it.

Absence (and presence)

Le Rochefoucauld once said that absence diminishes minor passions like wind to a candle, and increases big ones like air to a fire. (I paraphrase, clearly, his phrase was much more eloquent). This is my second year 'away' from home, in the sense of 'far away'. The second year in which I've, effectively, left behind an old life and created a new one. Actually it's the third if you count moving towns, the fourth if you also count university as a new life.
The first was in 2001-2002, when I left behind everything and everyone I knew apart from family, and built a new life in Cambridge (the difference with this one, is that I wasn't going back to the previous life afterwards). The second was 2003-2004 during which I escaped to Italy, and here I am in France doing something similar. And what these years all have in common (apart from the usual–learning, new experiences, new places, new people) is that they allow you not only to discover who you are, and what and who matters most to you, but also to discover a lot about the people you already know, most of whom are people you would generally call "friends".
Now this is going to make a lot of you laugh because "friends" is something I have lots of, in part precisely because of all these 'building a new life' moments, and I sometimes joke about how I should try to get rid of some as I have too many.
But anyway, recently I've been noticing something I noticed on my gap year, but that is perhaps even more pronounced this year owing to the fact that most of my uni friends are not themselves making new starts this year, and that is that even in the world of instant messaging and emails and so on, the people who keep in touch –by which I mean at all, even intermittently, whether by phone, email, msn or snail mail, are not those you most expected. Of course, some people you hear from you knew you would. And some people you don't hear from, you knew you wouldn't. But often, there are surprises: people you thought you'd hear from occasionally by email who write long letters regularly, and people you thought would stay in good touch who you never hear from.
In my gap year it was the first situation that struck me most–who it was who sent letters, or emailed often, or replied to yours. Surprises about who did, more than who didn't.
This year, it's the other way. The surprises are most about who I don't hear from. I suppose I had an illusion of university, whereby it is there that you make your 'friends for life', there that you meet people who you really click with, "like-minded" people, people who, being adults, are mature and developed individuals with whom you can build lasting relationships. An illusion of college whereby the close-knit community would help you to make close friendship groups and share all sorts of fun experiences. Apart from a few people who've been out to visit Lucy, I've not seen any Selwynites for over 6 months. I keep up to date with their lives by reading their facebook photo albums, and some of them at least keep up to date with mine by reading this! On the other hand, I can count the people (from college) who've actually been in touch either to talk to me, or by writing letter/email/facebook message here and there, on my ten fingers. A lot of them I fully understand why–and know it's not been deliberate. But it's still surprising, to me, that the people who take the time either to reply to me, however briefly, or even to write to me when I've not had time to write to them, are mostly people who I saw less often, and a lot of the people I spent nearly every day with for the past two so called 'formative' years seem to have turned out to be those 'minor passions' of Rochefoucauld.
At least the people who think I have too many friends will be happy!
And no, this isn't a rant against my friends–and I'm sure I've not kept in as good touch as I should have either– just an observation on how being away from home affects your views of friendship. For those of you reading this, I am really looking forward to being back next week and seeing you all EVEN if I've not heard from you all year!!

Theories

I don't know whether I had theories when I was little. I suppose I probably did, though perhaps not so much theories about the world, the universe and everything as theories about earthworms and goldfish and other little things that fascinated me. However it was, these days I have Annie Theories (with a capital T). Other people also have Theories, although not everyone. Recently, some of the theories I've been talking about with friends and acquaintances have been about the environment (as it seems to be a 'hot topic' at the moment).
Last Thursday, when I returned from singing Mahler in the Auditorium, it so happened that I was chatting to Jérémie in the kitchen of our flat (I think he was doing the washing up, which needs doing a lot here!). Jérémie also has theories, and I forget where the conversation started, though I know mad cows came into it somewhere. Either way, he expressed an interest in hearing more about my theories, so I decided he should hear what is probably my most extreme Theory, which is about how we should take drastic action to save the planet, and stop faffing about reducing carbon emissions by some piddling percentage in the next goodness knows how long. I don't think Jérémie was expecting it to be quite so drastic, but it made for a good discussion (although when Mylene came in she thought we were having an argument, rather than a theoretical debate).
In a recent "silly thing" that I posted on my facebook profile I wrote "I hate…the way we are consciously destroying the world". This is what my Theory is about. It's not a practical theory, in the sense that modern society being what it is, there is no way it could become practice. BUT my theory says:
1) We are destroying the world
2) We KNOW we are destroying the world
3) We all think it would be nice if we weren't destroying the world

and proposes
1) That we simply remove cars and aeroplanes from our world. Totally. Utterly. Altogether. Buses, trains, trams, bicycles and boats can remain.
2) That every house be fitted with solar panels to its roof, every floodplain not with houses but with windmills, etc.
3) That we stop putting food in ridiculous amounts of packaging and content ourselves with making that little extra effort, for example, to shop more often or to wash up a few bottles and tupperwares.
4) (a little aside) that Playstations and suchlike cause unnecessary production of useless equipment and should be removed. If babies can play with cotton reels then big boys can play with a football or table tennis ball, read books, play cards…
5) That if we can produce clothes and food within 100km of our house, then we shouldn't buy stuff from 3000km away.
6) In other words, NOT that we should return to the middle ages but that we should remove the aspects of modern life that are made ONLY for our superficial comfort and ease, and that achieve something we could just as well achieve by another means.

Of course, I expounded (what a nice word) this Theory to Jérémie and he said "but you can't do that!" where he in fact agreed entirely with my 'ideals' but, like 99.9% of this world, believed it to be impractical and therefore no point even considering it. Well, says I, it's clear that if everyone takes that line, then there is no point.
Amongst his other thoughts were "but what do I do if I want to go to America?" and "never mind if we ruin the world, it's ours to ruin and we'll go and live on the moon". Obviously the latter is as radical as my theory to start with, and I won't report on our whole discussion here, but perhaps it will make someone think anyway.

Two further things to say in this post:
Firstly, part of the reason why this became and Annie theory and why few other people feel they can adopt it must be that I grew up with no car (for which, see also recent post on "how to be green"). And so yes, I honestly do think that it would be possible to run a country in which there were NO cars. Incidentally, I worked on a french island with no cars two years ago and (although it's small and has a tiny population) they managed just fine. Obviously one would hope to have a better public transport service, but if everyone were using it that would be much easier to put into effect.
Secondly, on Friday, I met up with Richard Van Noorden, who went to nursery with me way back when, at St Anne's College Oxford (to which, incidentally, I went by bike). These days he is a reporter for Chemistry World, and he had popped over to Lyon for the weekend to visit another friend, also a teaching assistant. We went to the Epicerie for lunch and had a great time talking about all sorts of things…including Theories. Apart from the big theory hereaforementioned, I also mentioned my Soya theory–that, not only is soya a big mistake, but is probably the cause of CJD and all sorts of other modern health problems, and is an example of how modern science throws itself into "new solutions" without properly pausing to think of long term potential consequences. Suffice it to say, it interested him so I shall be intrigued to find out whether he discovers anything more about it in "real" science.

I have another theory that has emerged this year, which is that a lot of people, especially the French, don't seem to realise that medicines are not always either good for you or a solution to a problem.

Splitting the year

Imagine if, in this post I said "so, this is the end of my Lyon adventure: at the end of the week I move on to my new job in Milan…". It would be far too soon. We're just beginning to get used to the way life goes in Lyon, to know our friends and flatmates well, and to settle down to some kind of real routine, even do some academic work and think about what we're getting from the year. Our French is becoming more natural, and our accent is finally making some small move away from the typical franglais…but only just. It needs time to consolidate its progress. The concept of calling it a day for French and heading off to new adventures might seem exciting, but I wouldn't be ready. The time would be too short in both places so the overall gain would be less. This is why Cambridge don't advocate splitting the year in half, but rather swaying towards one language. But Cambridge are unusual, and most universities not only allow, but *require* their two-language linguists to split the year. And so it is that those who've chosen foreign university have reached the end of their first semester and are leaving, to go to new adventures in other places, make new friends, improve yet another accent. Exciting for them, but strange–and strange also for us, who have just got used to them experiencing the French life with us and are now going to continue having the same sorts of fun but without them. But when they say they've done a degree in, say French and German, they will at least be able to say, I spent my year abroad in, say, Lyon and Augsburg…it might sound better than us saying we practised our French and Italian by coming to Lyon (although, this is in fact possible, as we proved tonight while talking to an italian chef!)

Cold

Thank goodness the heating works in this flat, and I had already stuffed the gaps between windows and window frames with newspaper…because it's currently reaching around -10/-12 degrees at night. Now that is what I call COLD. If only there were more pretty white stuff…this has been a bizarre winter: warm and lacking in snow, but with sudden moments of extreme cold. People sigh and mention "rechauffement de la planète" but noone does anything about it. There seems to be some kind of assumption that it's the thought that counts. That as long as we know it's happening and we're not happy with it, then it will start going away. It won't though, will it. Maybe our children will only ever see artificial snow.

Frontieres

I mentioned that I went to an exhibition about frontiers with Antonia. Elizabeth asks "an exhibition of what?" well, this is a good question. You can hardly pick up the frontiers and put them in glass cases. I particularly liked the introductory speech in which the 'mediatrice' told us all that scottish people are still proud of having hadrian's wall between them and England. I decided it might be best not to point out that even if they ever had been, the wall is most definitely not at the border now…it was the end of a long day, after all. But that was not really what the exhibition about. In a mixture of photography, video footage, maps, diagrams, explanatory text and sound recordings, the various stages of the exhibition told you about frontiers past and present, about frontier conflicts, about moving frontiers, about crossing frontiers…and so on. It began with the etymology of frontier (mmm etymology) in which, sadly, no one seemed very interested. We saw things about Europe, especially the Schengen plan and the expansion of the EU, we saw Korea, we saw Kashmir, India, Pakistan, we saw Israel and Palestine, Mexico and California, and the Romany gypsies. We followed the journey of an illegal immigrant from Cameroun to France, and we learned about minefields and imaginary lines in the sea. It was interesting, very interesting, and there were not a bad number of people there. But what I found most exciting about it was the concept. That someone had built an exhibition after realising that although we claim constantly to be "sans frontières" in the world (and a large part of the exhibition was contributed by the "reporters sans frontières"), although people go on and on about globalisation, freedom of movement and multiculturalism, what we actually have is a modern world that is utterly obsessed with faffing over borders and frontiers. We never usually think about it, especially not in Europe. But if you do, it's WELL true. As they say.

Meeting people

After a whole week of doing nothing (no, nothing) but work, eat, sleep and, on one exciting afternoon, go to the supermarket, I arrived at Tuesday with a lot of oomph (new word for my terminales this morning) for socialising. As it happened, while Claire and Lena had been out flyering for wistipy they had met some sciences-po students who had invited them to a post-exams party on tuesday night. And so it was that amidst flurries of snow Claire, Tine, Lena, Chiara and I piled into a bar full of French students: not that we don't have enough friends already, but meeting more French people is our constant goal as not only does it mean success for wistipy, but also French practice for us (apart from anything else). However, the usual problem se posait: how? Even when they are in the same bar as you, the instinctive thing is to stay chatting to the people you know all evening..so after a while claire and I could see this was going to get us no closer to meeting someone new, and went on an adventure. We found a girl called Charlotte, who was very keen but having introduced us to her friend they both promptly ran away in search of more excitement and so left us to explore the crowds on our own.
Francais no.1 was very drunk. He refused to accept that claire was english (apparently I was more believable) and in short, one could not have a proper conversation with him. His friend, whose name was I think Benjamin although originally introduced as Geoffroy, was much more sensible and good fun, but after a few minutes we discovered he didn't really belong in Lyon and was leaving the next day, so we decided it wasn't really worth making friends and he wasn't going to introduce us to anyone else, and so on we went. Francais no.3 seemed uninterested in the prospect of talking to two anglaises and so swiftly introduced us to francais no.4. His name was Matthieu (I'm psychic: before leaving the house, I was eating dinner with Max and I said 'agh I must go' 'oh,' says max, 'are you going out? have you met someone?!' 'yes, says I, his name is, um, Matthieu, he's beau, intelligent, speaks several languages, does sport, music...').
Anyway, Matthieu was not far off this description: he's from somewhere near Cannes in the Riviera, and in his first year at the IEP studying something like PPE/SPS (not ecology, like a friend he pointed out in order to tell us ecologists were the land economists of IEP). He's also learning Chinese in order to spend a year in China in his third year. We had a lot of fun talking about english people, french people, lyon, languages, years abroad...all sorts of things. Claire even consented to cycling home in the snow rather than leave the conversation in time to catch the metro! We were hopeful about getting him and his friends to come to Wistipy the next night, and satisfied that we had, finally, gone out and met french students, we waited eagerly for Wednesday.
The thing about Wistipy, is that at previous soirées, there have been only a handful of people, including the organisers and their friends. So this week was the big drive: claire and lena had been out flyering at the universities and had enrolled a dj by the name of phil (who turns out to be one of natalie's best friends from glasgow…!) who had also helped them no end with spreading the word. Thankfully, this time the hard work paid off, and the cavern was full to bursting. The only problem? Almost not a frenchperson in sight, apart from the wistipy committee, who are great, but we know them already! In the middle of the evening claire and I did succeed in coming across a pair of baffled french girls who had turned up for a quiet drink at the cavern and discovered it overrun with foreigners…and stayed! By the names of Ariane and Suzanne, they seemed very friendly and Suzanne had been a french assistant at Eton for a year, so there was plenty to talk about!
Two evenings, both lots of fun, both resulting in new french acquaintances. Not bad for one week, one might say-but definitely not good enough. My cultural week continued on Thursday evening with an exhibition about frontiers that I went to with Antonia (who is a museologist and so rather into such things) and then my favourite italian film, la stanza del figlio. Tonight has some more international fun in store and tomorrow Lena is having some kind of a birthday party…who knows when we'll see the new french friends again but hopefully we can involve them in something, or go to some more of their university soirées.
Oh, and meanwhile I'm about to go out for tea with Fiona and Victoria, Fiona being a lovely French/English girl who I met on my way home for christmas (in the fog) and Victoria met on her way back out…talk about a small world!

A momentous moment (a.k.a. plug)

For a long time, my mother has been working on a book. In fact, I can't remember a time when she wasn't working on it. (Although in between times, she wrote several others). The book has been generally referred to, chez nous, as "Animals", because…it's about animals. Mostly. Momentously, it has just been published, under the title of Dumb Beasts and Dead Philosophers. Here's the link–Dumb Beasts and Dead Philosophers–that tells you all about how exciting it is. If you have a spare moment ever, you could order it in a library near you or browse it in the bookshop and, maybe, discover what we've been waiting so long for :)

Ten days of visitors

Life in Lyon comes and goes in waves. Some weeks not a lot happens, some weeks everything happens. Well these last two weeks have definitely been everything weeks. Beginning with Mummy's visit from 4th-8th, during which we did all the touristy things in Lyon, went to Vienne for a day, had dinner chez the Reynaud family, went ice skating on Bellecour with Victoria, and went shopping. Oh, and ate at a Bouchon, but as we left that til Sunday night all the good ones were closed. D'oh. The weather wasn't special (much rain) but we had fun all the same and were particularly bemused by Vienne, which appeared to be largely popluated by arabs, be totally tasteless as a town, and not at all the cute little touristy haven we'd imagined, despite a very modern, huge, state-of-the art museum and archaeological site. We were also bemused by the unified belief amongst the french that Epiphany is always on Sunday (so, in this case, on the 7th Jan), but did at least get to eat galette des rois and I was the epiphany queen :). On Saturday evening Raj, Steve and Lucy came to Lyon and we ate pizza together. Yum.
Monday was Max's birthday, and back to school day for the new term. Quel joie. Believe it or not, all the teachers (not just me) were mentioning the fact that there were only five weeks til the next holidays and none of them were keen to be back. Ho hum. I arrived home from school at 5 to find Max amid a grand german tea party complete with cakes and suchlike, and after a little work we then had dinner, before I went out to collect Emma from the station.
On Tuesday, Emma and I did very little, other than wander and see the town a bit, which was jolly. We also paid a visit to the post office, where a woman tried to persuade me to buy a pre-paid envelope for €6 something (of which I was having none). The letter, when I did get round to sending it, cost €1 something. So I think I was right there! In the evening we joined Claire, Chiara and Tina for a drink at the Escal'in, a tiny cosy french bar in Vieux Lyon–and so heard about their christmasses. Wednesday we tried to go to the museum of contemporary art, but alas, a metro and bus ride later, it was "shut until february". Silly. So we wandered in the park for a while saying hello to the giraffes, lions, etc, before joining the girlies for football which we played in three against one england v germany. Lots of fun (even if i was a bit rubbish). Thursday was a big day, starting with a singing lesson, then Stu arrived (having flown out of Stansted at silly o'clock) and we ate giant pain au chocolat for elevenses with the result that none of us felt like lunch (oops). I then went to school where I was annoyed to discover two out of three classes weren't there (though no one bothered telling me) while Emma and Stu explored the wonders of Fourviere and the Roman Amphitheatres. And seemed to have fun observing the French out and about (can't imagine why). Later we went out for dinner at le Mere Jean, where we ate lots of very scrummy, very piggy (in a literal sense) food. And then were so full we couldn't contemplate doing anything so collapsed back at home. On Friday I returned from work to find Emma and Stu avidly watching the world go by out of our kitchen window. Apparently it had been highly entertaining…once they'd had enough of that we toddled off to the Epicerie for a yummy lunch (we were tempted to order 4 desserts between the three of us, but in the end restrained ourselves) then decided not to go to the textile museum lest it be a bit dull, instead going to buy stripey tights for emma and penny sweets in the shop next door, and then going ice skating in even blunter, even more uncomfortable skates than the previous time. But fun. After this, we quickly made some dinner, before claire victoria and laura joined us and we went for a few drinks at Ninkasi which was very crowded but the usual fun, and especially fun for stu as they were showing flying machines doing silly acrobatics on their tv screen.
Saturday was Free Day and we spent the morning at the market (yay!) and the afternoon at the Centre de la Resistance, which was an interesting, if somewhat sobering experience. Then there was a mad rush to cook dinner before Emma had to catch the bus to the airport (oops) but we made it (just) and so off she went back to the land of home. Stu and I returned to the flat and watched Enigma on dvd, before going to bed not too late on account of…
…getting up at 5am!! Bleurgh, that is silly o'clock. Early enough to wish Gareth a good night as he came in! However, porridge juice and coffee later, we were feeling alive enough to brave the brisk walk down the road to the post office, where we awaited the departure of our (very cramped NO leg-room) bus to Alpe d'Huez. Two and three quarter hours later, feeling a little queasy from the windy road, we piled out of the bus into what was a very cold but not particularly snowy ski resort. Having located our location de matériel, eaten our second breakfast and studied the piste map to decide on the day's plan, we set off on a very long chair lift that took us (via a bit of green run) to a nice long blue run. Lesson number one of the day was that Blue was in fact everywhere else's Red, because the easiest at Alpe d'H is Green, not Blue. However, the blue was fun and got us to the right place. Or at least, I say it did. It got me to the right place, but not at the same time as Stu. I waited a while, somewhat puzzled as to how he could have taken longer than me, but not having seen him whizz past, and not finding him at the bottom of the slope. Stupidly, we had not made any "if I lose you" plans. So after a while I toddled over to the next lift we were going to take, hoping I might find him there, then went up said lift, wondering whether he'd already gone up that one. Hélas, I found him not (at this point, he was busy redoing the same piste we'd done, as I found out later–to this day we don't know what happened but somehow we must have passed each other without noticing…)So to cut a long story short, I carried on, supposing I would find him later, but never succeeded in doing so and so explored the mountains on my own. First a blue, on which I came crashing to my knees in a very ouch manner, then a long red, to take me back to a lift which went all the way up to the middle of the resort, then I took a green one back to base (a bit icy owing to excess use). The red had no artificial snow, so was a bit thin in places, but the rest were thickly covered in machine-created white stuff :) After lunch I decided to go on an adventure to the glacier. On the way up I got to look at all sorts of exciting black runs that given the conditions looked like pure suicide. Three box lifts later, I discovered that was where all the cool kids go, as dozens of people whizzed past me. The blue piste was nice, and long, but had a few flat/uphill moments which annoyed me somewhat. Two lifts down again, which I shared with another snowboarding girl about my age, who was similarly regaining her snowboarding skills after a few years of no practice, and was going to do a nice easy descent to end the day, so we both went down the Vachettes (the biggest blue) which would have been nice at the beginning of the day but by the end was rocky and lumpy and generally not all that pleasant after all. However, I had had much fun over all, and was relieved to find Stu still alive (if slightly injured) and very happy after discovering some chatty pilot types and a very tasty lunch at the altiport…and so after purchasing food and drink (highly necessary) we embarked upon the long journey home, knowing full well we'd be mightily aching by the end of it…
Anyway before I get too carried away with the fun, i'd better run off as I have much to do this week and not enough hours to do it in. A plus, as they say…oh and, for the record, the french sales began on Jan 10th. Random. The French clearly do not understand the concept "january sale".

Habits a teacher shouldn't have…

Number 1: Finishing other people's sentences for them. I do this a lot.

The big gas hunt and other tales

Here is, at last, a shaggy dog story from the week before christmas:
It is monday evening (dark and not stormy, but rather cold), at about 5.30pm. Max is in the kitchen beginning to prepare things for a big dinner, and I, having returned from school and being somewhat tired, am sitting at my computer writing email (or something of the sort). "Annie," says Max, somewhat hesitantly, "do you feel like going for a little walk?" "Yes," says I, "why not?" "Are you sure? We need some more gas…" "Ah," says I, "now I see what you did there." But up I get, willing to go and do the duties, on the grounds that the boys are going to cook exciting dinner. I should explain–we have no mains gas in our kitchen so buy it every month in a returnable bottle. I check the map for where the gas shop is–only a short walk away really, but I decide I may as well get the metro one stop down the line and then depending how heavy the thng is, perhaps walk back. So off I go. Around the corner, I begin to have doubts: the place looks awfully shut. Sure enough, it doesn't open on Mondays. Thanks to Orange unlimited numbers, I call Max's mobile. "Annie!" he says, brightly. "Max, c'est fermé" "Non! Impossible!" Max sounds as if the end of the world is nigh as he has visions of his feast going to pot, as it were. "See my computer on the table?" I say, "go to www.pagesjaunes.fr and search for quincaillerie." Several minutes later, after much swearing at my computer for being a mac, and a few fusses with how to search the whole of Lyon, we discover that the next nearest is at Place Guichard. Three metro lines later, I step out of the metro with my gas bottle and trot to number 82 rue de la Part Dieu. A sinking feeling grows as I approach what looks remarkably like a locksmith. "Bonsoir, est-ce que vous faites le plein de gaz?" "Non, désolé" "Merci, au revoir". As I feared. I retreat out of the door once more, retrieve my phone from my pocket and at that moment receive a message from Max that hadn't delivered as I'd been in the metro: "I just rang them, they don't have it." Great. So i ring him again: "okay, where do I go now then?" It turns out I don't really want a quincaillerie, but rather, a petrol station. Racking my brains for where I may have seen one, I decide it's better if I just stay put and get Max to do the work. 15 minutes later, he and antonia have been on the phone to a few and the nearest bet they reckon is some unknown shop in the shopping centre. So i pop on the metro, arrive in a heaving shopping centre in full pre-christmas swing, and am just studying the floor plan to see quite where one might find gas refills, when Antonia phones: "We just rang the reception and they say impossible, there's no such shop." Another twenty minutes go by: I am beginning to think that if I have to get somewhere before it shuts at 7, I'd jolly better get going. We consider the option of getting a double-sized bottle from one place that's run out of little ones, but that weighs 13.5 kilos and we'd have to go back to that place next time to change it, so we're not too keen. Eventually I am sent to Sans Souci (two more metro lines) where I am already famous, as Antonia has spent a good 15 mins on the phone to this petrol station. "I'm going to give you propane, not butane" he says. "And it makes no difference?" The reality appears to be that despite it being "déconseillé", it will make no difference…but we must remember to change back to butane next time. Slightly dubious, I thank him and set off home with the wrong sort of gas, and just over two hours after beginning my 'little walk', I step through the door of the flat to loud cheers from my flatmates. Here's to hoping we don't blow the flat up. But so far so good.

And it made a VERY good dinner. So good, in fact, that we were not hungry again for three days! A starter of duck, spinach and goat's cheese salad was followed by beef cooked in duck fat and butter with a buttery onion sauce, a very creamy potato gratin, and haricots verts. For dessert, a mango sponge finger tart-like thing made by Max–and that's not to mention cheese, papillotes, and plenty of wine. The quantities were absurd– there were five of us (Gareth, Greg, Max, Antonia and I) but there was enough food to feed at least eight or nine people. Mmmm.

That was Christmas, more or less. Although the next evening Gareth decided we should be introduced to Quenelles, and so Max, Rebecca and I savoured the delights of these bizarre fish-flavoured dumplings. Odd, I think was the general conclusion. Just odd. After this very Lyonnais experience, Rebecca and I trotted off to see the new Branagh film of the Magic Flute (La Flûte Enchantée) at the Astoria cinema. With Amy Carson (recently of Trinity College Cambridge) in the lead role as Pamina, we were happy to find ourselves in the company of only a handful of other people, so could get as excited as we liked about our rather distant claim to fame (I once played in a concert she sang in; Rebecca had lectures with her). The film has a screenplay written by Stephen Fry, and is set in the 1st world war. Odd. But superb–definitely a must-see. See also Becca's blog for more about the film (link on right hand side of this page).

Who would be a modern musician?

As many of you will already know, at the point at which I flew to Lyon in September, the air security alerts were so very bright red that the thought of anyone being allowed to carry a musical instrument on board a plane were out of this world. I mean, a clarinet is obviously indicative of being a terrorist. So it was that I resigned myself to spending at least a few months without the company of my violin. I didn't even send it a birthday card on October 4th, how very neglectful of me. However, having decided to go home at christmas I began to anticipate the imminent possibility of returning with my violin, now that the rules officially state "musical instruments are permitted". So I merrily rock up to the check-in desk expecting the rules to be as they were last time I travelled with my violin, i.e. that exceptionally, one is allowed one's handbag plus one's violin, on the grounds that it is a rare and fragile item. I check in my suitcase and the girl says "have you got any sharp objects in your hand luggage?" "No." says I, "and you only have one piece of hand baggage?" "Yes, and a violin" says I. But this was not to be: you have to check in one or the other, says the girl. So I express surprise and say it's always been fine in the past, and she says ah, but these days the rules are tighter: one bag only, no exceptions. Somewhat incredulous, I ask her what she intends me to do with my money, my personal effects, and so forth: so she says can I fit them in my pockets or in my violin? And I say, well possibly but what about my computer? "You'll have to choose between your computer and your violin" says she. Well now, I'm blowed if she really believed what she was saying there. So I ask, would it be okay if I just carried my computer? You can try, she says, but you might not gt through security. Well, cunning as I am, and knowing how things work in airports, I think I have a pretty good chance, so I take out my computer, and having stuffed my camera, two phones, two wallets and a passport into the little pocket on my violin case, I toddle off in the direction of security. The man checking that everyone has only one bag doesn't bat an eyelid at the fact that I am cradling my laptop in my arms: he probably thinks I've just already got it out knowing it has to be scanned separately, and isn't interested enough to realise that there's no way it could fit in my violin case. At the other end of the queue, they are not in the least interested in how many bits and bobs you put through the scanner, and computers (as I say) have to be scanned separately in any case: there's no one chekcing it goes back in your one piece of hand luggage afterwards, so sure enough, there is no problem with my simply carrying the computer, it simply makes my life more difficult when juggling passports and boarding cards and an end-heavy violin.
Now I know logic has never really played a part in airport rules, but what really got my goat is this. The rule states "musical instruments are permitted as long as the case contains only the instrument itself and nothing else". From which one imagines, as I did, that a handbag (some work to do on the flight, one's keys and passport) would be allowed alongside. The practice, on the other hand, is quite the contrary: everything must be inside your case. Had my 'handbag' (my rucksack, in this case) been *attached* to my violin, there would not have been the slightest problem. It was simply the fact of them being two bags that bothered them. And note that two items was fine, because one wasn't a bag–I've no doubt that if my computer had had so much as a protective zippy cover over it, I would have risked being sent back by the man at the start of the security queue. So someone needs to invent a violin case not simply with a pocket on the top, but with an entire attachable/detachable bag on it. As simple as that. And thank goodness I'm a violinist because some instrument cases aren't currently made with little pockets on. Maybe I could design one and make millions…then again, maybe the rules would simply change again, as they appear to every couple of months.
Perhaps BAA need to employ someone with some real sense to define the hand baggage rules so that the check in girl no longer needs to say "well you can try, but it's not us who make the rules," nor suggest that you could easily just send one of your two valuable and delicate items to its imminent death in the hold?

All I want for Christmas is…

So, Christmas. For the first time in my life, Father Christmas didn't really come. Not that it mattered–I don't need a new toothbrush. There were stockings, but they contained the usual clementine, and at best two or three other little things, so were by no means bulging. A sign that I am growed up, clearly. My christmas list, on the other hand, was stuck to remarkably well: I received several girly magazines and an excellent book called "the Xenophobe's guide to the English", and some rather useful books about English castles and suchlike, all of which will be useful teaching resources. Also as requested were a dvd of Billy Elliot (must mend my dvd drive…) :D, a pot of marmite lots of lovely singing music (fauré and purcell), ski goggles and, invaluably, my air fare! In the way of surprises, I also received a pink sparkly fairy wand (from Grandad!), a lovely red apron, a bike computer, some euros, a pretty flower necklace, a bright green bag, a lovely wooden viol-shaped peg, seven fudge bars "seven whole days not one in seven, I will eat you…" or something (mmm), and a useful book in which to record birthdays and store birthday cards, which might possibly mean some people get theirs on time this year (pigs might fly). A game called Carcassonne also looks very exciting, but will have to wait for Saturday when Max gets back to Lyon, as the rules are entirely in German!
So there we are (as someone or other famously said). A good Christmas. I hope yours were equally exciting.

Bonne Année, Bonne Santé!

First things first–a very happy new year to you all, may 2007 be even better than 2006, and bring you (as I said in my 'discours' on New Year's Eve, of which more to follow…) health, joy, happiness and lots and lots of good food and drink. I haven't made any resolutions yet, but I really should…
I also hope you all had a good Christmas–those of you I managed to see, it was lovely to see you. I had a wonderful week at home (despite the index, owml), including family christmas, a "century" party for Mummy's birthday (at which Cecily and I managed to match spectacularly), and several tea/shopping/dinner outings with various friends. And of course, King's for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols, which was very good, as ever, and extra specially wonderful after surviving so long with good choral music existing only via the WWW.
Yet despite how lovely it was to be at home, off I went on New Year's Eve ready to face what was, until midday, an entirely unplanned, potentially rather dull, French Réveillon. At midday I received a phonecall from the Reynaud family (Marie-Claude is one of the teachers I work with most) inviting me to dinner, which I happily accepted and so found myself, with suitcase rucksack and violin in tow, arriving in the 6eme for a lovely French dinner, in the company of Marie-Claude, Philippe, Marianne and Eve, and their friends Sophie, Clément, Giselle and Jean-Claude. The evening began with champagne (how many 'chings' are heard in a group of 9 people?) and nibbles (including a delicious bacon and olive 'cake' made by Giselle), while speeches ("discours" as above) were given, and turned into interpreting exercises for Marianne and I (Marianne is studying English at university and will be going to England next year to be a French Assistante). After the speeches, according to Reynaud tradition, a sparkly star was placed in the middle of the floor to which each person had to kneel in reverence*. We then moved to the dinner table, for a smoked salmon starter, followed by turkey, stuffing, chestnuts, haricots verts, etc, then cheese (Philippe was especially proud of his Master, although the rest of the family seemed less keen on account of its pungent smell), and finally a delicious cheesecake also made by Giselle (photo-->).
A short pause ensued while we attempted to find parts for the Bach double violin concerto on the grounds that Eve and I could play…but when it was concluded that a trip to the attic would be required to find it, that was abandoned. And lo and behold, it was seven minutes to midnight (exactly, as we were following an atomic clock). On the dot of midnight everyone exchanged the 'bise' and wished bonne année and bonne santé to each person present–and briefly we looked to see whether there was any live tv coverage of french celebrations (like there is in the UK), but no–all we could find in the way of live programs was Buenos Aires new year, where it was still several hours too soon, and they were doing a big outdoor concert of bizarre south american contemporary orchestral music. Meanwhile, Marianne attempted to get through the busy mobile networks to discover where the party was, and once she'd succeeded she, Sophie and I headed off to find it. Sure enough, it was buzzing, a big city centre apartment full of students, most of whom had already been partying for some hours. Lots of fun and many french people to talk to, although at times a challenge to understand them amidst the hubbub of the party! Two good friends of Marianne's came along shortly after we'd arrived, Alexis and Benoit, both very friendly and fun. We stayed about two hours, but as Marianne was not feeling too well, we decided after that that it was really time to sleep and so headed off back. A lazy 'premier de l'an' ensued, involving late breakfast, lunch at 3pm and a lovely walk in the park with Marie-Claude, Eve and their adorable dog Rugby, along with some photo viewing (Marianne's holiday in Corsica). In France, unlike chez nous, it is essential to wish everyone you know a happy new year, and this must, of course, be done in an individual, personal manner–so many a text message was sent, and many a phone call made and received in order to wish all and sundry bonne année and bonne santé! The day ended with us all sat in the living room watching a quiz show, which involved family teams–the Reynaud family were so good at it, they have now decided they should be on it, so watch this space…
Anyhow, here I am back at Rue de la Barre, which is much quieter than usual (good, given I must do lots of work over the next couple of days!). Outside it is raining, but I'm hoping the rain will go away before thursday, when Mummy arrives. More posts to follow on matters various that I have failed to write about over Christmas. À plus, as they say…

* the truth of this sentence is not guaranteed.

The Modern Film

This weekend, amongst other things, we spent a lot of our time discussing film.
Try this quotation from the mouth of Herr Maximilian Hien, which I would love to set as an essay…
"Spiderman is the most historically accurate film ever made" (discuss…)


The other reason why we were discussing film was, however, far less amusing. Modern film treads far too often the line between being "artistic", "original", "thought-provoking" etc and being quite simply very disturbed. Moral messages are no longer politically correct, nor are they in vogue, and are therefore non-existant, even in situations where their absence leaves a gaping black hole into which any kind of developing mind might fall never to emerge again.

Thus it is that, while reading the bbc news on saturday, Mylene and I began to discuss the films we had seen recently. Beginning with Le Parfum, film of the book by Patrick Suskind. In my mind, this film just about keeps its balance on the arty side of the line, it's a very well-made (if slightly tacky historically) film, that is not violent, just bizarre, despite containing the murders of not five but twelve women whose essence is needed to make the most incredible perfume in the world (and who, incidentally, are left naked…).
The second film we talked about was Scoop, one that I haven't seen but that Mylene and Jeremie went to around a month ago, and came back with good reports of. It's a comedy, but apparently somewhere in there (one of the sub-plots?) there is a serial killer bearing striking similarities to the one we've been hearing about much closer to home. Maybe someone can fill me in on its role, but Mylene was definitely in agreement that there was no kind of condemnation of this, that it was almost treated as unremarkable, the kind of occurrence one hears about all the time…
This led us on to talking about Match Point, which we'd all watched together a couple of months ago, and which is a decent film up to half way through at which point it becomes unbearable up to the end, and which deliberately leaves you unclear as to whether or not the murderer was ever caught (the stronger indication being that he wasn't, and that one is invited to be happy for him as a result).
Three films in three months–not representative of a high proportion of modern film, admittedly, but still a higher proportion than one would like to see treading that very fine line between thought provoking and simply disturbed.
And one asks oneself this: how many disturbed people does it take to make such a film? Script writer, producer, director, and probably a few other people who have to approve a big budget affair, they all have to think it's a good story, or at least an appropriate story for the cinema screen. As well as one that will sell to the modern world, clearly. It's unlikely that filmmakers are very disproportionately disturbed compared with the rest of society, so if there are that many in the film industry it doesn't bode well for the rest of us, especially when they're swaying us in that direction.

Personally, I find it hard to watch violent films anyway. Things of the nature of Ocean's Eleven or Bond don't bother me in the least, but while my friends get excited about Kill Bill, I can't watch it at all. That, I admit, is a personal dislike. What I don't think is a personal dislike is being disgusted by films that are, as I say, simply disturbed. My flatmates genuinely enjoyed Match Point. That worries me.

Now, I'm not trying to say film is the cause of all our problems, nor am I saying all modern films are like this, but it seems to me that when we look at the problems of a few individuals in society and ask ourselves, how could anyone even think about doing these things, or when we say "oh, they are mentally ill" we should perhaps stop to think about whether it's not them but the whole modern society that is psychotically disturbed, and whether it might be a good idea NOT to make feature films that require an intelligent, rational, stable audience. Because all it takes is one individual to miss the artistic value or misunderstand the fiction of the film slightly and you could be getting far more real-life chaos than we currently have.

What a depressing post. We had a good weekend really!! Must go and teach…

Since writing all that, Mark has quite rightly pointed out that what I say about Match point isn't really fair on the film, nor is it really what I wanted to say. Here is Mark's opinion, with which I agree…(hope you don't mind me copying direct!)
"its actually a very brave and honest film which acknowledges that real life stories don't generally conclude in an hour and a half, or have a positive moral lesson to take away from them. despite that, i'd be very surprised if anyone had fallen into any kind of moral abyss as a result of watching match point. i personally found it quite morally affirming to watch the remorse and hysteria he started to develop and which would only get worse. he's a tragic hero not too disimilar to macbeth - the reason you empathise with the character is that he has a lot of good qualities - it wouldn't be of interest if he was just some cackling villain who would obviously never exist. he's just a realistic character with some good and bad qualities, who allows himself to get into a position where the bad qualities overwhelm the good ones, and that's the tragedy of the story. and in any case its not as if he really escapes punishment - i would personally much rather go to jail than start seeing visions of people i'd murdered. its much like macbeth or crime or punishment, if anything its a study of morality - its all about how most people cannot do terrible things and not feel the moral consequences of them."

Yes–absolutely, and it's a highly successful very well made one at that. I think what I wanted to say before, using Match Point as an illustration, was more about what our making of films about these realities tells us–that is, that . I think it's a good sign that we can make intelligent, meaningful, speculative studies like this one, and that we are introspective, capable of seeing the weaknesses in ourselves and our lives. But I don't like the fact that this is praised as us acknowledging the brutal realities of modern society and yet no one stops to talk about the fact that this necessarily requires that *being* realistic. We love studying it but there's no one saying wait, this shouldn't be reality. It's almost like we take these people, these behaviours, for granted.
While I admit that Macbeth is the same sort of character and that clearly these kinds of stories are not limited to modern film, it seemed to me that the frequency with which we encounter such things these days and the extent to which they are regarded as nothing out of the ordinary was worth raising an eyebrow at? But perhaps I am wrong…

Exciting phone news

I should have said earlier, that owing to Mylène's expert negotiatory powers, we will very shortly have unlimited (yes, unlimited) phone calls to foreign landlines in many countries (including greece, germany, italy, uk…). As a result, if any of you have landline numbers that you think I might not have, please send them to me :) thank you!

Student Life

I think I might have too many reminders?!













A snapshot: today is Tuesday. At 10am I have already finished work and I arrive back home. The kitchen table contains:

Water
Gin
Lemonade
Empty sorbet tub
3 clean bowls
2 dirty bowls
1 empty bottle of something Gareth was drinking last night
Our very chic candle strip
Tomato ketchup
1 baguette
1 card game
1 dvd
Kitchen roll
Scissors
€1,15 loose change

Fete de la Lumière

The 8th December has been a special day in Lyon's calendar since 1852, when it was the inauguration day for a statue of Mary at Fourviere, to say thank you on behalf of the town for their being saved from La Peste by her. (Excuse my slightly incomplete historical knowledge…). On that day, the Lyonnais spontaneously lit candles at all their windows and came out into the streets to celebrate, and the 8th has been celebrated in this way ever since. However, since the 1990s it has grown into a big festival and since 2001 has been officially four days long, with light displays all over the main town spaces. So it is that each year thousands flock to Lyon for the weekend to see the lights, and all the Lyonnais are eager to see what this year's creations will be like.
This year, a rather blowy thursday led to a friday of heavy rain…but this was not enough to discourage us excited year abroaders, and so equipped with umbrellas (in my case one that had seen better days) and my weatherproof camera, we set off to discover the 'central event' of the fête, which is a candlelit procession from the Cathedral in Vieux Lyon up the hill to the Fourviere Basilica, accompanied all the way by speakers blasting cheesy 'merci marie' songs, at the end of which there is then a mass whose congregation spills out of the church. On our way up, we were just having a debate with Max about the meaning of the word 'train' (in English, not French) when we were accosted by a TV journalist and his camera man, who asked us what we were feeling about the procession. Three stereotypical responses later, we moved on up the hill. Down in town again, rather bedraggled and annoyed by people with umbrellas, we took a break in Bellecour to dry off a bit and install candles on our own window ledges. But then, keen to see more, we set off once more in the direction of the Hotel de Ville. Things were really buzzing–stalls on the streets selling chestnuts, crêpes, waffles, burgers, kebabs, or mulled wine, occurred every 10 metres, and the queue, if you could call it that, to see the inside of the hotel de ville, was possibly the most sardine tin like experience I've had. Well worth the effort though, as inside the lighting effects were so good the walls actually looked painted. On we went, warmed by more cups of mulled wine, up the other hill, the Croix Rousse, where we found a very lively square lit with moving butterflies and entertained by fire artists, and complete with the cheapest wine (€1) and some rather delicious home made cake in aid of a well in Burkina Faso (as the student selling it was so keen to tell us). Lovely. Back down the hill, we once more crossed the Terreaux, where 15 spheres were suspended, changing colour and talking to each other (they were representing planets and other such heavenly whatsits), and carried on to St Nizier, a definite contestant for the best Son et Lumiere this year, and finally to Place des Celestins, where insects danced to classical music and the whole square was full of perfume. Bizarre.
Think that sounds like enough? But that was only Friday! On Saturday, there was a strike on metro and sncf (i.e. normal trains). As a result, what could have been just a brief encounter with Pete, Millie and Clare as they headed towards St Etienne to visit Lucy turned into an entire evening and morning with them, which was lovely! After fetching some pizza from around the corner, we moved off once again to Terreaux and beyond, this time seeing the traboules on the croix rousse, old passages built for transporting silks up and down the hill inside the buildings, in which there were various student light creations, not least some bobbins of silk that were very pretty. Back down to the presqu'ile again, we finished our tour at Vieux Lyon in time to see the cathedral lit up in showers of blue for the last time that evening. Sadly I didn't get to the other side of the Rhone, but I certainly saw plenty, and the party atmosphere was fantastic–crowds in the streets all night long and an impression of being at the snow ball…throughout the city!
Selected photos can be found in my facebook album at http://cambridge.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2077970&l=f0673&id=36905253

In a moment of inspiration (or just severe boredom) while planning lessons about Christmas on Sunday, I decided to summarise the (four) 12 days of Fete de la lumiere, and it went something like:
On my first day in Lyon, my French friend gave to me…
…A tree with sparkling leaves
…2 butterflies
…3 red lights
…4 silken spools
…5 METRO STRIKES
…6 wasps a-dancing
…7 angels flying
…8 candles glowing
…9 wine pots steaming
…10 chestnuts roasting
…11 brollies dripping
…12 spheres a-talking

Chris Thomas and I agree that Cambridge needs a big festival like this. Suggestions on a postcard please.

Loans, wages, and the injustice of Year Abroad finance

Those of us who, on our Year Abroad, have chosen to work or teach (those being two different things, clearly) are both students and employees at the same time. This is complex enough for us to understand ourselves, let alone anyone else, and can be very awkward to try to explain to, for example, your flatmates, or your bank manager.
As a result of this rather bizarre situation, although in the government's eyes we deserve more money (because we are living abroad), each potential source of finance individually decides that we deserve less, and so we are paid a "work experience" salary and we receive a fraction of our student loan. This in itself is not a great problem, since with the two put together one can live.

However, the injustice goes further than that. In as far as the loan is concerned, the Student Finance forms fail to include a suitable box to teach for the Teaching Assistant situation, forcing one to be either on 'paid placement' or 'study abroad'. As a result, no two british councillers fill in the form the same way, and we all receive totally different amounts of loan, varying from about 1/3 of the full loan, to its entirety. My personal experience was that I asked a Student Finance advisor, who clearly hadn't a clue what I was talking about and told me to send a letter about what I was going to be doing (which I duly did). But there are thousands of us every year, and have been since before loans began: they surely ought to get familiar with our case?!

On the other side, as regards wages, we are paid about half the salary of a normal teacher ( i think), for doing 12 hours a week, when "normal" teachers in France do 15-18 hours. According to the powers that be, this ought to be enough to live on. They also like to tell us that with only 12 hours a week, we will have lots of time to travel around, and to experience the French culture. However, they fail to mention that this will only be possible if we finance it ourselves (and, incidentally, we don't have the right to take on other contracted part-time work).

Most of the assistants I know are paying between €300 and €450 in rent per month. Add to this €100 for food (which is only feasible if you are eating tesco value equivalent everything and not much at that), €30 for dinner out once a month and €50 for a few evenings in the pub and maybe a concert, or a trip to the cinema. Then there's the Técély (metro card) at €30 and phone credit or contract at €30/40. Put together, we're already at €690, which means that if you ever want to go back to england or you go to Paris for the weekend (each at more or less €100), that's your €760 easily used up. Don't forget you also have to pay £200 a term fees to cambridge (but that's why you have a loan as well as your salary).
Forget the weekend of skiing at €110, forget clothes and shoes, books in french, letters and presents to send home. Forget buying cheese on the market at €5 a piece. Forget singing lessons or subscriptions to various other activities, or dance classes at €10 a time. Forget all those visions you had of visiting your fellow year-abroaders for friendly gatherings in their different European hideouts.

On the other hand, some assistants have the wonderful fortune to be housed by their school at a rate of €0-€75 per month, giving them at least an extra €300 a month to play with. Now that equates to three weekends away, two new pairs of shoes and three or four more dinners out, posh food, cinema once a week and regular dance classes. You get the idea. Now that is very nice for them, but one wonders whether the salary was designed with them in mind, or with us in mind? It certainly makes us gasp when we compare their life abroad with the life of someone stuck in the banlieue paying through the nose just because they're foreign.

I'll stop there as the rant's gone far enough and i don't want to suggest we don't have enough money to be able to live well out here (as I say, thank goodness we get some loan) but I don't think there's any harm done in pointing out the injustices in the system(s), is there? And this time, it's not just the fault of french paperwork…At least we can be thankful we get more than a full time intern in a paris office, c. €300).

Matters ecclesiastical

Today I went to Lyon Anglican Church a.k.a 'easychurch' (see www.lyonchurch.org) "Spreading the Word of God to English speaking people in Lyon". It was a service of lessons and carols for Advent, "The Advent Hope".

Liturgy: Is something the Orthodox church has
Advent wreath: Blue metallic candles, a purple one in the centre
Hymn book: Mission Praise (The Complete)
Pew Bibles: Yes
Chasuble: No
High Altar and Reserved Sacrament: Not in a month of Sundays
Organ: replaced by small group of assorted musicians including exciting african drum
Hymns: A few good ones, but bad word changes and some classic rubbish ("His saints…will meet Him in the air" made me laugh particularly)
Language: Modern except for some invading 'thy' in the Lord's Prayer
Flowers: There's a potted palm tree in the sanctuary
Coffee: Yes, and even what purport to be Jaffa Cakes!
Youth group: definitely
Banners: Several
Involvement of people: Very keen
Multiculturalism: High

When the vicar asked me what church I went to at home, his response was "Ah, not quite like this then". No, says I, but it's not a bad thing to see a different church from time to time. And indeed, it's not. Having been fully prepared for a happy-clappy experience, I was actually rather pleased with what I found this morning. Musically dodgy at times, but nevertheless much better than the catholic churches where it would appear that 490 of the 500 people there don't have a clue how to sing the hymn, and most don't even try. Lots of young readers, which was good, and a community that notices you–I met a lovely (English) family who invited me to lunch at their house, in fact it turned out that their daughter who is also on her year abroad was Cecily's roommate at school and is now at University with Sarah! The world is very small. Apparently the man who is in charge of their music is also involved with the Chemin Neuf community so there might be an opportunity to discover more about that too.
Until now, I'd tried a few different churches near me. First, I went to the Cathedral (St Jean) but although I quite liked it, after discovering that their 60-strong girls choir was amplified and that their adult choir was rubbish, I decided to move on. Next I went to St Bonaventure, an old Franciscan church of grand proportions at Cordeliers. I liked this a lot: relaxed and with a decent proportion of young people, and interesting sermons. Also, they have an organ recital series before the evening mass at 7pm on the first sunday of every month. Lovely. However, I thought I'd better try at least one more, so off I trotted to St Nizier, an enormous cathedral-like church not far from Bellecour. This too I liked: so big a congregation that it's full to bursting on Sunday morning and there are not enough seats unless you get there early, lots of young families and what looks like a decent student-age lot as well. The one problem: despite helping set up their 'crèche' (crib scene) last sunday, there isn't really any way of being known/getting to know people in such a big church…I shall keep going sometimes, but it remains a bit of a mystery (there is no coffee after mass, for example). So I thought today that it was time I showed my face at the Anglican outpost, and there we are, something very different, but pleasing in its own way! Watch this space for more thoughts on church matters…