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Saturday, May 28, 2011

How To Go Out With Marie-Clare

Today is the 29th of May. A number of interesting things have occurred throughout history on this day. Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay reached the peak of Mount Everest. JFK was born. So was Noel Gallagher. Jeff Buckley died. A fairly tragic day for music all round.

But, perhaps most critically of all, today, the 29th of May 2011, is Marie-Clare’s 17th birthday.

It’s not often Marie-Clare has a birthday. Sometimes it’s as rare as once a year. Hence, why would I waste this wondrous opportunity?

Sadly, due to my lack of memory and inability to find things, I frequently forget to get people gifts. Even when I do, they’re rarely especially memorable. So this year, I decided to change. Marie-Clare is one of the most truly amazing people I know. And yet she is not, and has never been in, a relationship. Considering how beautiful and generally spectacular she is, surely the only reason she’s not overrun with hordes of enthusiastic suitors is because none of them have any idea how to go about it,

And so, as my gift on her birthday, I give to you:

 

HOW TO GO OUT WITH MARIE-CLARE

 

NB: It should be noted that not only is this being written entirely with Marie-Clare’s approval, it was, to the best of my knowledge, her suggestion. Just to get that cleared up.

 

Firstly: Marie-Clare’s perfect man

If you do wish to go out with Marie-Clare, you should definitely check the criteria. Although it has, at times, seemed that there is no end to the list of qualities she finds attractive, in reality there are quite limited options.

Here is a list of people she does, at the present moment, find attractive. While it’s not all encompassing it should at least give the casual reader a slightly better picture of what she likes.

 

Paul McCartney

James McCartney

Tom Daley

Nic from work

Jared Croker

Gerard Way

Benedick

Claudio

Joseph Fiennes

Jude Law

Josh Thomas

25

 

Primarily, if you are one of these people mentioned above, you should have relatively no trouble. Unless you’re Paul McCartney, in which case you’re shortly marrying an American heiress, and I’d carefully consider the relative benefits of asking a 17-year-old Australian to go out with you instead.

Those people who aren’t mentioned by name in the above list have a slightly smaller chance of ever hoping to go out with MC. Nonetheless, the chance is not totally non-existent. Using what I see as the key qualities of people from the above list, I have created MC’s ideal man.

 The perfect man

He must be a 69-year-old man with few teeth, a strangely high-pitched voice, and a bizarre penchant for wearing grey cardigans. He should have either an exaggerated Australian accent, a Liverpudlian dialect, or some kind of remotely American manner of speaking in which he occasionally halts in the middle of words and laughs encouragingly and somewhat disconcertingly. It is vital that he either doesn’t work at all or works in a fast food restaurant with Marie-Clare. As a friend of Marie-Clare’s, humbly attempting to help her find happiness, I’d suggest the second one is a more viable option. He’ll need to earn money for her somehow. Also, who doesn’t love a septuagenarian who can flip burgers?

Again, using the above list, this seemingly already perfect man must be distantly related to Voldemort. He must love The Beatles beyond all sense and reason and never, ever want to bring children into the world, although, given his age, the possibility of this happening was relatively small anyway. A healthy amount of homosexuality wouldn’t hurt either. This, friends, is the PERFECT MAN.

Unless of course you’re the son of this man, in which case that’s fine, too.

 

Secondly: Asking her out

Having established that you are the PERFECT MAN for Marie-Clare, the next major step in my landmark ‘How To Go Out With Marie-Clare’ is, of course, ASKING HER OUT. This is a delicate task. Marie-Clare tends to become unstable in the presence of relationships. Also sunflowers, clowns, and kelp, but we’ll concentrate for the moment on relationships.

An example of this:

Two days ago I was in Common Room with Falcon, chatting casually about I forget what. Suddenly, out of nowhere, or possibly out of one of the doors, Marie-Clare arrived.

 

MARIE-CLARE (MC): Hello, Leslie.

LESLIE (L): Hello, Marie-Clare.

FALCON (F): Hello, Marie-Clare.

MC: Leslie, I think you should know that I’ve decided to overcome my hatred of Falcon in favour of being friends with you. I’m just that accepting and caring.

F: Leslie, I should tell you that there are no circumstances in which I have, do, or will like Marie-Clare, no matter what she says. Just thought you should know.

MC: Leslie, I take the former statement back. Falcon, die.

F: I don’t care. I still hate you.

MC: Leslie, are just going to stand there and let him talk to me like that?

F: Come on, Leslie, it’s obvious you should be on my side.

L: I don’t know. I’m not sure if I can intervene. Anyway, I’m kind of enjoying it.

MC: Leslie, I’m your FRIEND! I’m WAY more important than your boyfriend!

F: Leslie, ditch her. Ditch her immediately.

MC: DUMP HIM. DUMP HIM NOW.

 

At that point they both made dramatic exits, leaving me with no one to talk to.

Anyway, as you’ll be able to tell from above example, Marie-Clare can have quite an adverse reaction to relationships in her presence. Nonetheless, I am going to be far more supportive than she is, and suggest ways in which the seemingly impossible feat of ASKING HER OUT could be made feasible.

 

One of the most notable things about Marie-Clare is the way in which she falls in love so easily. Hence, even if you are not, at the moment of asking, her PERFECT MAN, there is a passable chance that by the time you’ve finished you might be. The important thing is to do it when she’s not expecting it. In this way you can slip under any prepared defences she may have at the ready.

Here is my suggestion for asking her out:

Hide. In her locker is a good option, although it could be slightly cramped. Lie under the Wagon Wheels in the canteen until she comes by. Cower behind the Beatles section in the library. Pretend to be a rock in her Geology classroom.

When she comes into your presence, spring out with flowers and a chloroform-soaked handkerchief. Scream ‘MARIE-CLARE, DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT WITH ME?’. Do it LOUDLY. It is imperative that she notices you. Also, this will make you difficult to ignore. I know I’d find a screaming maniac appearing from nowhere in a school environment hard to pass by – or even explain. Or I’d just say ‘Hello, Peanut’.

If she says yes, all well and good. Present her with the flowers and work out a time and an option (for viable date options, one must only lower one’s eyes a little further down the page, at which point one will be visually confronted by a section addressing that very issue).

Given my past experiences with Marie-Clare – and I’ve known her for two and a half years now – I’d suggest that, if she doesn’t actually say yes, her answer will be either (a) no or (b) stunned silence. In this case, drug her using the chloroform and kidnap her. Then take her on a date anyway.

It’s probably a good idea to use weak chloroform so she’s awake by the time you get to the venue. Otherwise it could be a little suspicious.

 

Thirdly: Date options

Now we’re down to the nitty-gritty of the article. Having successfully asked her out, you will then want to take her out. At this point, I believe, my advice will be invaluable. I have had a vantage point of Marie-Clare for the past several years. I’ve collected any amount of interesting and extremely helpful information. Now is the time to put it to use. Each option is provided with three ratings, each out of five. The first for the ease with which it can be put into place (five being intrinsically difficult, one able to be completed with relative ease), the second how much Marie-Clare will like it, the third how likely it is to actually work for you.

Below is a list of some of the more generic date options, sorted niftily into three easy-to-reference categories: Food, Film, and Misc.

 

FOOD

Taking someone out to dinner is universally recognised as a romantic move. Unfortunately, in the case of Marie-Clare, this move is EXTREMELY easy to get wrong. One wrong move and the entire evening could dramatically fail in your face. Espcially as Marie-Clare is one of the pickiest people in the ENTIRE WORLD. She won’t eat tomatoes, oranges, asparagus, spicy things, or a number of other foods and fares I forget. For this reason the whole idea of meals is a delicate area. Do NOT attempt it without at least glancing over the advice below.

NB: If you decided to go with the drug-with-chloroform option above, you’d better make this meeting exceptional. You’re already starting off at a lower point than the others.

Any kind of Asian restaurant, ever

Difficulty: 1

MC’s Rating: 1

Chance of Success: 1

Not a good idea to go with this one. I’ve been with Marie-Clare to a number of different Asian restaurants. We went to a Vietnamese place. She ate rice. At yum cha, she managed to order a plate of plain noodles and got by on them. Don’t even try Thai. Just don’t do this. It will FAIL. FAIL, I tell you.

 

Italian food

Difficulty: 2

MC’s Rating: 4

Chance of Success: 3

Italian is one of the two cultures Marie-Clare feels capable of consuming food from. Somehow, despite her lack of respect for tomatoes or any of that ilk, which one would think would be a tremendous difficulty. she loves Italian food. She probably likes the sundried kind. It’s impossible not to like sundried tomatoes.

 

The fast food restaurant she works at

Difficulty: 0

MC’s Rating: 0

Chance of Success: 1

You never know with this option. She might think of you as a considerate person who, knowing she doesn’t eat widely and can’t get out of work, has attempted to be as considerate and make it as convenient for her as possible. Once, when she was working, one of the Raiders came to her till. As soon as she’d served him she had to run out to the back of the restaurant, crying in some sort of ecstatic glee. It’s possible this option could work. Theoretically.

Or, as is more likely, she’ll think you’re a slacker and never go out with you again.

 

English restaurant

Difficulty: 4

MC’s Rating: 3

Chance of Success: 2

Marie-Clare once claimed that the only food she likes eating is Italian and English. I was sceptical. At the time, I hadn’t been sure if there was even such thing as fine British cuisine. You don’t really see many fancy English restaurants around. So you’re either faced with the difficulty of trying to find one, or that of simply taking her to a fish and chip shop. Or, if neither of these take your fancy, you could simply try the next option:

 

Fly to England

Difficulty: 5

MC’s Rating: 4

Chance of Success: 4

Marie-Clare dreams of going to England. She’s considered going on several school trips this year that would allow her to go, rejecting all of them as too expensive and not letting her see enough of the country (one of them, it turned out, let you go to Scotland but never visit London). The plan she’s currently formulating is to spend her gap year being a tutor at an English boarding school. I’m supposed to come too.

Anyway, by flying to England, you could certainly get some truly English cuisine. Like curry. Or kebabs. Also, you could take her to Liverpool, which would ensure you raised to the level of a god in her eyes, although still, it has to be said, below the level of Paul McCartney.

The only flaw in this plan would be that she’d know you’d drugged her and secretly flown her to another country. Probably better to be safe on this one and save it until she’d actually conscious. Although it would mean she wasn’t confronted with the tedium of an extremely long flight.

 

FILM

A film is always a good option. There are any number of possibilities associated with it. Unfortunately, even more so than with FOOD, there are a number of associated risks as well.

Take her to the cinema

Difficulty: 1

MC’s Rating: 1

Chance of Success: 1

Take Marie-Clare to the cinema. Don’t go in and see a film. Sit on those comfortable lounges they have, buy some popcorn, and chat until you get kicked out. This is unlikely to work. It does save you money, though.

 

Take her to the cinema and watch a film

Difficulty: 2

MC’s Rating: 2

Chance of Success: 1

We’re on somewhat safer ground here. Going to the cinema and actually watching a film is likely to be far more helpful than just going to the cinema and sitting there. You could see Sanctum. At least, you could if it hadn’t finished. That’ll teach you for not going to see it when it was actually on.

The problem with this one is that if you’re watching a film with an attractive man in it, Marie-Clare is far more likely to spend the entire film swooning over him than admiring you. I’d suggest either watching the film first by yourself to figure out the risks of this happening, or just chloroforming her during the dangerous bits.

 

Take her to the cinema and watch a film she wants to see

Difficulty: 3

MC’s Rating: 3

Chance of Success: 1

More likely to win her over, but an equally low possibility of success. For a start, Marie-Clare probably only wants to see the film because it’s got somebody she likes in it. That doesn’t bode well for your chances.

 

Take her to the cinema and watch a film she wants to see, and prepare for it

Difficulty: 5

MC’s Rating: 5

Chance of Success: 2

This is probably the most difficult. Forget that. This is DEFINITELY the most difficult.

Find about ten million dollars. Call Paul McCartney. Call Jude Law. Get Josh Thomas involved somehow. Add a cameo from a couple of the Raiders as bluff, friendly men in a bar scene. Make a film. (I’m happy to do the script. It could be my big break into the movie business).

Halfway through the film, get Paul to turn to the camera and say ‘Marie-Clare, you should really consider going out with XXXXX’ (insert your name at that point. For the moment, I’ve just assumed you’re called XXXXX. It’s pronounced ‘Xscscscscscsssss’).

Jude Law should at this point walk in and temporarily take a break from whatever unfeeling yet intelligent man of action he’s playing to say ‘I agree, Marie-Clare, XXXXX is fantastic.’

Perhaps Josh Thomas could choose this moment to go ‘That’s right, Marie-Clare. I’d love to go out with XXXXX if I had the option. Unfortunately, he’s too in love with you.’

A couple of the Raiders would mumble their manly assent.

Produce, edit, and finish this film. THEN take Marie-Clare to see it. Feign surprise when the moment described above occurs. Also feign surprise when your name appears in the credits as director, producer, and sponsor. Then spend the rest of your life living down the terrible reviews. Also, you’re unlikely to see that ten million again.

Unfortunately, Marie-Clare will probably have spent the entire film engrossed in the appearance of her idols. Your chance of success is slightly higher. DEFINITELY not certain.

 

Watch a film at home

Difficulty: 1

MC’s Rating: 2

Chance of Success: 2

The benefits of doing this are that (a) you don’t have to pay and (b) you can watch whatever film you want. The disadvantages are that drugging a girl and taking her to your house is not a good look. Also, I know Marie-Clare. The moment she wakes up she will burn your house to the ground.

 

Watch Gattaca

Difficulty: 0

MC’s Rating: 5

Chance of Success: 5

Who doesn’t love Gattaca? The perfect date option. Incredibly easy, because I will actually lend you the DVD. Marie-Clare cannot fail to love the fact that you’re showing her this film which, admittedly, I’ve shown her before, and which, sadly, she didn’t appreciate as much as I’d been hoping.

Still, even if she isn’t thrilled at watching it, I’m happy to come around and watch it with the two of you. My open-mouthed admiration of the film will surely break the ice.

 

MISCELLANEOUS

While the above two categories fit in some of the more typical date options, I’ve also incorporated a number of different ideas. These are not, of course, the complete be-all and end-all of ‘Going out with Marie-Clare’ territory. Consider them as a basic starting point.

To a Raider’s game

Difficulty: 3

MC’s Rating: 4

Chance of Success: 2

Marie-Clare goes to all the Raiders Games anyway. I’m sure it will impress her that you want to go. Unfortunately, the hordes of large football players running around on the field below you are likely to impress her more.

 

Performance of a Shakespearean play

Difficulty: 3

MC’s Rating: 2

Chance of Success: 2

While Marie-Clare likes Shakespeare, her constant feeling that the actors are secretly patronising her, and the anger that ensues from this, are unlikely to guarantee you a real chance of success.

 

Doctor Who marathon

Difficulty: 3

MC’s Rating: 2

Chance of Success: 1

I’ve tried this. So not only will it not be new for Marie-Clare, she’s more likely to be admiring the Doctor’s suspenders than actually paying attention to (a) you or (b) the plot.

 

Poetry reading

Difficulty: 4

MC’s Rating: 3

Chance of Success: 3

If you’re doing this you should really do it with poetry you’ve written yourself. She’s a double English student. She’ll recognise it if you’re reading something you found on the internet.

If you’re in need of something, I’ve recently started spending my Maths lessons writing my own poetry. ‘Writing’ in a very loose sense of the word. I type song lyrics into my calculator, rearrange the words, and take different segments of them as lines. I’ve named them TI-nspirations after my calculator. It’s basically poetry without having to go to the effort of writing it.

For example, from ELO’s ‘Mr Blue Sky’:

Night now on over

Remember right shoulder

His it is handing, this

Way that you are squared

Or ‘Sweet is the Night’, by the same band:

Disappear, is it light

Here, you are they

Sweet now shines night

Dark the three for day

Or the Sex Pistols’ ‘God Save The Queen’:

England screaming human being

Fascist for a future god

Love machine, the queen, no meaning

Regime save our mad parade

(I quite liked this one, probably because I put less effort in than any of the others. Not that it takes much effort to press a button and then write some words down)

Or ‘The Diary of Horace Wimp’:

‘Sunday street has Thursday’s plan

Friday gladly fumbles

Tuesday hurries Wednesday’s man,’

Lonely Monday mumbles

I’m not giving you any of my Beatles ones. You’ll have to either pay me for them or spend a couple of minutes making one yourself. Preferably the first one. I need to make a living somehow.

 

Down a mineshaft

Difficulty: 4

MC’s Rating: 1

Chance of Success: 1

Marie-Clare hopes to become a mining official in the not-so-distant future, which worries me, because now I’ve actually got to consider if I want to do anything useful with my life either. Anyway, while she may love Geology, this doesn’t mean she actually wants you to drive her out to the middle of Australia and take her down into a dark hole in the ground. I wouldn’t recommend it. Also, it might collapse and you’d be stuck forever, like in Sanctum.

 

To a Beatles concert

Difficulty: 5

MC’s Rating: 5

Chance of Success: 5

This would involve you travelling back in time to 1964, when The Beatles visited Australia, buying tickets against the hordes of ravening fans, and taking her to the concert without relinquishing her to the clutches of 22-year-old Paul McCartney. On the other hand, you can easily pay for the trip by betting on horse races while you’re there. Negatives include the difficulty of completing this and the necessity of building a time machine.

 

To the future

Difficulty: 4

MC’s Rating: 2

Chance of Success: 4

You don’t even have to really take her to the future. Hire a mansion in the country, two middle-aged actors who look slightly like you and her, and furnish it with all the trappings of extreme wealth as well as several futuristic devices. Use the film Gattaca for your model. Incorporate a couple of Beatles’ posters. Buy a car. Make it look like a time machine. Trick her into getting into the machine, make some TARDIS-like noises – just go ‘whhhRRRR-rrr. WhhhRRRR-rrr. WhhhRRRR-rrr’ a couple of times – and drive off to said mansion. On the way, explain that you are taking her to see her own future. Otherwise the whole point of the exercise is wasted.

When you get there, let her look around. Then you can both hide in a cupboard while the actors walk past, claiming to be future-you and future-her. Future-Marie-Clare should add some expostulations as to how glad she is she married you after going with you to the future all those years ago. When they’ve gone, go back to the time machine, make some more noises, and drive back.

NB: You should probably have recorded the time machine noises so you can play them during the trip. If it’s just you sitting in a car going ‘whhhhhRRRRRRRRR-rrr’ she might suspect something.

 

Fourthly: Marrying Marie-Clare

If you’re through to this point, I’ll assume you’ve been largely successful and are now prepared to MARRY MARIE-CLARE. You need no advice at this point. Marie-Clare is intensely indecisive about this matter. When out shopping with her, she can point to three separate dresses in the space of ten minutes, each time claiming it’s the only dress she could ever see herself married in. As long as it’s not a drive-through Elvis chapel she should be fine. And that’s only because she doesn’t like Elvis. A drive-through Beatles chapel might be acceptable. You should probably wait a year, though, I’m not sure how her parents would look upon her getting married before the age of eighteen. You never know, though - maybe my next year’s post will be a ‘How to Marry Marie-Clare’ special edition. I look forward to the possibility.

And so, you have reached the end of the guide. Congratulations on your successful application of the most recent helpful Harper How-To™, and please consider it in the future for any of your going-out-with-Marie-Clare needs.


 

Happy 17th Birthday, Marie-Clare – I hope you get this post in time, and I hope you like it. Sadly, until I find exactly where I’ve put your present (I know I put it somewhere safe, if I could just remember WHERE …), this is the best you’re getting.

Well, the post and this.

Many happy returns of the day, oh fantastic friend, and I hope you enjoy it –

Marie-Clare Zuckerberg.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Continental Drift

France is another country. They do things differently there.

It’s due to my spending two weeks in France last month that it’s taken me this long to get through to another blog post. I went with a school group composed of 25 Year 10s, two teachers, a priest, and the principal. It was excellent. Not only did I get to see the Continent, my only responsibility was drifting around amiably behind the panicked teachers and wait to be shunted into our next hotel room or restaurant.

Seeing how much of France there is to deal with, I’m going to write about it in sections. Firstly, because I know how much people enjoy laughing at my misfortunes, a certified Leslie M. Harper list. People who know me well will be aware of the vast number of mistakes, foolish incidents, uncomfortable moments and certified all-out cockups I’m involved with on a regular basis. Especially those who read my recipes (forthcoming: a special French edition of Leslie’s Recipes). Well, strangely enough, it turns out that sticking me into a completely foreign environment in which I can barely speak the language and have virtually no idea about the culture in no way reduces the number of like incidents I get stuck in.

 

Top 5 Stupid Mistakes I Made Overseas

1. Confusing the word ‘boat’ (bateau) with the word ‘building’ (bâtiment). This wouldn’t be bad if I’d only done it the once. You know, a couple of ‘This is a lovely boat … wait, I mean building.’ (NB: When I use italics throughout the post it means I was speaking in French. I’m aware that the larger part of my readership – about two out of the three – have no knowledge of French. Only slightly less than my knowledge of French). Anyway, that wouldn’t have been too bad. What is quite bad is if you do it every day for the entire week you spend with your host family. Especially if you spend each day specifically looking at old buildings.

This led to such interesting incidents as:

 

FRENCH PERSON (FP): What did you think of the chateau, Leslie?

L: That's the oldest boat I’ve ever seen.


OR, after a day with the school group:


FP: What did you go and see today, Leslie?

L: Some boats. Some of them were built by Romans.

(my grasp of descriptive French is very limited)


OR, on the last day of my stay, when we were visiting a chateau:


FP: You can see almost all the grounds of Chateau Villandry from the top of this tower, Leslie.

L: Yes, I really like the … what’s the word for battlements? Les crenellations. It’s strange that ‘battlements’ sounds so much like the word for ‘boat’ when really it should sound more like the word … for … building …

(Pause)

L: Oh f***.


2. Locking myself out of my first hotel room after five minutes inside.

This was the scenario: I was sharing a room with a Year 10 called Rexa. We’d just unpacked when Rexa wanted to go out and see some other Year 10s she knew in a neighbouring room. I decided to go too.

‘Wait a sec,’ I told her as she was just about to go out. ‘I’ll bring the kettle with us.’

I have no idea why I thought I’d need the kettle. I'm just trying to tell the story as it was.

Anyway, we left, closed the door behind us, and found Rexa’s friends. After a brief chat we wandered out and tried to open our door again. It was tricky. This was mainly because we had no key. Rexa looked at me accusingly. ‘You mean you remembered the kettle, but no key?’

‘You didn’t even remember the kettle!’ I pointed out.

So we had to go downstairs and get a new key. The receptionist’s expression varied from mild annoyance when she saw us running downstairs without shoes on (we’d left them in the room), mild confusion when we tried to get our message across without knowing the word for ‘key’, extreme annoyance when she understood what we were saying and had to give us a new one, and extreme confusion when she saw I was carrying a kettle.

We had thought that that was the end to it. Unfortunately, the story spread around the entire school group, and it was a running joke for the rest of the trip.


3. Running loudly into a table in the middle of the hall in my host family’s house. In the middle of the night. Two nights in a row.


4. Deciding it would be a really fantastic idea to climb l’Arc de Triomphe on a really cold, wet, windy day, selectively forgetting my inconvenient acrophobia. It was not a fantastic idea. It was freaking terrifying.


5. Forgetting which language I was supposed to be talking in. The following exchange occurred in Dubai Airport.

CASHIER (C): Hello!

LESLIE (L): Bonjour!

C: What did you want to buy?

L: Oh, just this.

(I hand over the cushion cover I’m buying)

C: How did you want to pay?

L: Peux-je payer avec carte?

C: Yes, we take credit cards. Sign here, please.

L: Hang on, do you have a pen I can borrow?

C: Yes.

(I sign, get my receipt, and depart)

C: Have a nice day.

L: Et vous aussi. Au revoir.

 

I don’t like to show my face on the internet. Therefore, when I was in France, I remembered this fact and took some photos of myself that I would be capable of putting up on my blog, but which would still prove that I’d been there. Here, then, is:

 

The

Leslie M. Harper

Archive

 

MY FEET IN INTERESTING PLACES

 

          Amiens Cathedral                    Chateau Villandry



        L'Arc de Triomphe                        The Louvre

 

 

              Notre Dame                         Palais Royale


Food

French food is renowned to be excellent. I discovered, when I was over there, that while it’s not really that much more amazing than Australian food (at least, the food I had at home with my host family), there is far more of it. They always have three-course meals. At the canteen of the school I went to, they served an entrée, a main, and a dessert for each lunchtime, with a bin full of pieces of baguetta which you could help yourself from. I saw some students strolling off with nine or ten pieces of bread neatly balanced on their plates. The French love baguettes. In the space of five minutes, while I was sitting on a bus, I saw six people carrying baguettes under their arms. One had two.

There’s a greater variety of food, I’ll admit. While I was over there I got hooked on rilletes, cornichons and baguette. Rilletes is a kind of meat paste made in the Le Mans area and cornichons are basically gherkins, but together, they are awesome.

I don’t know if it’s the same with all host families, or if it was just the one I was staying with, but if they do all eat like that, I can’t understand how France is not currently undergoing some kind of terrible obesity epidemic. They had a bowl of crisps in the middle of the table for each meal. Well, not breakfast, but each meal apart from that. To eat a single piece of lettuce one of them first placed it on her place, covered it in mayonnaise, sprinkled salt over it, added some pepper, poured some salad dressing on the side, and then began to eat. They had chocolate croissants for breakfast most mornings. When they ran out, they showed me the cereals they had on offer. There were five boxes. Four were called Chokella, Extreme Chocolate, Duo Choc, and Choc Pillows. The fifth was empty.

The meals we had after we left our host families and were travelling France as a tour group were an interesting change. For lunches during the day, we were each provided with €10 and left to do what we wished. At one point, we were in Mont-Saint Michel, and were told we could buy food to take on the bus with us and eat when we got to our next destination. So several of us got into twos or fours and bought pizzas. As soon as we returned to the bus, thought, we discovered that the teachers had suddenly decided we weren’t allowed to eat on the bus. Oh, and had they mentioned that the bus was leaving in five minutes? Well, it was. So we had to stand outside the bus and eat at the speed of light. We just made it, too.

The dinners were, generally speaking, different to the lunches in that they were proper restaurant ones. There were a couple of memorable ones. For example, on the Champs-Elysées. We were told to meet at the Bistro Romain. Nobody told us that (a) there are TWO Bistro Romains on the Champs-Elysées and (b) the second one, the one we were supposed to be at, was actually hidden inside a shopping mall-type thing. Unsurprisingly, we were all late for dinner. We did, however, make an important discovery: it is possible to run from number 122 to number 26 on the Champs-Elysées in less than eight minutes, even if, like me, you stopped to take a picture of a poster for a Ringo Starr tour on the way.

 

Transport

In France, being a group of 26 plus, we spent most of the time either walking or bussing. Apart from that, we took the TGV, the Metro, and, at one point, a boat (although it didn’t really take us anywhere. It was a lunch cruise). The TGV stands for Very Fast Train. It actually does. In French, it’s Train de Grande Vitesse, or Train of Great Quickness. The Metro, on the other hand, stands for Slow, Crammed, and Frequently Stopping Metal Box on Wheels. At one point the chaplain who was travelling with us warned me not to get separated from the group in case I was kidnapped by Europeans and sold into the white slave trade. I took his advice on board.

Something I liked about the Metro is the entertainment. Buskers hang around and play inside the carriages. One accordian player did an excellent version of Twist & Shout.

 

Language 

After being forced to speak solely French for a number of days, it was an extreme relief to be back in the company of Australian students at our host school. Actually the French have quite a lot of exposure to the English language. About a third of all the products they own are in English, probably because the number needed to be produced to satisfy the American market. Three out of four songs played on the radio are in English. Admittedly, a lot of the time they don’t understand the words. I heard my exchange’s younger sister doing an excellent version of ‘Let It Be’, intoning ‘Ledidy, ledidy …’.

The most popular French song when we were over there was called ‘Toutes les Nuits’, by Colonel Reyel. On one day, every time we entered a shop, that song was playing. One souvenir shop even had a video screen up of it.

Actually, that was the same shop in which I saw the (now infamous) preservatifs de Tour Eiffel. I maintain the confusion wouldn’t have occurred had I been more fully aware of certain parts of the French language.  I was casually walking around the shop when I saw several small packets, quite flat, and about the size of a 20c coin. They made a contrast to the Parisien teddy bears, bags and T-shirts everyone else was looking at, so I strolled over and examined one closely. The tagline, in both English and French, said ‘Come to see my Eiffel Tower’. I couldn’t work out what they were. This was a show of uncharacteristic innocence on my part.

One of the people I was there with, Jacket, came over. ‘Hey, Leslie, you should probably drop that.’

‘Why?’ I inquired.

‘Don’t you know what they are?’

‘I have no idea.’

She told me.

I dropped it.

I then took a picture of the packet.

I’m presuming you’ll be able to work out what they are.

Ahem. Anyway. Back to the issue of language.

After school one day, for reasons I’m not going to go into, my exchange took me to a dance school. There, we met a friendly student who advised us as to directions. I was introduced as ‘L’Australien,’ which is how I was introduced throughout the entire trip. I was thrilled when the student turned to me and said, in English, ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Canadian.’

It turned out that this Canadian was in the same year as our exchanges at the same school. Accordingly, the next day, when I was standing in a group with the rest of les Australiens, and I saw the Canadian, I hallooed her with some gusto. The rest of the students gave me interesting looks.

‘Leslie, you remember that we’re in France, right?’

Their looks were even more interesting when I received a response in English. I should have remembered to explain to them first.

 

Accommodation

I’ve already told my ‘getting locked outside the hotel room’ story. Well, that’s not the end of my thrilling hotel-related stories. They include:

(a) being stuck outside my door at 7:00 p.m. for half an hour. I and Lea both got back to the hotel before anybody else, so we tried her door. It was stuck. We went a floor further up and tried my door. It was also stuck. We had to wait until Johann returned to the hotel, at which point he opened both doors, pointing out that we’d been using the keys wrongly. Not the first time this has happened to me. Not the last, either.

(b) being stuck outside my door at 10:00 p.m. for an hour. This was the next night. This one wasn’t my fault, I didn’t have the key – I’d left it with my roommate. Instead, I went to Lea’s room and we watched House in French for some time (that was the only thing we ever watched in France. That and music videos). I have only ever seen three episodes of House in my life. Coincidentally, those were the three that happened to be playing. People thought my French was far better than it was until they realised I already knew the plotlines.

Anyway, I was there until she went to bed. I left, discovered that my roommate still hadn’t arrived, and went to Mai and Meg’s room instead. They were watching House in English. Well, American.

I was there for about fifteen minutes, then left to wait outside my door for my roommate. She turned up after several minutes, gave me the key, and departed. Problem was that I then couldn’t get it open.

So I had to sit outside my door for half an hour. It was, to say the least, mildly worrying. Strange French men kept going into each others’ rooms. At one point I thought I heard a knocking on the door at the end of the corridor. It opened into the outside world, leading on to a fire escape – I’d checked earlier, just in case I needed a quick escape. I presumed it was my imagination. I was, therefore, slightly shocked when the door was suddenly thrown open, the man standing outside rolled two footballs into the hall, and then left as mysteriously as he’d come.

I was intensely relieved when my roommate arrived. At least, until I realised that she couldn’t get it open either.

It was lucky one of the hotel staff came up about that time and managed to open it for us. I’d been preparing to spend the night there.

(c) getting stuck inside a lift. This one wasn’t terribly urgent. I went into a lift, followed by an American couple. The lift started making the mysterious beeping noises it omitted whenever the weight limit was exceeded, so, somewhat reluctantly, both the Americans left. The doors shut. The lift didn’t move.

I have an abject terror of being stuck in a lift. I think it’s more to do with my acrophobia than my claustrophobia. I’m fine with enclosed spaces. The idea of plummeting madly towards the ground in a metallic box-shaped death trap, I’m less sold on.

After about ten seconds the lift doors opened. I didn’t even consider trying again. I just ran down the stairs. All four flights of them.

(d) getting stuck outside a lift. This was when I was trying to get my luggage downstairs in a lift the size of a wardrobe (it was about as wide as a regular suitcase and twice as long. We measured). And, strangely, the lift refused to come. So I carried my suitcase. Down four flights of stairs.

(e) the curious incident of the knock in the nighttime. I wasn’t privy to most of this incident, but Lea, whom I was sharing a room with at the time, claimed it was terrifying.

I was in the shower when it actually occurred, so I had no idea anything was going on until I came out and found Lea, standing on a chair and holding an umbrella, and staring out through the peephole in our door.

This was the situation: she’d heard a knocking on the door. She’d looked out the peephole and found nothing there. She was just going away from the door when it happened again. So Lea, being the practical person that she is, had grabbed an umbrella (for self-defence, apparently) and looked carefully out through the peephole. She was doing this when everything outside the door suddenly turned black. So she’d grabbed a chair to stand on – as she explained to me, so that anyone looking under the door wouldn’t be able to see her shadow and know she was there – and, holding the umbrella, waited for me to leave the shower so I could check outside.

Once the situation had been explained to me, I was somewhat sceptical. I had a look out the peephole and discovered that it had, indeed, gone black. Lea was worried somebody had stuck something over it.

‘Why would they do that?’ I inquired.

‘So that we have to come out to check!’ she explained. ‘They might be rapists, lurking in wait. The moment we open the door they can get us.’

I considered this. ‘Why would a rapist knock on the door twice, and then run away? It’s more likely to be ghosts. Poltergeists could do that.’

‘Well, maybe …’ Lea began, and then halted as the same dreadful thought entered both of our minds. I voiced it aloud.

‘What if it’s ghost rapists?’

We shared a look of fresh horror. At least, I was giving a look of fresh horror. Hers might have been more along the lines of bemusement.

At any rate, ghost rapists or not, there was still the issue of the dark peephole to contend with. Which left me, gripping an umbrella, Lea standing on a chair behind me as the optimal position from which to attack a ghost rapist, slowly opening the door.

To discover …

Nothing at all.

Well, not quite. I was confronted with a dark corridor, which at least explained the fact of the mysteriously black peephole. As soon as I waved an arm outside the lights went on. They were on a motion sensor, which was why the lights had gone out so suddenly.

We shut the door. Lea was still unsatisfied. ‘Someone definitely knocked on the door.’

We were just about to head to bed when, once more, we heard a knocking at the door. This time we knew what to do. Lea went back to her position on the chair, I grabbed the umbrella and held it in the optimum ghost-rapist-combat position, and I swung the door open boldly.

I’m not sure what we would have done if it had actually turned out to be ghost rapists. As it was, we were confronted with the perplexed expression of the principal, who had come round to check that we hadn’t been too disturbed by a couple of French teenagers who’d thought it would be amusing to run up and down the corridors, knocking on the doors. We assured him that we hadn’t. Given the fact that we were standing in what we considered to be attack positions – not to mention wearing our pajamas – I’m not sure we left him with the best impression.

I almost rather it had been ghost rapists. It may have been more lethal, but it would, at least, have been mildly less embarrasing, It could have been worse, thought. I was a split second away from hitting him with my umbrella.


And so, France. A thrill-filled fun-packed eighteen days of travelling, eating, talking, learning, and criminals visiting us from beyond the grave. All covered in my handy all-purpose blog post. Next time you’re drifting over the Continent, feel free to take any of my advice.

If you’re actually going to translate it literally, though, I’d suggest you travel with some very understanding people. VERY understanding people. And warn them about the ghost rapists.