On stag dos

I’m not sure if I understand the idea of stag/hen weekends away. I mean, in some cases it is obvious – go away where no one knows you in order to get laid one more time with a total stranger before you make your vow of fidelity and, at least in theory, have to give up that kind of behaviours forever (but then why take your friends with you – after all one of them could say something to someone on another drunken night and your other half could still find out).
Anyway, that reason being out of the question, what’s the point?
Paul’s just been on one in Munich and what they did was: drink beer, go go-carting, play football in the park, drink some more beer. All of which they could have done over here without paying an arm and a leg for flights and hotels. I would have understood if they had done one thing that was actually about Munich – but they didn’t! Unless you count drinking beer, that is...
Two years ago another friend of his was getting married and they went to Amsterdam, which made sense as the point was for the said friend to get stoned braindead as he loves to get stoned so Amsterdam was the place to go and he couldn’t have done that over here. But this one?
Don’t get me wrong – when/if it comes to my hen do, I would love to go away somewhere with my friends. But I would see something of the place on top of merry making...

On hairdresser therapy

I went to the hairdresser's today, a treat after a long half-term and other turmoils, and I felt that some hair needed to come off.
My hairdresser, Sarah, is this nice lady from South Africa, who seems to remember all I tell her about me through the months in between my visits, which is a quality every good hairdresser should have as frankly, getting a new haircut is only one of the reasons we go there.
She washed my hair, which is one of the reasons I go to the hairdressers - I love having my hair washed by someone else, it's like the best massage ever, soothing and relaxing, and then my hair started to come off and we started to talk. First some small talk about work, fatigue, planned holidays, her son's schooling etc. Then we got interrupted by some idiot from my bank who had to speak to me urgently - no doubt wanting me to upgrade my account, which I have no desire of doing. Once I got rid of that woman, Sarah and I decided that commercial calls were annoying and pointless, because we know very well that there are other options out there and if we are unhappy with our current provider of whatever service, we will look into alternatives, we are not retarded.
As Sarah was putting the finishing touches into my now short hair, she said her husband (who is the one handling service providers in her household) gets seriously with such phone calls but always forgets about it immediately. 'I would be grumpy for a while' she added philosophically 'but he isn’t. I guess it's just that men are better at getting over things quickly, while we will go on turning them over and over in hour heads. They're better at compartmentalising stuff and moving on.'
And she quite possibly saved my relationship there and then.

On local sensitivity

One thing that strikes a foreigner moving over here is how quickly you are on the first name basis with people, whether the situation be social or professional. In other countries there is a more or less official ceremony where the elder (in whatever way – age, status, job, anything) suggests to the other party involved to move on to less formal terms, in some cases followed by both of them sealing the new pact by drinking high percentage alcohol in various doses.
Nothing of the kind here, your boss is ‘Peter’ immediately, your partners’ parents, the mailman, your elderly neighbours, anyone. Of course, we all know it before we come here, we’ve learnt it and about it in our English lessons.
Where we’re lost, is that this apparent informality and friendliness finishes there and then exactly. You can call your boss ‘Peter’ but you won’t ask him about his family (you’re still required to answer politely when he asks you about yours, but you should limit yourself to meaninglessly acquiescing them being fine). You call your superior “Catherine” but beware how you ask her for help – the appropriate way is to say in an emotionless voice ‘I could use your support on this’, accept being brushed off and wait patiently until some time is allocated to you. Even if in the meantime a student is reducing you to tears every time they enter your classroom and clearly enjoying it very much, saying ‘I’m sorry to be pushy, but I really need something done about this’ is rude.
Mainly, whatever happens, be it in social or professional situation, any kind of reaction other than smiling and pretending that it is all right is not acceptable. You have to be nice to everyone, regardless of whether or not they are nice to you. (Actually, the locals seem to have a way of not being nice to you that is not considered rude by the bystanders – you’re hurt, but no one else sees the problem. Unfortunately, as I haven’t mastered that art yet, when I retaliate, I’m inevitably rude...)
In conclusion, it seems that I might need to leave my personality and my opinions at home as having them does not seem to be socially acceptable. Plus, I don’t think it is a good idea for me to drink around other people – I inevitably say something that I have managed to repress while sober and I end up having to apologise for hurting people's sensitivity by my inacceptable behaviour. And I grow angrier each time...

I don't want to brag...

but I will. Paul and I are training for the London to Brighton in June, which is a challenge and it should be an accomplishement and lots of fun!
And the road to it is also full of smaller but not lesser accomplishements: today I broke my distance record (30,5 miles - was 30 miles from when I'd done the Oxfordshire ride last year, notably so as it was the third time I was riding a bike in some 15 years) and my speed record (27.3 mph - was 21.7 mph). And those massive hills seem less massive each time I attack them.
My big worry however is a hill on the actual route to Brighton - I've heard stories about it and apparently 90% of participants push their bikes up that thing. Well, me being me, I know that I'll have to ride up the bastard or die in shame. The only problem is I probably won't be able to... and I'll have to get over it...

Bletchley Park

Last weekend we took Paul's school French exchange partner, who's been staying with us for a week, to Bletchley Park. I had never been before but I knew about it of course, coming from a place as obsessed with the second world war as the Poland of my childhood was.
I was bracing myself a little anticipating a need to clench my teeth and say nothing, as yet another Polish contribution to something big was going to be ignored and buried under the local achievements. I was wrong - they even have a memorial to Polish ingeneers who started it all!
Highly refreshing after finding out about all those exceptional French people, such as Marie Curie-Sklodowska, Fryderyk Chopin and even Robert Korzeniowski.
(A big rant full of witty and sarcastic remarks could follow, but I'm afrait that if start, there will be no stopping me!)

On home stores and more

I love home stores. They make me dream of nesting and hominess, and oh...

We have Paul's exchange French teacher coming to stay with us on Tuesday, so we finally decided to sort the guest cupboard a bit - it only had a sofa bed so far. We opted for a bookshelf, as it would provide surfaces for the woman to put her stuff on and still fit into the room. I was also looking forward to having somewhere to put all the books lying around in piles, but as it is, we bought a 'CD/DVD shelf' and so only the smallest books fit onto it.

Then we did some time killing before going for dinner to Paul's parents, which resulted in the purchase of a wok (yay!) and a couple of little things that make me happy. But as we were browsing through the vast spaces of TKMaxx, I realised that I can dream all I want - some things are just not going to happen.

And so I find home stores highly frustrating - there's just so many things I want, I want, I want, but I can't have as I can't afford, I have nowhere to put, I don't need... or Paul doesn't like...

Yet again...

Excerpts from my year 10 group:
"Of course you 'do' ski, the French do everything!"
"Miss, what are you doing tomorrow after school?" (he meant could he come and work on his assessment script, but it still sounded the way it sounded)
"Vowel clash! I knew I would find one!" (Lovely that he gets this excited about the language, but no, it wasn't a vowel clash at all)

I know I'm not updating as often as I could/should. I blame the little time I have for myself and the lack of own laptop (RIP).
Yet again, I'll try to be better...