Her Majesty La Secretaire

Ok so I realise I have most probably lost any readers who may have stumbled upon this blog since I have been writing like a post a month but I do intend to get back on the blogging saddle once I have internet at home.

In the meantime and whilst I have internet connection via wifi a bit of an explanation about what I have been doing. Well that can be answered in one word... working! Like I said I've joined a company and I'm at D-2 days until the end of my trial period. The concept of trial period may seem weird to those in the UK and the US given that when I said I could be fired for any reason and at any time, that doesn't seem out of the ordinary for most people. In France workers have a lot of security and after Tuesday when my trial period will be over I will have more job security. Basically they won't be able to fire me unless the Company has financial difficulties (which in the current climate is not impossible) or unless I do something really really wrong.

You see the longer you work for a company the more job security you have. This, in my opinion, explains the nemesis of many office workers - the French secretary. She is not someone in a low cut top, tight skirt and pouty lips, she's usually sour faced and on the large side having spent many an hour on her behind doing very little. From my experience French secretaries are damn unhelpful. Why? because they aren't paid to be nice to you, or to help you, or to do their job to the very best of their abilities, in their opinion they are already doing more than enough by actually being at work on time and for the legally required amount of time (35 hours a week) Don't get me wrong I'm not saying the French in general don't make good workers, because they do I have daily proof of it, it's just that more that once in my life I have come accross those who have been in the job so long, in the company so long, that they know exactly the minimum they have to do and have no intention of doing any more than that, including being cheerful!

I've temped as an assistante/secretary myself in France and in the UK so know what I'm talking about. Secretaries have the power in France, just look at those who work in the famous French administration! I'm sure in every company you'll find someone who matches this description, someone you may have been warned about. You may have been told for example "Nathalie will help you but make sure you ask her nicely" and by 'nicely' they mean "Hello Nathalie, I hope I'm not troubling you, I know you've got a lot of work on your hands but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind telling me where I can find an envelope? Thank you very much, that's very kind". And then you retreat out of the room repeating your thank yous until you reach the door and can then turn your back to her. As the French say, its "nine times 'si vous plait' and twelve times 'merci'" for the smallest of things. Not ALL secretaries are like that, some are amazingly kind and helpful, but I have already met quite a few formidable characters who you have to grovel to to get anything from them and who will black list you possibly for the rest of your time in the company if you don't say good morning to them everyday! They work 9-5 on the dot, take 1 full hour or more for lunch and a cigarette break every hour in between. They take their fully 25 days of paid holidays and one RTT day (called 'rest days' in France) per month. They can make even the most senior manager afraid of them and are known for having a "caractère". I've always been amazed that this kind of person exists when really their boss should take them aside and tell them to sort out their attitude, but in France the boss knows quite well that whilst Nathalie (for example) might be a bit of a dragon there is no budging her because if he were to fire her she could complain and probably receive a huge amount of compensation.

So Her Majesty the Secretary can act as diva-ish as she likes safe in the knowledge that no-one will dare cross her. That said, play by the rules and there's no problem. She can be your best ally ...... depending on her mood!

Service will be resumed again shortly….

Apologies for the blogging absence. This is not due to me being like the rest of France and sunning myself on the south coast somewhere during the whole month of August but is in fact due to my new job. Yes following my resignation I have now started a new job, one where I both have no time to blog and also actually want to do the work put in front of me, yes even in August when the office is effectively empty. Furthermore I am under a “periode d’essai” or “trial period” for three months during which my employer may fire me for any reason or for no reason but equally I may also decide that the job doesn’t suit me and leave without giving the required notice. So you see I have to be on my bestest behaviour for the next few months and cannot (nor would I want to) use work time to blog. Come October when hopefully the trial period will be over I plan to move flats and get internet connection at home. After that I shall come back with freshly renewed blogging enthusiasm and once again recount my anecdotes of my life in France.

In the meantime, merci pour votre patience!

Démission

Finding a job in France is difficult. European Law states that the qualifications you obtained in your own country should be recognised in another country, in practice it is not always that easy. In France my qualifications were recognised but I decided that just to be sure I should try and get a few qualifications here as well. The easiest job to find for an English person is as an English teacher, either in primary schools or in the university. I did both. My first job I found through the British Council. It was lovely working with the children and I learnt many things. Working at the university was even better because I was paid a salary over the two years of my fixed contract even though I only actually taught from October through to December and February through to end of April and had little else to do in between those periods except to invigilate a few exams. Unlike the hard working "real" teachers, there was only a bit of preparation and no one asked to see my lesson plans. Although, coming from a family of teachers, I had in fact planned and prepared my lessons, no one actually came to check what it was I was teaching. Whilst I loved teaching I did not want to be a teacher all my life as I had obtained qualifications in another field and wanted to pursue a career in that field. My contract in Bordeaux ran out after two years and under French law could not be renewed, nor could I apply to be a language assistant in another university. Having seen a friend spend a year on the dole in Bordeaux, trying to find work, I knew I had no choice but to leave Bordeaux and go to Paris to find work.

I spent an entire summer applying for jobs around France. I had the requisite qualifications (both French and English) but not the experience. In France, most people gain work experience by doing unpaid or low paid internships. Some internships pay 300 euros a month, which given that a tiny bedroom flat in Paris would cost me 500 euros a month, was just not possible. I had a friend who now has a good job in a company and who, after leaving university, spent around 2 years going from one internship to another before finally finding a job. He lived in a tiny "chambre de bonne" (maid's room) but luckily his grandma had a lovely big apartment two floors down so whilst he slept in his own room he could use his grandma's flat to eat, wash, etc. Doing internships was not an option for me. I couldn't possibly survive without a job. The day I arrived in Paris I had some savings, a room in a flat sharing with some American girls which would cost me 600 Euros a month and no job. I then spent three days visiting every recruitment agency in that area and handing out my CV. Back in the UK I had spent summers temping as an administrative assistant in a company and then twice as a legal secretary in two law firms. I had also during my studies worked in bars, restaurants and shops. This boded well for me on my CV. I must be able to find some kind of work in Paris, I thought. Yet, out of all the agencies to which I gave my CV, very few called me back. One, a British recruitment agency got back to me fairly quickly. I went over to see meet with the manager of this agency. After having done a couple of typing tests, in French and English, as well as a proof reading exercise, I was interviewed by the manager. "You're over qualified for anything I may have for you. My clients are looking for bilingual secretaries or bilingual assistants. Given your qualifications, would you be happy working in such a role". "I'm here to find a job, any job. I need to work. If you can find me a job then I'd be happy to do that job" I said. "Ok then, we'll see what we can do" she said. About a week later she had lined up two interviews for me in two law firms. The first one I didn't get but the second I did. For the last year and a half I have been working as an assistant in a law firm.

The time has now come to move on to other things. I have been offered a job in a company and will be starting shortly. Over the last 18 months I have learnt many things, not least about the work environment and culture in France.

I have now handed in my resignation. If finding work was difficult, leaving is just as difficult. Until now I had never resigned before. Jobs had always come to an end or it was understood that I wouldn't be staying long so it was ok when I left but now I have actually had to give notice and deal with my colleagues' reactions.

And so I take another step further into the working world in France in the hope that I'll not only be able to have a fulfilling life in France but a fulfilling career as well!

Lost in transition

First of all I do have to apologise for the complete lack of blogging over the last few weeks. The aim was a blog a week but it really depends on work load and/or inspiration as to what would be most interesting to blog about. New resolution, made whilst trying to get to sleep on a Sunday night (why is it that on Sunday night your brain comes alive with all the things you could do to improve your life, stops you from going to sleep as you should do for that 8.30 meeting you have on Monday, and you can never remember any of your life changing ideas when you wake up on Monday?) was that I should try and write smaller blogs and keep them light.

So, having just got back from the UK there is something I have noticed. One of the things I find most people complain about in France is that the French are rude. I've lived here for almost five years and I'm finding increasing that when I go back to the UK the Brits aren't exactly very friendly either. The French may not smile but they are at least polite and very strict about greetings and farewells. Take for example the lady who sells me my papers. I arrive in the morning grabbing the papers off the rack and folding them to try and fit into my bag. I greet her with a "Bonjour" which she replies to, then she tells me how much it is, I produce the money, she gives me the change, we exchange "merci"s and I leave saying an "au revoir et bonne journée" which she responds to with "a vous aussi". She doesn't crack a smile and we rarely have any other conversation unless there is a strike on in which case she asks which metro I'm getting and mentions something about her ride to work. The exchange is perfectly polite and friendly.

When back in the UK I find I'm almost expecting something better than this civil exchange and am very disappointed when not only do not get friendliness but all I get is "Yes please!" (i.e. next customer please) and once the monetary transaction is over there's no "bye bye and have a nice day". Not only is it not friendly (the dead beat tone of voice as I'm being served) but it lacks the politeness. Maybe it's me but I get so used to the "Bonjour Madame" when I walk into a shop here and even if they aren't always friendly there is always some kind of "merci, au revoir" and usually a "bonne soirée" or "bonne journée" depending.

On a completely other point, after almost five years of living here I still find the transition between going back to the UK and then returning to France quite difficult. I call it Harry Potter syndrome. Sometimes when I'm back in the UK all the problems of France seem so far away, like for Harry at "Hogwarts" but equally I also feel that I'm detached from all the good things here, like my life in France never existed. When I go back to the UK I slip easily into being a normal Brit. I look very English for one, I sound British and generally act like everyone else. At any moment I could return to the UK and all this time in France would just become a distance memory. What is strange however is that I have in the past felt completely isolated and alone in the UK, more so than being a foreigner in France. The thing is that in France is it clearly obvious that I am foreign and therefore not at all like any one else. When I'm back in the UK I look English but my life is not English, my daily concerns have nothing to do with the UK. I couldn't give a hoot about who is the latest Big Brother candidate to be evicted and what exactly Tony is saying to Gordon. When I get back to the UK it takes a while to settle and get back into English life, it also these days takes time for me to stop talking Franglais and form my sentences properly. But after a few days I'm fine, happy with my family, planning what to stock up on during my next shopping trip into the local town and quite happily accepting my Mum's ten-a-day cups of tea.

Then I return to France with English in my head and feeling totally British again. When I get to the airport and I start speaking French the words sound awkward and misplaced. My voice sounds unfamiliar. I'm totally detached from all my previous worries which had seemed so important to me before leaving for the UK, and it takes time to settle back in. Worryingly it sometimes takes time to settle back into being with Monsieur although more and more over the last year going to the UK without him seems wrong. Whilst I can detach myself from things here in France, being without him in the UK makes me feel like I'm missing a vital body part, but I guess that's love!

Anyway, here I am back in France again looking out the window thinking "Do I really live here?", "Is my life really in Paris?". Of course in a few days I'll be back in the swing of things huffing at the metro being packed or having to queue for food in Monoprix but right now I'm still lost in transition.

La Femme Fatale

Not that I'm going to make a habit of book reviews or anything but I would recommend the book "Two lipsticks and a lover" by Helena Frith Powell and indeed her blog which is rather entertaining. She has also posted a commentary made on it in a report in the Guardian on this image of French women.

In response to this article and Helena's book I would say that whilst I did very much enjoy Helena's book (and I generally tend to steer clear of books about the French or life in France) I do have to say that I respectfully disagree with the image she creates of French women.

I know a lot of French women. I have seen them at their youngest (when I was a teacher in a primary school), during their late teens/early twenties (when I taught at the university) and now in the work place. Whether they have lovers and indeed what exactly goes on in their bedrooms I couldn't really tell simply because even my close French friends aren't that explicit about their love lives. You can forget a Carrie-and-the-SATC-girls image of French girls all around a table at lunch talking about every detail of their love lives because in my experience, and unless I am yet to be initiated into the inner circles of girls where this in fact does go on, this just doesn't happen.

As for the lipstick part, I think that applies to older women, and even then not all of them. The women I know don't wear that much makeup. I would say that they do tend to enhance their eyes more but as for the rest of their makeup it is really barely visible. Another thing you will rarely see, in stark contrast to my last visit to the UK, is fake tans. A fake tan would stand out a mile in France. I'm not saying you won't find a few leathery looking ladies but this side of August, people aren't that tanned. Most people have olive colored skin which tans naturally and anyone who blatantly doesn't tan (i.e. moi) would look rather suspicious if sometimes they looked tanned and other times they were pale, without having the excuse of the odd weekend in St Tropez.

Not every woman that I know is gorgeously slim. Its true that there are perhaps less overweight people in France but most of them are rather normal shaped although a lot of girls I know lament the fact that they are no longer a size 38 (British 10, US 6) and that they are having trouble shifting the 5 kilos they feel they should lose.

I will say in their favour that most French women I know do dress well and pay attention to the way they look especially in the working world. That said there were a few girls I used to teach at university to whom I wanted strongly suggest the use of a hairbrush and a good conditioner every once in while! On the subject of conditioner I do find it very ironic that in the land of Laboratoire Ganier and L'Oréal, to name but a few, there is an abundance of shampoo but you can rarely find the corresponding conditioner.

French women dress safely. They wear conservative colours and tend to add a splash of colour with a scarf (that old chestnut) or some nice jewellery. A black polo neck is a wardrobe staple as it is easily chick but also because the moment the temperature drops a degree everyone must cover their necks for fear of catching cold. Anyone who has lived in France for a long time will note their tendency to buy black things, the number of black garments in my own wardrobe has certainly increased over the years. Back in the UK I noticed how many bright things there were, and whilst it was nice to see, I knew I couldn't buy such things because back in France it might look out of place.

French women like most women like clothes and take pride in what they wear. They don't all wear Chanel but they do seem to take care that they wear what suits them and it is never apparent whether what they wear is Chanel or H&M. That is another point, displaying wealth is considered vulgar. I know friends who have Yves Saint Laurent suits for example but you whist you can tell it is a good suit, it is not flaunted. One friend who I was convinced wore nothing but the most expensive clothes, told me that she always buys clothes from either H&M or Zara.

In France, it is important for a woman to be seductive. That requires paying attention to how one looks, what one wears, how one acts and what perfume one uses. It is not always about comfort either. Whilst I'm rather partial to the M&S underwear myself, I have to come to learn the value of having nice, sexy underwear to keep things interesting once in a while. Last time I was in a lingerie shop the woman behind me in the queue was holding a red lacy set and she was a slim, beautiful woman who was easily between 50 and 60, so seduction is clearly not just for the young!

It is true that, in my experience, French women are a lot more smartly dressed and you rarely see people popping out to grab a baguette in their tracksuits for example, something which I do quite often. One lazy Sunday, I had put on my tracksuit because I had no intention of doing anything particular and didn't want to have to dress up to go into town. A friend popped by my flat to see me. Seeing what I was wearing, he said "oh, have you been exercising?", and seemed bemused when I said I hadn't. I've also had some strange looks at the bakery when, again at the weekend, I have run out with freshly washed but still wet hair, a tracksuit and trainers, to grab a few morning croissants. The strange looks came from the impeccably dressed old ladies, on their way back from church, who were picking up their cakes for afternoon tea. I could never figure out whether it was because I was dressed in a tracksuit or whether I had wet hair and they were amazed that I was exposing myself to the risk of catching cold.

Comparing my French friends with my English friends would be like saying a good bottle of St Emillion is better than a fine Islay whisky (for example), the two just don't compare. I'll admit it is difficult to make female friends in France; it takes time and the right context. For instance, if you meet a female friend through a male friend don't expect her to warm to you, but if you take a class or some other social activity, you can make female friends. However, once you do make friends with this supposedly illustrious, seductive creature, you will find that French women are fun, warm, intelligent, love to laugh, generous and very loyal friends. Yes they are to be admired because they are beautiful and charming but as every self respecting French woman knows every woman has her own charm and uses it at her will, English women can be just as seductive and charming as well!

Petite Anglaise

I write as a Petite Anglaise convertee. I shall first explain how I discovered the blog of Petite Anglaise. I was browsing a French newspaper one morning when I came upon an article detailing her court case against her former employer. The article mentioned her blog and being very bored at the time, I immediately looked it up. I have to say the synopsis did not impress me much - English secretary, with partner for eight years, has a child, leaves partner for man she met on blog and (at the time I started reading) had recently been fired and also dumped by "Lover". Bloody great, I thought, what did she go and mess it up for? Admittedly this was more a reflection on myself, my own hopes and dreams about establishing my life in France, rather than a personal attack on Petite. You see, whilst I wasn't always a Francophile, since moving here in 2003 I have fallen in love with the country, and later in love with a Frenchman, and I was at the point in my relationship when I was very much wondering whether it would all work and whether love and a lasting relationship was possible between a French person and an English person or could love not survive the cultural differences. In a way I resented Petite for proving that such a relationship could not work (again, my fault not hers). I then started reading all her blog entries from the beginning to find out what on earth had happened. I have to say that through reading the blog I was converted into being a modest Petite Anglaise fan and I thoroughly enjoyed her accounts of Paris and her writing style. I will even admit that the Petite Anglaise site was one of the main reasons for this blog, although I wanted to blog just to express my opinion and had no intention of revealing so much personal details. Anyway having read the blog I wanted to read the book to find out what exactly was the story behind the blog.

I did enjoy the book on the whole. The first few chapters I felt that Catherine's usual writing style had clearly been jazzed up (somewhat necessarily) by the over use of a thesaurus but as the story got going, her natural narrative style appeared and I did enjoy the rest of the book.

Like other blog readers I was somewhat disappointed that the book did not go on to reveal the inside story as to what happened when she was fired and what has happened since but I appreciate that at the time of writing she wanted to end the book on a positive note and therefore I think it was well done.

There have been those who have judged the book for showing a rather superficial, selfish, immature character. At one point I have to say that I myself did cringe at some points thinking "How can a 34 year old be so naïve?" but I corrected my own judgment by reasoning that in fact age does not equal wisdom and only life experience teaches you what decisions to make later on. Yes it is easy to judge those who have cheated on a partner and/or left them, but the old proverb of "don’t judge a person until you have walked a mile in their shoes" applies in such a situation, and in light of my own experiences it is easier to judge how Catherine should have acted but it is only by living those experiences that you learn the hard lessons.

The truth is in writing the book Catherine has laid bare parts of her real life and therefore laid her life and not just her writing open to judgment from anyone and everyone. As I continue to read the blog it would appear that Catherine/Petite and her fans react very aggressively to the slightest criticism made by commentators or those who have written reviews on Amazon and I think Catherine should be a bit more thick skinned. Easier to say if you haven't written a book I suppose but even so, given the thousands of adoring fans which log onto to Petite's website everyday, it is my opinion that she should be proud of what she has achieved, be pleased with all this support, take the constructive criticism on the nose as it is intended and ignore the other vicious criticisms. But that said, once again, I am judging Catherine's reactions by what I myself have learnt from life - easy to say, not so easy to take on board!

So I would advise anyone who is wondering about life in France to read Catherine's blog and book, they are both enjoyable reads and I look forward to Catherine's next book when, hopefully, she will truly establish herself as a writer.

Joy and praise

The time is soon approaching for our yearly appraisals at work. I'm not too apprehensive, however as feedback is necessary and generally constructive. Nonetheless, now that I work in an office, I often think back on my first work appraisals - when I taught in the schools.

Anyone who has taught knows how incredibly rewarding it is to be a teacher and see the your students achieve something and know that you have had something to do with it. That said, children can also be very unforgiving and never happy with the work you have given to them, and which you have tried to make it as interesting as possible. There are some who will be glad of the work you have spent hours preparing and others who at the end of the day will say that they weren't happy with one thing or another. Three years of teaching both children and students taught me that you can never please everyone.

One particular incident comes to mind when it comes to talking about being evaluated in ones work. When I was teaching the children, although I knew they had had at least one other English/American teacher before me, they seemed to have forgotten what they had been taught. I found out from the children that their last teacher was called Mary-Ann and that she was American. One day, when I was going through basic greetings, I said to them "oh you must know how to reply to the question "How are you?". Was it not one of the things Mary-Ann taught you last year?". Some of the children looked rather blank and others shook their heads vehemently. One girl piped up "No! Mary-Anne didn't teach us anything, she just re-applied her make-up and made us smell her feet".
"Oh really?" I said, more than mildly skeptical about these accusations.
"Yes" said the girl earnestly, and cupping her hand in front of her face as if she was holding a compact make-up mirror, she continued, "She used to stop in the middle of the teaching and check her eye make-up, and other times she would put her foot up on the table and make us smell her feet and then she would count her toes". Ah this explained it a little. I found it funny how the girl had interpreted the teacher's actions. I made a mental note to myself to check my make-up before entering the school and when teaching them how to count, to stick to using my fingers! I often worried given that after a year of being taught by her, all these children would remember of Mary-Ann was how she used to check her make-up (or most probably had a problem with a contact lens) or once tried to teach them how to count by pointing out that she had ten toes as well as ten fingers. I knew I was far from a perfect teacher and had no doubt that whatever I did these children would tell some wildly exaggerated story about how I taught to the next teacher.

I turned out that I needn't have worried. A year later I was having drinks with some friends when a friend of a friend came to join us and was introduced to me. "Pierre teaches English in the school near La Victoire", Jack said. Pierre was French and had lived in the US for several years, having returned to France to qualify as a teacher he now taught English. "Oh, I know the one, I used to work there, my name is Rose" I said.
"Rose?" said Pierre, "so you're Rose?"
"Yes" I said feeling slightly apprehensive, "why, what have they said about me?"
"Oh no nothing bad, they love you!! I was once teaching them about the magic e – the fact that putting an e at the end of certain words changes the sound – and drew a flower and pointed out that you don't pronounce it 'Roz' you pronounce it 'Rose'. Then upon hearing the word the children said "Rose, like Rose". "Yes" I said, "the flower", to which they replied that it was not only a flower but that they had had a teacher called Rose. When I asked what you were like they said how nice you were and then started chanting some song you had taught them". Pierre then hummed the tune of the song.
"They said I was nice?" I said, still unconvinced, "they didn't say anything about me making them do horrible things, or, any other strange criticisms?"
"Oh no! One girl did mention something about a certain Mary-Ann however".
I rolled my eyes and smiled and told him about what the children had said about Mary-Ann.

Phew! Not only had I escaped being remembered as some ugly witch with strange teaching methods but on top of that they had remembered the song I had taught them on expressing how they were feeling (happy, sad, tired, good etc.). They may have forgotten everything else I had ever taught them and claim total ignorance as regards being able to speak English but at least they had remembered something!

29 February

Monsieur and I decided to wander up to Sacré Coeur on Montmatre. It is Sunday afternoon and the sun is shining. As we make our way along the cobbled roads, blissfully unaware of the crowds of tourists around us, I suddenly thought about something, "You know" I said, "this year February has one extra day, which means that this year is a leap year. How do you say leap year in French?" I ask. He thinks about this for a minute and replies "année bissextile". "Well" I continue "in England and I think in America as well, in a leap year, traditionally woman ask men to marry them" I say trying to catch his regard. "Oh look, there's a table free" he said, totally ignoring what I just said and steering me towards a small table in front of one of the many cafés surrounding Place du Tertre.

Several hours later, having enjoyed our hot drinks and watched the painters trying to hustle the tourists into having their portrait done we wander round to the Sacré Coeur. As we turn the corner we see a small park from which we have a great view onto the Paris rooftops and notably the Eiffel tower.

The sun is now setting turning the misty sky of Paris into a dusty pink color. We are sat on a bench, my head resting on his shoulder. Behind us a busker is playing the Spanish guitar. The moment is perfectly romantic. I lift my head to plant a kiss on his cheek and gaze at this lovely Frenchman who I love so much. "Mon chéri" I say "I have something important to ask you…". He looks at me quizzically. I pause for a while, for dramatic effect, trying to stop myself from smiling. I breathe in as if taking the plunge, "Well…Do you think we should take the funicular down the hill or walk?" I say, now letting my mouth smile and burst out laughing. He throws me a look, rolls his eyes, flings his arm around my shoulders and pulls me towards him to plant a kiss on my forehead. "You didn't have me worried you know" he said.
This is totally us, the most romantic city in the world, in a romantic place in the city at sunset and we are laughing and joking with each other.
"I know what you were trying to make me think you were going to ask but I know that despite what you said earlier you won't ask me to marry you this year"
"How's that?"
"Well, you do know that if you ask me to marry you then you'll have to buy me a nice ring and you won't get that ring you have your eye on". He has a point, I do have a ring in mind, about which I drop not-so-subtle hints.
"So", he continues "I know I'm safe for at least a year, if this is a year that you have to ask me to marry you. I don't have to ask you to marry me for another year or so".
"But you are thinking that one day you might ask me to marry you?" I say, pouncing on this last comment.
He throws me another side-ways look, smiles and kisses me again. I snuggle into him and continue to gaze at the Eiffel tower.
What's French for "quit whilst you are ahead"?

Dear readers...

Oh hello! Erm, I'm beginning to realize that there have been quite a few visits to this blog, something which is a little unexpected. I don't know how it is you have come to read this blog, whether it is because I have left comments on petite's page and people have clicked the link to see who I am or people have found it for other reasons but I would be interested in finding out who you are and how you have come across my page and more especially what you think (even if it is harsh – I can take it I'm a big girl and if anyone does have anything particularly nasty to say, they are not at all obliged to read my blog!).

I think given the interest I should perhaps explain a few things.

Firstly as you can see, I'm not very good at the upkeep of my blog (as I am not very good at the upkeep of many things in life!) and don't really know a lot about blogging (why do I feel like Julie Andrews as Maria Von Trapp when I say this?), you may have gathered this from my "why blogger" post and the blogging crisis I had a few months ago. I do have a camera but don't get much of a chance at taking pictures and posting them. I can happily oblige if people think my blog lacks pictures.

Secondly, this is not really a personal diary. I used to keep a diary and used to cringe when rereading it, and this was a diary I used to keep hidden under a cupboard so lord knows I don't want to be going on about my personal life in the public arena. No one in my personal circle aside from Monsieur knows about this blog (and he doesn't seem to read it) and so its not a letter home or a way of communicating to my nearest and dearest about what I do here in France (they get it first hand anyway through e-mails and telephone calls). I'm quite happy to share certain details of my private life given that I'm writing under a pen name but the aim of this blog is to write short (ok then long) comments about my life in France, should this interest anyone who happens upon it. Personal blogs can be very interesting, (I very much enjoying reading some of them and if anyone has any others to recommend I would like to know). I especially like anecdotes of family life but I myself only write things that I think might interest people and I don't kid myself into thinking that other people would really care about my life (not that I'm criticizing anyone for doing so). My other reason is that I personally feel that if you put your personal life in the public arena, people will then decide to judge you on it, something which I absolutely do not want. For me this is a private blog (hence why I have limited the comment option but you are quite free to e-mail me), its use and content may change over time but for now I prefer just to make my own observations on my life in France and the experiences I have had.

Thirdly, I'm not a writer. I have an idea of a book in my head, based on a very strange experience I had during my Erasmus year but if I had wanted to be a writer surely I would have written the book by now. I quite enjoy recounting anecdotes of things I find strange or amusing here in France so I try to make my entries like magazine articles. Like many bloggers I'm testing my writing abilities. Maybe one day I'll write my book but right now I have many other personal and professional projects.

Finally, I have a job (watched me get dooced now!). In my job there are times when I have a huge workload and other times when I have nothing to do so have time to kill until the next mountain of work arrives. I usually write my blogs in word and then copy and paste them into the blog at times when work is quiet. The fact that I work and also that I try to make sure I have something at least half interesting to say before I blog means that I don't blog that often. I try to give as little detail as possible on who I am and absolutely no detail on where I work because I don't want to jeopardize my personal and professional life in any way.

Apart from that I can tell you that I am British, in my twenties, I have lived in France for around 5 years. I came to France firstly for an Erasmus year and then returned to relive what I had experienced during that fabulous Erasmus year. I am here principally because I unexpectedly fell in love with this country and still love France (despite its faults). Monsieur is another reason why I stay here especially in spite of the awful employment market but I met him after I had been living here several years. I have been a language teacher in a school and in the University in Bordeaux and now I work in Paris. I seem to have set myself a challenge to make life work in France, accomplish studies, build a career, fall in love and make that love last, build a family with the man I love … live life in general! I do love England, it is what I have known for twenty years of my life, I don't exclude ever returning to England but for as long as possible, for as much as is possible I want to make my life in France.

As I said above you can't comment on my posts unless you are a fellow blogger, but if you are another expat, blogger, or anyone else (with sincere intentions) who would like to correspond you may of course e-mail me. I comment on French life and the French people as I know them. I have great respect and love for the French and do not wish anything I have written here to be taken as being offensive. Living in France makes me very aware of the faults and peculiarities of the English as well and I'm sure someone in the opposite situation would have things to say about English life.

So there you have it, à vous maintenant!

(P.S. I clearly have a tendency to over-use brackets and digress immensely, but that's me!)

Expat politics

I was on the train once, happily settled into my seat, magazine on the fold away table in front of me, munching on my sandwich when a fellow passenger came and took his seat beside me. I have to say that he took a while to put his bag and coat on the overhead shelf, take out his computer and the documents he would probably be working on and put a smaller bag under the seat. The whole time this exercise was accompanied by much huffing and puffing and muttering to himself….in English. It was clear that I was next to another Expat.

I would classify expats into four categories:
1) the pensioners – those who are retired and have bought a second home in France and come to live there during their retirement,
2) the working expats – who have been sent here with their families and maybe choose to stay
3) the French lovers – those who have met someone French and have moved with them to France or alternatively those who were here for a temporary period, have met their French partners and now chose to stay,
4) the student – either those on a year abroad or those who having finished a year abroad come here after graduation for a year or two "whilst they decide what to do with their lives" and who can very often fall in love with a French person and then fall into category 3.

Categories 1 and 2 may want to meet other expats because they can't or don't want to learn French and find it easier to have other English speaking friends. Those in categories 3 or 4 may have some expat friends but generally as they want to intergrate into French society, they don't want to meet with other expats. I fall into the 3/4 category, I used to study here, then I came back and started work and now I have met someone. During the years I have spent here I have made other expat friends but don't usually actively seek out other expats.

Often when expats do meet up we can often talk about the French and compare our view of French life. The result of this is that these commentaries can seem rather negative and even insulting. However, we are all here because we love France or the French but as with love, you love but you don't always have to like nor to completely understand. I say this because my blog is exactly that, I love France and I love many things about the French but there are lots of things I find strange and therefore comment on. Consider this as a disclaimer for any harsh comments I might make.

The other problem I sometimes face, when an expats speaks French very well, is discerning when I am in front of an English speaking person and in what language to speak to him or her in. Of course when the conversation starts we speak French but at what point do we give up the act? Some expats have lived her so long that there accent is very light so it is difficult to be sure exactly where they are from. Indeed, if nothing is said, but you think the person next to you/in front of you is English, how do you let the person know?

With the guy on the train I could obviously tell he was English and he was making no attempts to hide it, in fact I would say he wanted those around him to know. I was reading a French magazine and despite my obvious English rose looks, I could have passed for a French person (or at least I like to think so) but I decided I wanted to indicate that I was in fact English. Firstly I rummaged in my bag and took out an English novel (with a WH Smiths sticker) also, whenever he bumped into me as he was settling down or moving during the journey, to his "excuse-moi" I replied "don't worry". Eventually he did click on to the fact that I was British, asked me a question directly in English which then led to us having a conversation for the rest of the journey. We spoke about our respective lives in France. Whenever I do meet an expat I'm fascinated to find out why they are here, for how long and what they do. Naturally, and as mentioned above we did spend a lot of the time talking about the French in the work place and criticizing the system. At the end of the trip I was quite concerned that any French passengers who had overheard and understood our conversation might have thought "well if you don't like the French way of life, why stay here?" and could have been a little insulted.

Finally, there is the situation when you are the secret expat, where you are around English speaking expats who chat in public freely and discussing all sorts of subjects believing that those around them can't understand. Metros and buses are great places for overhearing tourists and other English speakers chat as if they were the only ones there. The issue in such a situation is at what point do you let them know that you are English and can understand or do you stay quiet and listen to what they are saying. On the one hand it is quite interesting, on the other it can be quite embarrassing when it happens to you. I was once on the tram in Bordeaux with a friend discussing in detail the weekends events and a bit of boy trouble when the guy sat next to my friend stood up and said "excuse me, my stop is next" in a very distinct British accent. My friend and I looked at each other shocked realizing what we had been discussing. They guy smiled knowingly and said "don't worry girls, I'm sure it will all work out".

Galette with glee

You have to love things here in France sometimes. In the UK the 6th January signifies the day on which all your Christmas decorations must have been taken down. After which date, if they are still up, it is supposed to be back luck. So all those brightly lit houses with hundreds of reindeers, santas, snowmen, sparkling lights and Christmas trees outside return to looking grey and drab. I always remembered that time of year during the Christmas school holidays, it was so sad when all the Christmas decorations had to be taken down and all of a sudden the house just looked normal, worse still it looked dull and sad.

In France, the 6th January is the Epiphany, the day they celebrate the visit of the three kings. In bakeries around France they sell a "Galette", a puff pastry almond flavored cake in which is hidden a little token, or "fève" which literally means broad bean. There used to be a bean hidden in the cake now it is more some kind of a plastic figurine or token. If you find this little present in your bit of cake (hoping that you have not choked on it!) then you become "the king". Galettes are indeed sold with a cardboard crown so the person who becomes the king wears the crown. Then, if my understanding of this tradition is correct, the king may then choose his queen and pass on the crown. It is also supposed to be the case that the person who is the king is the one who buys the galette the following year.

I've celebrated the "Fête des rois" three times since I arrived in France. The first time it was a neighbour who invited me and other neighbours around. I didn't understand the tradition back then but I wasn't going to say no to cake!

This year we bought out own little galette and a bottle of cider to go with it. We cut the galette in two and both ate a slice. Neither had found the galette. It then became a race to find who would be the king, whilst ensuring that the other did not cheat by trying to look between the layers of pastry or press to hard on their slice to see if there was something hidden (adults, us?). In the end it was I who found the "fève" but as Monsieur was the only other person there he became my King, obviously! All the more so as I have a deceptively big head and the crown kept falling off (a bad sign perhaps?). Monsieur took the role very seriously and took great pleasure in acting the part, "one wishes to have the remote control" for example. I really think that if he could have done he would have worn it to bed!

Anyway, whilst the lights on the Champs Elysées are still sparkling, the celebrations have finished and its back to work.
Roll on Easter!

3..2..1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! Now put that cigarette out!

Yes, it is now 2008 and in France the smoking ban has now been enforced. Of course to what extent it will be complied with remains to be seen. For months now it has been illegal to smoke in public places, notably the train stations, but the times I have been at the train station, the French smokers seem to have an extensive interpretation of the phrase "in the train station" and consider that smoking in the enclosed entrance of the station is prohibited but smoking on the platforms is allowed which means that when I get off the train at Montparnasse and have to walk along the narrow platform to get to the metro I often walk in a cloud of smoke from those having a cigarette after a three hour no-smoking train ride until we get to the end of the platform and "in" to the train station!

I was in Bordeaux to celebrate New Years and on the way back from our night out a rather drunk (yes believe it or not the French get drunk too!) girl got on the tram which between the "Grand Théatre" stop and "Victoire" was relatively quiet. Another guy got on at the next stop already smoking a cigarette and continued smoking regardless. The drunk girl followed his example and herself lit up. Then the guy behind me, having noticed this blatant disregard for the rules, also lit up. When the tram got to Victoire lots of other people got on, significantly reducing the space available. The smell of smoke in the air combined with the increased number of people made the tram very suffocating, even more so, as I suspected that the guy behind me wasn't smoking a "normal" cigarette. Among those who had just got one, there was a girl who decided not to put up with the smoking and asked the drunk girl would she mind putting her cigarette out as she, the other girl, was asthmatic. The drunk girl's response was "mais j'ai envie d'une cigarette, merde! Je ne peux meme pas avoir une cigarette?", to which the other girl did not hesitate to argue back saying that no she was not allowed to smoke and more importantly that those around her should be allowed to breath. Finally the drunk girl decided that she would put her cigarette out. Her reply had however astonished me. SHE wanted to smoke so therefore the other 20 or so passengers who were crammed into the carriage around her were therefore deprived of the air they breathe! Not only was it a selfish attitude but unfortunately it is one displayed by many smokers, for example those at the station who force all those walking behind them to breath in the smoke they inhale, the platform being too narrow for us to walk past them.

This morning, whilst waiting for the metro, I caught a whiff of a cigarette and looked around to see who the offending person was. A guy behind me was sat down and had a cigarette in his hand. Of course no one went to point out to him that smoking was in fact illegal. This is the very root of the problem; the French generally won't tell each other off for breaking the law, as they consider it to be the State's responsibility. Whilst non-smokers might not like the fact that a smoker has decided to light up in a non-smoking area, they are will rarely (as above) tell someone to put the cigarette out. I think it is because the French are a lot more argumentative than the Brits (or so I have seen), and people know very well that if they tell someone who is smoking to put it out, that person is very likely to argue back, which is something which I personally, wouldn't want to start.

The ban has been largely complied with in restaurants. The other day I had lunch with a colleague in a brasserie near work which usually places those who say they want "non-smoking" next to a section near the bar where people are smoking (logical!!). Anyway this time it was nice to be able to have lunch and not be surrounded by smoke.

There are places where I seriously doubt that the smoking ban will be upheld, notably in what they call cafés de commerce or cafés de sport, the small brasseries which are more for drinking and betting than for having proper meals. We walked past one the other day and whilst I couldn't see anyone smoking, we both agreed that it would be hardly surprising if there were those who were smoking.

It is however amusing, on the bus ride home to see people stood outside restaurants having a cigarette whilst the others happily eat in a smoke free environment. As a non-smoker, I wonder, how long will it be before they really quit because they are fed up of going outside in the cold or alternatively, how long before the cafés and restaurants build separate sections for their smoker customers?

The Frenchman without his gaullois?? How long can it last?