I pancakes, le discoteche e anche un po' di cultura

Firstly, a moan about the weather.  Apparently Britain has stolen my sunshine while I have had to put up with storms.  Fine, the weather forecast for the next week is sun, sun, sun but I have lost valuable beach time and this is not acceptable.  I am in danger of losing my outrageous tan lines and my surplus of vitamin D.

Sun I may be lacking but fabulous friends I am not.  The gorgeous Lucy McIndoe flew all the way from England via Brussells to spend a weekend in sunny Ortona.  Not only was it lovely speaking English, we had a beautiful weekend cooking, sunbathing and showing Italians how to swim without touching the sea floor.  Bliss.  As poor Lucy doesn't speak Italian, I had the role of chief translator when out and about with friends.  At first I really impressed her with my mad Italian skills, but then I kept forgetting to change languages when talking to her, which is really helpful.  I continued to impress her by taking her to an overpriced club called Lago, or Lake, called so because it is in the middle of nowhere down a seriously dodgy track next to a lake.  In theory this is really cool.  An open air club surrounded by trees and cicadas, molto misterioso.  However our fun was seriously thwarted by the worst DJs ever to grace this earth.  We had paid 10 euros for the pleasure of their company and all they could give us was a beat, and not even a particularly good one.  There was little variation and nothing going on over the top.  Unfortunately Italian club music still isn't growing on me.  We made up for it with traditional Italian blueberry pancakes next day.

I discovered that nightclubs are called discoteche here, not nightclubs, as nightclub means strip club in Italian.  I only made that mistake once and luckily didn't take Lucy to see something she probably would rather not.  I was so sad to see her go, it was lovely to see someone from my French life as we all miss it so much.

A week later I blagged a week off work and took a 7 hour train to Tuscany!  This time it was for a week's holiday with the family minus Matt, our family friends Vicky, Paul and Georgia and two friends of Ben and Georgia's, Angus and Paisley.  We were a houseful and what a house it was.  Super Mum had found a villa in the Tuscan hills with both a pool and a tennis court.  Swoon.  Not only could I inflict my bikini body on my nearest and dearest, I could also humiliate them with my amazing tennis ability.  Unfortunately for me, I gave that ability to my brothers at birth, very kind of me I know.  I wasn't quite as bad as I thought I would be, but I wasn't far off.  Well at least it was entertaining for onlookers.  To entertain the wine lovers of the group (everyone except the not so littluns) we visited Le Miccine, a producer in the Chianti hills and a client of Paul who imports wines.  Le Miccine is ran by an inspiring Canadian Paula Pipini Cook who showed us round her beautiful vineyard and let us taste vast quantities of her beautiful wine.  Cue very happy bigguns.  I then took the not so littluns to Florence to spend a day getting some culture like.  My family don't really do museums and art in a big way, so visiting a museum was quite an achievement for us kids.  Fine, most people don't go to Florence for the modern art but we never have been very normal anyway.  The Nove Cento museum was surprisingly good and not too big so perfect for us.  I also introduced them to my favourite gelaterie.  I have my priorities straight.

In Florence we picked up cousin Billy and his two friends who were interrailing and in need of a place to crash.  We had a great evening with them being educated on all things film.  They all went to the Brit school so are very creative.  Billy is a film-maker, and although I'm admittedly biased I think he's rather good.  Here's one he filmed at our house back home, I now blame him for any sleep problems.
The Cat Sitter (SHORT HORROR FILM) 
Back to less creepy things, a picture of the outrageous sunsets.  We were not blessed with good weather on the holiday, in fact I had to borrow Ben's clothes as I was so cold all the time, but it did make for some beautiful evenings.  No filter, no kidding.

It was tough leaving my family again, I'm feeling quite ready to go home now.  I love it here and in many ways I don't want to leave, but home is home.

To finish I thought I would tell you a bit more about where I live, seeing as British people have no idea where or what Abruzzo is and the locals keep looking at me in a very odd way asking me why I'm here.  My favourite was a man asking me if I was lost.  Ortona may be small, but boring it is not.  It was the scene of a fierce battle in WWII where many Canadians lost their lives.  Accordingly, there is a war cemetery close by and a museum in town.  I should probably go there at some point.  Also, there's a castle!  

  If castles aren't cool, I don't know what is.

The region of Abruzzo is famous for its Arrosticini, basically meat on sticks.  They're lush.f  In my previous post, I mentioned how strong the local dialect is.  I wasn't exaggerating.  I've been learning a bit but it's tough, particularly when I'm learning a weird combination of ortonese and crecchiese as I live in Ortona but most of my friends are from Crecchio, around 10min drive away.  Yes the dialects are distinct and different.  Here is an example of ortonese for you to attempt to decipher.

Translation in the next post.  Ciao!

I Problemi di Lingua

So I am in sunny Ortona!  Where the cazzo is that I hear you say.  Well it's in Abruzzo on the coast near a city called Pescara.  Where the cazzo is Abruzzo?  East coast of Italy, directly across from Rome.  Got it?  Good.  It's a rather lovely town actually, on the sea with a population of around 20,000, so small but still has some things going on.  Abruzzo is also a spectacular region.  I live at the seaside but I'm less than an hour from snow topped mountains and skiing resorts.  It's almost a shame it's summer.

I will be honest, my first day was not fantastic.  I arrived at the beautiful office of Farnese Vini and spent the morning photocopying and filing.  I was then moved to Caldora, an office just outside the town in a bottling plant.  (I'm still not sure if I was exiled due to my poor photocopying skills or if that's where I was actually supposed to be!)  I walked in, smile on face as per usual to meet a group of Abruzzesi looking at me very oddly as if I were an alien.  No smiles.  Barely a greeting.  I felt like I was 10 years old.  They didn't actually give me anything to do, so left me sitting like a lemon apart from a little tour around the factory.  To make matters even worse, the staff at this office don't really speak Italian - they speak dialect.  And it's a hell of a strong one.  I think I could probably understand more Russian spoken by a child with a speech impediment.  To be honest, even when they speak Italian their accent is so strong that I really struggle to make it out.  So far so not good.

The second day wasn't much better.  I spent 8 hours stapling.  8.  Eight.  EIGHT!!!  My shoulder actively hurt from the repetition.  The week continued in this vein, I stapled/filed/sat around doing nothing.  I completely admit at this point to feeling completely helpless and worried.  I was not being paid to staple, the youngest person at the office apart from me was in his early forties and I was the only girl.  The advantage of this was that they started calling me Kate Moss.  Which is lovely, even if a little odd coming from middle-aged men with a naked girls calendar on the wall.  But we'll ignore that little treasure.

Luckily things soon started to look up, and I'm not just talking about the gravity defying nature of those models' boobs.  I managed to find an absurdly expensive but lovely apartment in the centre of Ortona,  owned by a fantastic old Italian lady called Lina.  The setup is fantastically stereotypical.  Lina lives on the second floor in the biggest apartment I have ever seen in my life.  She is a self-confessed housewife and spends her days looking after her flat and her lovely son Giuseppe and his family, who live on the fourth floor.  Her brother-in-law lives on the first floor, so the whole building is occupied by one big happy Italian family, with the addition of little me on the third floor.  I think they knew I was feeling a bit lonely and overwhelmed and have adopted me into their family, to the point of getting worried if they don't see me every couple of days.  Also if I need anything, they do everything possible to take care of me.  On Friday night I managed to break the electrics and the oven at the same time, classic Coleman.  Within 5 minutes, Lina had her friend's nephew over (who had only just got home after a long day at work....I did feel rather guilty) who fixed everything.  So despite breaking something on a Friday night, it was fixed straight away for free.  The advantages of tight communities/having a terrifying fabulous Italian matriarch on your side.

Luckly this week another "stagista" arrived at Caldora.  As I had done all the stapling that needed to be done and some that didn't there wasn't really a lot for Simona and I to do so I emailed the main office at Farnese who welcomed us with open arms.  So not only have I not stapled anything for at least three days, I also have a new friend who is Italian!  Simona is 22, studies in Turin and is lovely.  She has introduced me to her friends, who interestingly think I'm alright, and includes me as much as possible. I think I may have made some friends!  Yes, I'm very excited about this, but after the first week I had resigned myself to having no friends at all and a very lonely summer so it was nice to be proved wrong.  Work is treating us pretty well - on Friday there was a tasting at the office and there were plenty of almost full bottles left.  So we were told to take as many bottles as we could manage.  Score.  I think they definitely underestimated how strong I am when given alcohol as a motivation.  Typical Brit.  I was given a baptism of fire that night when we went to Pescara to "ballare".

The clubs in Pescara are insanely beautiful.  Most are open-air and on the beach - summer bliss!  In theory, they should be some of the best clubs ever, but alas the Southern Italians have fallen seriously short on one issue: the music.  I cannot describe how bad the music was.  It wasn't even bad in a cheesy fun way, it was just repetitive and mind-numbingly boring.  Well I suppose you can't have it all.  Amazingly I didn't actually humiliate myself that much and I didn't randomly go swimming. Success.

We got back just after 5 so I decided to go and watch the sunrise over the port.  Mad beauty.

Obviously I have been going to the beach.  Oh yeah, it's 30 degrees here.  Tragedy.  After getting spectacularly lost on my first visit and nearly ending up walking down a dual carriageway (thanks Google Maps!) I found a little path that goes through a mini jungle and ends up in an olive grove.

I think I've found my picnic spot.

Despite having made Italian friends and family, I didn't feel up to watching the England-Italy match with other Italians.  I am literally the only English person here.  So I watched it at home alone, which was just as well as I had temporarily forgotten how much I swear when watching sport.  Obviously this didn't reach Wales rugby levels of histrionics, but it wasn't that far off, particularly when England scored.  Robbed.  Robbed we were.  I was so glad I had stayed home, I just can't cope with all the smug Italian faces.  Effing Ballotelli.  We also seem to have lost our ability to kick a decent corner, and I'm not just talking about Rooney's shocker.  And don't get me started on the uselessness of Johnson (who by the way Italian girls think is the hottest player on the team....) The only saving grace was the Italian commentators' hilarious inability to distinguish between Welbeck, Sterling and Sturridge.

Anyway I apologise for the lack of pictures - I will make sure to take loads next weekend as the lovely Lucy is visiting me!  Very, very excited.  I've just got back from an hour and a half of zumba....absolutely dying so ciao for now!

Aurevoir ma chère France, ma Buongiorno Italia!

So it happened.  I left.  And it was horrendous.  Many tearful goodbyes were had and I thoroughly embarrassed myself as usual.  Fantastique.  The last couple of weeks were gorgeous though.  The weather was beautiful so I could be all voyeuristic in the park by spying on all the topless blokes doing yoga and the topless bloke walking on the tightrope.  There's no theme I promise.

I had a wonderful surprise visit from the lovely Verity in the last week.  We had a lovely time at Niolon which is just across the bay from Marseille.  It's such a beautiful spot which clearly needed some silly stunts.

The beautiful Verity:

And true to form and my word, on our last Friday night I did something rather silly that may or may not have involved swimming in the Rotonde, you know that massive fountain in the middle of the roundabout in Aix, at 5am.  Great idea, particularly when the police showed up.  (Interestingly instead of making a beeline for the dripping wet half naked girls they went to speak to the weird pervy men watching us)  Once again, video available on request, featuring commentary from the hilarious Jimmie Russell.  And so I finished the year as I started it, in a fountain for no real reason.  Typical.
Sadly I cannot describe how much I miss France.  I had such amazing friends there, as well as family, and even though Italy is lovely, I do want to go back to this bunch.

Sad times.

But onwards and upwards!  After a lovely few days at home where I got my puppy and pony fix it was time for Italia!  I will admit that I had a little wobble before coming.  I was missing France a lot and didn't feel I had the energy to move again, particularly to a country where I don't know anyone.  Luckily Mumma Coleman gave me a kick up the ass and I managed to haul my stupidly heavy suitcase to Florence.  It's rather beautiful in case you didn't know.

I have been living with a lovely Italian couple called Andrea and Fiamma and their two cats which is great fun.  Andrea and Fiamma are basically overgrown students so our lifestyles seem to fit quite well.  Every time I crawl out of bed hungover they are there telling me how proud they are of me while also being just as hungover as me.  We work well together.
Aside from writing a monster essay on Dante (apparently the physical and moral structure of the Divine Comedy is important or something) I have been studying at the Istituto Italiano to bring my Italian up to scratch.  After the first week where I kept speaking French it has been going quite well.  My class are a lovely bunch too which helps, particularly on trips to beautiful Ligurian coastlines.  We visited a gorgeous place called Le Cinque Terre which are five tiny villages inaccessible by roads.  You take a little train and see views like these.

I seem to have gone from one beautiful place to another, how tragic.

Apart from taking trips to picturesque villages I have mostly been doing what I do best - going to bars and drinking a bit too much wine.  I managed to excel myself in the self-injury stakes this week by trying to kick up my heels Irish style barefoot on cobbled streets and consequently rupturing a vein in my ankle.  It has gone an interesting colour to say the least.  I also had a visit from the nutty Raph who gave me a brilliant tour of Florentine gelaterie.  I'm hooked, they are just so nommy and my beach diet has gone completely out the window in a haze of pistacchio and frutti di bosco.  As usual we took some silly photos in the giardino delle rose which thankfully in May is blooming.

Soon I will be moving yet again, God help me.  But I'm moving to the seaside so I suppose I'll live.  Ciao for now!

La fin est proche!

This month's blog title is rather imposing I am aware, but given that I am actually leaving in three weeks and the last two weeks have been so ridiculously bizarre leading me to believe the the end may actually be coming, I thought it was rather appropriate.  First things first, yes I am leaving la France in three weeks.  Just under actually, horror of horrors.  Soon I will no longer be able to mutter "bloody French!" when someone annoys me or have nearly as good an excuse to be absolutely insufferably rude and pretentious - at the moment I can just pretend to be 'culturally integrating'.  

A list of the rampaging bizareness includes death, heartbreak, arguments, humiliation and a student attacking one of the teachers I work with.  They warned me on my first day at the lycée that the students could be violent, I just assumed that it wouldn't actually happen.  The teacher is now ok but I am almost grateful that I don't have long left there. (For those worrying, it's not me who has died, had my heart broken or had an argument.  I humiliate myself on a daily basis so that's not really an issue here)  But rather tragically, in the past three weeks my gorgeous Godmother's cats, Pallino and Mimi, have passed away.  I'm already missing my cat cuddles.

To cheer me up and make up for my mostly but not exclusively self-inflicted humiliation, my gorgeous 11 year olds gave me a much needed ego boost today by deciding that I was in fact not Katie Coleman, a lowly English assistant but Katy Perry, pop starlet extraordinaire.  This started with one student asking for my autograph and ended with several students seriously asking me if I was Katy Perry.  Let's not tell them the truth!

Last week we said goodbye to our Gorgeous Germans who have finished their teaching careers.  To mark the end, we held a German-themed party where we embarrassed them with our attempts at German and baking:

In defence of the crappy writing, I had to write with chopsticks!

Running in direct opposition to my love of brownies I should warn you all that I have taken up yoga and am rather fanatical about it.  My lack of flexibility is shocking, but at least I'm actually exercising.  My teacher is fabulous - anyone left in Aix should check out www.louisahutton.com - she's amazing and has already worked wonders with my complete lack of physical ability.

Going back a bit further, in news that will shock all who know of my upsetting lack of coordination, I can drive on the other side of the road.  I tested out this ability on five day holiday in Languedoc-Roussillon with eight to ten anglophone buddies.  And they say expats don't integrate!  The inabitants of the sleepy village of Saint Maurice de Cazevieille didn't know what hit them.  And what hit them was loud music, beer pong, catchphrase and ignorant Brits clogging up the roads and bar.  My histrionics at the Wales score was received with much amusement.  (side note: no I haven't recovered from the Six Nations, and yes I did lose the Fantasy League, and apparently both future hubby Leigh Halfpenny and the gorgeous Sam Warburton are recovering well from their dislocated shoulders)  So our nights were lively and the days were lovely, spent visiting Montpellier, Uzès, Avignon and the beautiful Pont du Gard.

At Lindsey's request we also decided that vines are far too lovely to leave alone and that much frolicking is needed.  Her words not mine.  As usual my lack of grace is evident:

And a picture of the gang:

As you can see the sun has started shining here and it is now so hot I can't really run in the daytime.  Best excuse ever.  Also I am fully off the wagon.  I tried sobriety, and it was a very good idea, but then I had a few too many one night and could actually move the next day, leading to me drinking a few too many pretty much every night in the past couple of weeks.  Lesson learnt I have not!  I'll stop drinking back in England, at least that's what I keep telling myself.  I would say I'll do the same in Italy but given that I will be working for a wine company I think it's safe to say that it's just not going to happen.  Santé!

Les Dieux parmi les hommes

 Christmas is over and done - puppy-filled and heavenly since you ask - and life has moved on to more athletic things, aka a nice weekend in Nice.  (Sorry, it had to be done, but I've got it out of my system now so if you're not too disgusted you can feel safe about reading on.)  Having become a bit of a Toulon fan whilst living here, my loyalty was sorely tested when they came up against Cardiff in the Heineken Cup.  Yes,  that Cardiff, with Sam Warburton, Alun-Wyn Jones and of course, none other than my future husband, Leigh Halfpenny.  I have decided that no one should be allowed to be that good looking on a rugby pitch - it's hardly surprising Cardiff were thrashed given how distracting he is.  Toulon are pretty much immune to this, having trained with Jonny Wilkinson for some time now.  (I know, Jonny Wilkinson and Leigh Halfpenny on the same pitch.)  Cardiff clearly just need some more practice.  As do Wales apparently.  After our horrific annihilation by Ireland I now can't bear to listen to any Irish music or even see an Irish person.  I'm also plotting Jonathan Sexton's assassination and would quite like to bitchslap Peter O'Mahoney.  I may need to start taking this rugby malarky/Leigh Halfpenny perving a bit less seriously.

However this is highly unlikely.  When Leigh heard of my Mediterranean location he decided he couldn't bear to be apart from his future spouse, so promptly signed for Toulon.  Unfortunately, he won't start till next season, by which time I will be crying in an Oxford library.  He obviously didn't get the memo that this is a year abroad, not a lifetime so I imagine he'll follow me back home after a season or two.  You've probably realised that he's a bit obsessed with me, it's not the other way round, promise.

Anyway, back to Nice.  It's such a cool city, nearly as gorgeous as Leigh in fact, if that were possible. (Fine, I will shut up about Leigh)  Lucy, Rhiannon, Sam and I all packed off bright and early to bright and lovely Nice.  After a walk down the Promenade des Anglais we abandoned Lucy and packed off to see these beautiful boys:

Ok I just have to say one thing - he still looks good with a shaved head! And just to prove we did something cultural that didn't involve staring at gorgeous men in short shorts:

Russia comes to France!  Having never been to Russia I was very intrigued to explore one of the few examples of Russian Orthodox architecture outside of its native country.  It was everything I hoped for - dark, mysterious and completely nutty.

We even went to a museum so I think there was enough to prove that we aren't just here for the drinking.  Obviously, the views were just incredible.

So we decided to ruin it by taking selfies.

And check out my amateur photography!

Deep.

In all seriousness, Nice is an amazing city - beautiful and fun but also very relaxed, it's going on the 'live here at some point in my life' list.

Since then, my life has mostly revolved around the 6 Nations and the Fantasy League that we've created.  Oh and job-hunting in Italy, the world's most depressing task.  Ideas appreciated that preferably don't involve children - I may want to murder them by then.  But yeah, Fantasy League! (My priorities are so straight)  Despite my hefty first week lead, I have taken a bit of a dip in the rankings so I will have to resist the urge to expel all Irishmen from my team to avoid further humiliation.  I have also been busy planning a mini break for 8 of us during our vacances d'hiver.  Let's just say that car hire for under 25s is stressful.  Hopefully it'll all be worth it though, I need to maintain my jetset lifestyle after all.

Finally there is something rather disturbing which I feel needs to be shared.  I have decided to seriously limit my wine intake.  Given that half of this blog seems to be about how much I drink I am slightly worried that I'm far too boring a person to be sober but it's a risk I'm going to have to take.  I seem to have reached the stage where I get crippling hungover without being crippling drunk.  Extremely unfair as I'm sure you'll agree.  Until fairly recently, when I woke up feeling like truck had driven over me several times, it was as a result of being a bit too merry the night before, and I at least felt that I thoroughly deserved it, after recounting the previous night's embarrassing events in my head.  (Note to self: getting horrendously drunk in front of your students is a very, very bad idea.  In my defence what were they doing out on a school night?)  However feeling the same way without having been even tipsy (I have witnesses to prove this) is just annoying.  Sobriety it is, so if my next blog is even more boring than usual I hope you will forgive me.  Although knowing me I'll be off the wagon in no time at all.

Please send some 'get dry soon' vibes/prayers for Somerset - looks like I'll be coming home to this:

Il commence à sembler beaucoup comme Noël

It's home time for this wandering wastrel.  Great Britain had better be ready for the onslaught of returning year abroad students.  We're used to a certain level of European pretentiousness now and intend to inflict every ounce of it on our nearest and dearest.  I would apologise but all I can seem to say is "excusez-moi, où est le vin?"  I'm sure a couple of days back in Somerset will jolt me to my senses.  Or if that fails a pint of cider should wipe that smug smile off my face.  Having not drunk a drop for three months I have a feeling it's going to hit me a lot harder than usual - thanks in advance for picking me up off the floor.

In all seriousness I couldn't wait to go home.  This has nothing to do with France - I love it here in case you haven't noticed - but it is quite hard when little bro keeps sending me pictures of this cutie:

 
I'm so excited about little Baxter that I've turned into a bit of a puppy nazi.  There are a lot of puppies about in Aix at the moment (let's hope they know a dog isn't just for Christmas....I'd better translate that just in case) and every one I see just reminds me of how cute Baxter Baggins is.  So I judge.  Inevitably I can find something that the owner is doing horribly wrong  and therefore an excuse to puppy-nap it.  Definitely worth the potential prison sentence.

In an unexpected turn of events my one private pupil has multiplied into four which apparently means I have some vague teaching skills.  One is even an adult who doesn't seem too impressed with my childish enthusiasm and my poorly-concealed obsession with her cat.  At least one of my other clients realises that my favourite bit about teaching her daughter is playing with her various pets.  She has seriously suggested that I get a cat for my apartment which is horribly tempting - she clearly isn't aware of my puppy-napping desires.  To be honest it's only the thought of what I would be putting my poor flatmate through that is stopping me.

In an effort to avoid that dispute I went to an Albert Camus exhibition at the Cite des Livres.  Yeah, all cultural like.  What should have been a very enlightening visit turned out to be a crusher of dreams as I realised that any hint of intellectuality I once possessed has completely left me, probably driven out by vast quantities of wine.  No longer can I actually analyse literature.  This clearly does not bode well for my degree so one of my New Years Resolutions is to regain some literary ability, if I ever had any at all.  I decided to start simple and attempted to get to grips with this idea:

Sadly, the thought drove me to yet more wine.  Sigh.

A slightly less wine-fuelled event has been dominating Aix-en-Provence every Monday night.  One of the consequences of being friends with two Germans is that a bit of national rivalry occasionally springs up - in our case in the form of a bowling competition.  Every week the competition seems to get more and more heated so this week Sam was determined to defeat the "Brave Bavarians" once and for all.  After warming up with a bit of table football where I definitely got far too competitive we once again set about thrashing the Huns.  Or at least Sam did.  To say that I am rubbish at bowling would be a bit of an understatement.  I have about as much aim as a drunk man in a nightclub so I wasn't exactly helpful with the lederhosen-bashing.  However thanks to Sam's weird obsession with filming everyone's bums I even have evidence that just occasionally I can actually bowl:

Like a pro.  Or not - my complete lack of teckers still shines through.  Let's hope that 2014 sees a drastic improvement.

We've been getting rather excited about Christmas in Aix - those of you who saw my last post will have seen the pictures of the lights which are just stunning.  Along with all the panicked Christmas shopping we found time to have a Christmas dinner with turkey, brussel sprouts, pigs in blankets, roast potatoes, Christmas pudding, the lot!  Just replace 'turkey' with 'roast chickens bought at the market' and 'Christmas pudding' with 'ridiculously good peanut butter fudge'.  It was very fun and very Christmassy, mostly helped along by my 105 song long Christmas playlist.  Actually I'm not sure it helped at all as apparently having a playlist that long is "a bit weird".  It seems I'm never going to escape this adjective.

On a final note you may have noticed my reference to Leigh Halfpenny's blazing hotness in my last post.  I decided that I should probably see his dazzling brilliance in person so this petite fille is going to see Toulon v Cardiff Blues in Nice in January.  Weekend away in Nice.  Casual.  I realised that I haven't done nearly as much travelling as I hoped while I'm here, mainly due to the fact that my apartment eats my money, and if I'm going to spend painful amounts of money then I should at least have Leigh Halfpenny in short shorts as my compensation.  And the whole blue sky, blue sea thing too.  Not forgetting Jonny Wilkinson either.  Bliss.  

Anyway, thank you for reading, and Merry Christmas to you all from Baxter and I.  Oh wait, make that Joyeaux Noël!

Le Chat Noir et Une Vieille Fille

Recently I spent the most exciting week of my year abroad yet.  I had been looking forward to it for some time as having sunk into a depression caused by Wales' crushing defeat by South Africa I had become slightly more introverted.  There are just so many what ifs.  What if we hadn't lost three players to injury in the first half hour?  What if the Welsh players hadn't been so dazzled by Leigh Halfpenny's blazing hotness that they forgot to actually score tries?  We will never know.  This despondency is not helped by the fact that it is now less than 20 degrees Celsius here.  It's actually quite cold.  They promised me heat.  Not impressed.

Anyway back to the fun week.  Super-godmother Jane has been on holiday with her mother so when husband Tim had to work in England for a week there was an issue: who was going to look after their cats?  My well-honed cat-sitting skills were required and I did not fail them.  Pallino and Mimi have probably never been so cuddled (unwillingly might I add) in their lives.

But seriously, how are you not supposed to cuddle those two gorgeous beings?  I think this photo conveys what Mimi thought of how excited I was:

Anyway I had a lovely time enjoying cat cuddles, a comfy bed, a warm apartment and a proper functioning kitchen.  And the odd glass of vino.  I mean it rarely gets better than a glass of wine with a cat on your lap.

As you can tell, I probably enjoyed my feline themed week slightly more than is socially acceptable, meaning that my friends have realised that I'm a crazy cat lady who probably needs an intervention.  I suppose it was only a matter of time before they found out - everyone at home has known this for a long time but I was hoping to keep it hidden out here for a while longer.  You know, new country new me kind of thing.  So to save myself from further becoming a massive granny I took to taking pictures of sunsets:

#nofilter
And taking day trips to picturesque Provençal villages such as Vauvenargues:

It seems there is no hope for me.  Faced with my increasingly inevitable spinsterhood I decided to take drastic action.  Or rather my mother took drastic action.  WE HAVE A PUPPY.  I have gone from not wanting to go home at all to wishing I was there.  Spinsterhood is confirmed and I don't even care because I'll have a little cocker spaniel to keep me company.  Along with my cats.  Fab.

Given our new arrival the traditional family arguments about what to call him have started in full swing.  To honour the fact that our beautiful English Setter is called Arwen, I want to call him something Lord of the Rings related, like Frodo, Sam or Bilbo Baggins.  These have all been rejected in favour of................Baxter.  Arwen and Baxter.  Interesting.  However, the potential for Anchorman related jokes is now unlimited and therefore I begrudgingly approve.  Take a look at this cutie:

  And I meant the dog, not little bro.  Jeez.

Back to French related things.  I had my first visitor!  Charlie decided he was crazy enough to try my wine-filled lifestyle and visited for a weekend.  Hopefully I didn't put him off the French forever.  I have also landed my first private tuition job which means that someone actually thinks I'm vaguely competent.  Shocking, I know.  However, spending a whole hour with one little girl uses up most of my teaching ideas within the first 15 minutes, so any ideas to keep her occupied would be much appreciated.  Also, several of my classes seem to actually like me.  When I went to collect my sixième from the playground this week they all started waving and screaming "Katie, Katie!"  Ego = boosted.  Now to convince my beautiful 21yr olds that I'm just as cool as them.  I think telling them about the cats should do it.

Today being the 1st December I have finally relented and let myself listen to Christmas music.  Heaven.  The lights in Aix went up a couple of weeks ago so it has been hard not to turn into a delirious child.  I mean come on, how gorgeous do these look?

   Michael Bublé eat your heart out.  Now all I need is to find some mince pies in this strange country...