Mardi 19.12.06 Cards. Snaps. Naps.
All the kids are either hyper or moody today. Thankfully hyperness prevails but the moody Mademoiselles and monsieurs are a right pain in the behind. The main perpetrators are in Madame Bois’ class. Some smart-arses start mocking others during the evaluation. It’s neither encouraging nor encouraging and they get an earful from both Dominique and I. On top of this they are the only class to not have brought in any cut-outs for the letter to Père Noël. One guy protests that they are too old for such letters adding that he’s going into sixième next year and is not a baby. Au contraire… Dominique and I contest the second sentence in the letter stating that the author has been good all year. Dominique loudly declares that this would be a lie in their case.
Christophe’s class are an entertaining bunch. Those of them who don’t have their images scurry up to me and whisper in my ear, promising to leave a space and finish the exercise at home.
Madame Pamphile’s class must have been eating skittles during the break as they nearly tear one another to shreds. A bit of order is regained but Madame Pamphile has to patrol the classroom throughout the class as girls throw pencil cases and guys throw punches; luckily I’ve a few cut-outs of punching bags for them.
Catherine’s class are good as gold; they’ve been on sedatives not skittles. Two pupils from Elizabeth’s class are also present. I met Elizabeth and her son earlier in the day. Her son, Jordon, is ill and she called in with him en route to the doctor’s. He attends Lycée Nicolas in Fort-de-France where Marjorie is an assistante. He doesn’t say much. He just sits in the library playing Chaos Engine on his mobile while Elizabeth alerts her colleagues of her parental duties.
I’m just off the bus in Fort-de-France when I run into Elizabeth and Jordan. Jordan’s just fatigued and his finger isn’t broken as Elizabeth has feared. Oppsie! I remember shaking his bad hand earlier…
I head to La Croisière. Nicola, David and Sartre join me for lunch and save me from conversing with mad Gerry – our dining buddy from Burundi. David is feeling out-of-sorts but he drags himself into town to make a call and to indulge in some civilised chat. Nicola is chuffed to have brought John-Paul along but she’s not so happy to hear that he’s bringing his girlfriend back with him after Christmas.
JP is sound. He’s cool yet not cocky. He’s French and he’s here for the year. He’s a philosophy teacher in Lycée Schoelcher. He tells us that Cyril from Star Academy was in the school last year. JP learnt his English in India and he has a slight Indian lint. He lives across the bay in Trois-Ilets. Oddly enough he doesn’t have a mobile phone; neither here nor in Paris. Mad.
David passes on food and has a jus de goyave instead. There was some mix-up with his flights to Cuba and he had to call the American airline who had him talking to a representative in a call centre in Ireland. Nicola and I go for the daily special – turkey. It’s not like any turkey I’ve ever eaten before. David has to remind us that December 21st – the Winter Solstice, will see roaming Chinese dogs being swiped off the streets and barbecued there and then. He goes into the gory details of what he witnessed last year in China.
I start to get the third degree from David about our Saturday night antics. I’m not in the mood for getting catty or froggy or bitchy and I let it pass. JP leaves to make his way back across the bay. Nicola wants to go shopping but it’s not up my street today.
I bump into Lola on the street. I’m introduced to her brother and Mother. They’ve just arrived in Martinique. I ask Lola’s mother how she’s liking Fort-de-France so far: We’re not is the reply. I grin. It’s a toughie alright.
David must be feeling better than he made out to be because himself and Nicola decide to take a digestif in the Mayflower. Angela and Sam are there. Angela’s still harping on about Coconuts while Sam reveals that she may not stay in Martinique after Carnival. Her boyfriend is coming over and when he’s going she’ll consider her options.
I pop into Arlette and Charles. I’m just touching base, seeing how they are and borrowing some scissors. Their fridge is gutted out. It has just died. I bet her Christmas stock was in it and all. Charles makes some joke about burying it. It would be typical of Martiniquan’s to bury their trash – just like their past until the poison leaks, seeping into the soil and society…
We have some visitors this evening; Christophe and Mario. Mario’s in another one of his moods and I can’t help but wish Charles had dug that hole for the fridge. Mario is so covertly condescending towards Chris that it irks me to think what way he treats him within the confines of the army; he corrects Chris’ French and goes out of his way to explain things to him even though they’re not important or relevant to our conversation. On top of that Mario uses archaic, convoluted French which baffles us all. He eventually settles in the corner with a dictionary when the chat gets too bawdy and basic for his liking.
Nicola’s fan has been making strange noises recently and Chris offers to look at it. She follows him into the house to give him a hand. I’m left to entertain Mario on the terrace. I rouse him from his bookishness with a packet of cards. It works a treat but as soon as I start winning he turns foul – like the cocky coq he is. It’s out with the obscenities again and thankfully the two other birds reappear before I start clucking or chucking things at him. Mario and his chicken Christophe (that’s the only affection he shows towards him – if you can call it that!) soon fly off home and Nicola and I nestle down for the night too. Cuckoo.
All the kids are either hyper or moody today. Thankfully hyperness prevails but the moody Mademoiselles and monsieurs are a right pain in the behind. The main perpetrators are in Madame Bois’ class. Some smart-arses start mocking others during the evaluation. It’s neither encouraging nor encouraging and they get an earful from both Dominique and I. On top of this they are the only class to not have brought in any cut-outs for the letter to Père Noël. One guy protests that they are too old for such letters adding that he’s going into sixième next year and is not a baby. Au contraire… Dominique and I contest the second sentence in the letter stating that the author has been good all year. Dominique loudly declares that this would be a lie in their case.
Christophe’s class are an entertaining bunch. Those of them who don’t have their images scurry up to me and whisper in my ear, promising to leave a space and finish the exercise at home.
Madame Pamphile’s class must have been eating skittles during the break as they nearly tear one another to shreds. A bit of order is regained but Madame Pamphile has to patrol the classroom throughout the class as girls throw pencil cases and guys throw punches; luckily I’ve a few cut-outs of punching bags for them.
Catherine’s class are good as gold; they’ve been on sedatives not skittles. Two pupils from Elizabeth’s class are also present. I met Elizabeth and her son earlier in the day. Her son, Jordon, is ill and she called in with him en route to the doctor’s. He attends Lycée Nicolas in Fort-de-France where Marjorie is an assistante. He doesn’t say much. He just sits in the library playing Chaos Engine on his mobile while Elizabeth alerts her colleagues of her parental duties.
I’m just off the bus in Fort-de-France when I run into Elizabeth and Jordan. Jordan’s just fatigued and his finger isn’t broken as Elizabeth has feared. Oppsie! I remember shaking his bad hand earlier…
I head to La Croisière. Nicola, David and Sartre join me for lunch and save me from conversing with mad Gerry – our dining buddy from Burundi. David is feeling out-of-sorts but he drags himself into town to make a call and to indulge in some civilised chat. Nicola is chuffed to have brought John-Paul along but she’s not so happy to hear that he’s bringing his girlfriend back with him after Christmas.
JP is sound. He’s cool yet not cocky. He’s French and he’s here for the year. He’s a philosophy teacher in Lycée Schoelcher. He tells us that Cyril from Star Academy was in the school last year. JP learnt his English in India and he has a slight Indian lint. He lives across the bay in Trois-Ilets. Oddly enough he doesn’t have a mobile phone; neither here nor in Paris. Mad.
David passes on food and has a jus de goyave instead. There was some mix-up with his flights to Cuba and he had to call the American airline who had him talking to a representative in a call centre in Ireland. Nicola and I go for the daily special – turkey. It’s not like any turkey I’ve ever eaten before. David has to remind us that December 21st – the Winter Solstice, will see roaming Chinese dogs being swiped off the streets and barbecued there and then. He goes into the gory details of what he witnessed last year in China.
I start to get the third degree from David about our Saturday night antics. I’m not in the mood for getting catty or froggy or bitchy and I let it pass. JP leaves to make his way back across the bay. Nicola wants to go shopping but it’s not up my street today.
I bump into Lola on the street. I’m introduced to her brother and Mother. They’ve just arrived in Martinique. I ask Lola’s mother how she’s liking Fort-de-France so far: We’re not is the reply. I grin. It’s a toughie alright.
David must be feeling better than he made out to be because himself and Nicola decide to take a digestif in the Mayflower. Angela and Sam are there. Angela’s still harping on about Coconuts while Sam reveals that she may not stay in Martinique after Carnival. Her boyfriend is coming over and when he’s going she’ll consider her options.
I pop into Arlette and Charles. I’m just touching base, seeing how they are and borrowing some scissors. Their fridge is gutted out. It has just died. I bet her Christmas stock was in it and all. Charles makes some joke about burying it. It would be typical of Martiniquan’s to bury their trash – just like their past until the poison leaks, seeping into the soil and society…
We have some visitors this evening; Christophe and Mario. Mario’s in another one of his moods and I can’t help but wish Charles had dug that hole for the fridge. Mario is so covertly condescending towards Chris that it irks me to think what way he treats him within the confines of the army; he corrects Chris’ French and goes out of his way to explain things to him even though they’re not important or relevant to our conversation. On top of that Mario uses archaic, convoluted French which baffles us all. He eventually settles in the corner with a dictionary when the chat gets too bawdy and basic for his liking.
Nicola’s fan has been making strange noises recently and Chris offers to look at it. She follows him into the house to give him a hand. I’m left to entertain Mario on the terrace. I rouse him from his bookishness with a packet of cards. It works a treat but as soon as I start winning he turns foul – like the cocky coq he is. It’s out with the obscenities again and thankfully the two other birds reappear before I start clucking or chucking things at him. Mario and his chicken Christophe (that’s the only affection he shows towards him – if you can call it that!) soon fly off home and Nicola and I nestle down for the night too. Cuckoo.
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