vendredi 22.12.06 Vive les vacances
I don’t mind getting up for the 6,00 bus today as it’ll be the last time I have to do so this year. Vive les vacances! Nicola and I watch the bay brighten and daylight explode from the safety of our wooden shelter on the waterfront. We also watch the pervy octogenarian at work as he chats up an unsuspecting young lady. We cringe as he goes to embrace her. He eventually hobbles off and the girl washes her hands with her bottled water.
It’s Christmastime at school and the kids are all so giddy; they’re like shook-up bottles of Coke ready to explode. In fact, in my first class there is some seasonal spillage. Since it’s the final day of term each kid has brought in an assortment of sweets, cakes and fizzy drinks. I’ve no sooner entered Christophe’s class than one kid drops a bottle of Coke. It soaks Christophe leaving a brown splodge on his baby blue shirt. Aurore also gets japed; her white gypsy skirt looks like it has been trailed through mud. I witness the second explosion. This time it’s frothy green fizz. It’s probably better on the floor as it seems to contain corrosive elements which could easily eroded enamels.
There’s still a lime green puddle by the door when class commences. I tell the kids about mistletoe and they all squeal at the thought of being kissed. We then play Hangman using the Christmas vocab we previously learnt. Firstly I go through the alphabet, paying particular attention to the way vowels are pronounced in English. Next up are some Christmas tunes. I put on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman and sing along. One or two of them start to bop in their seats and I encourage them to get up and dance – avoiding the toxic glow. There are a few divas in both Christophe and Dominique’s class but the younger kids are all up for it; we make a train around the room as we weave in and out of the desks… When order has been regained we work on the worksheets; making cards and snowflakes. I leave the Christmas music on. Some kids prefer to dance away all through the class which is fine by me. By the end of the day I’m covered in glitter and full of Christmas cheer. I get a present from Christophe’s class and a card from Dominique’s with a poem which reads:
Vivre
Vivre en soi, ce n’est rien: il faut vivre en autrui.
“A qui puis-je être utile, agréable aujourd’hui?”
Voila, chaque matin ce qu’il faudrait se dire.
Et le soir, quand des cieux la claret se retire.
Heureux a qui son cœur tout bas a repandu.
“Ce jour qui va finir, je ne l’ai pas perdu grâce à mes soins,
j’ai vu sur une face humaine, la trace d’un plaisir ou l’oubli d’une peine.
There’s a mini-Christmas meal in Christophe’s classroom over lunchtime but I’ve already made plans to head to Rond Point for my buffet Christmas lunch. We tuck into our big-bird buffet and I finish off my feed with a bit of bûche (Christmas Log) There are complementary digestifs to follow and swallow. We head to DeliFrance for a coffee. Nicola has another few classes after lunch but I’m officially en vacances J
Nic’s first class with Edith went surprising well but if anything she was overly friendly and even suggested meeting up with us and our friends for New Year’s in Trinité. It’s also Edith’s birthday tomorrow. She has invited us both to join in on the celebrations. We’re not keen but Will told her we would go. What? Without consulting us or without us even knowing about the event?! Il y a quelque chose qui cloche… Something’s up but I can’t put my finger on it…
I’m off to the beauty parlour for another wax attack with hot wax, smarted parts and glaring lights on the agenda. I have to wait for almost an hour – even with an appointment. However, I’m in no rush so it doesn’t spoil my happy holiday mood. I even decide to wander around Fort-de-France before heading home. I deserve to buy myself a little something to wear on Christmas Day. I find two lovely blue bikinis; winter woollies are not part of this year’s merry ensemble.
The town is hopping, though it’s more to do with the flurry of the Star Academy finale than any festive shopping fury. Dominique and Cyril are the two finalists. Cyril is from Martinique. His mother works in the market and it has been transformed for the occasion; there’s a large plasma screen and an even larger, louder crowd under the canopy. The Vote for Cyril Campaign has been ongoing over the past three months. There’s a daily TV programme called Cyril Pliss Foss (think about it…) which shows interviews with ‘Cyril supporters’ around the city. The headline of French-Antilles today is: Cryil: On vote 2 - it’s the suffix you text or dial to vote for him. I think everyone’s been let out to cheer him on; even those strange-clothed strangers are at the bus-stop. The chubby lad is clutching a bunch of multicoloured balloons. There aren’t enough balloons to lift him away but I think he has already flown away with the fairies. I get home in time to see Cyril singing his heart out before clinching the competition with 66% of the votes. Arlette’s grandchildren are over and I can hear them jumping about and shrieking excitedly when he wins. The din soon dies down. I didn’t vote for either contestant but I concede a much needed nap and vote for my bed instead.
I don’t mind getting up for the 6,00 bus today as it’ll be the last time I have to do so this year. Vive les vacances! Nicola and I watch the bay brighten and daylight explode from the safety of our wooden shelter on the waterfront. We also watch the pervy octogenarian at work as he chats up an unsuspecting young lady. We cringe as he goes to embrace her. He eventually hobbles off and the girl washes her hands with her bottled water.
It’s Christmastime at school and the kids are all so giddy; they’re like shook-up bottles of Coke ready to explode. In fact, in my first class there is some seasonal spillage. Since it’s the final day of term each kid has brought in an assortment of sweets, cakes and fizzy drinks. I’ve no sooner entered Christophe’s class than one kid drops a bottle of Coke. It soaks Christophe leaving a brown splodge on his baby blue shirt. Aurore also gets japed; her white gypsy skirt looks like it has been trailed through mud. I witness the second explosion. This time it’s frothy green fizz. It’s probably better on the floor as it seems to contain corrosive elements which could easily eroded enamels.
There’s still a lime green puddle by the door when class commences. I tell the kids about mistletoe and they all squeal at the thought of being kissed. We then play Hangman using the Christmas vocab we previously learnt. Firstly I go through the alphabet, paying particular attention to the way vowels are pronounced in English. Next up are some Christmas tunes. I put on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman and sing along. One or two of them start to bop in their seats and I encourage them to get up and dance – avoiding the toxic glow. There are a few divas in both Christophe and Dominique’s class but the younger kids are all up for it; we make a train around the room as we weave in and out of the desks… When order has been regained we work on the worksheets; making cards and snowflakes. I leave the Christmas music on. Some kids prefer to dance away all through the class which is fine by me. By the end of the day I’m covered in glitter and full of Christmas cheer. I get a present from Christophe’s class and a card from Dominique’s with a poem which reads:
Vivre
Vivre en soi, ce n’est rien: il faut vivre en autrui.
“A qui puis-je être utile, agréable aujourd’hui?”
Voila, chaque matin ce qu’il faudrait se dire.
Et le soir, quand des cieux la claret se retire.
Heureux a qui son cœur tout bas a repandu.
“Ce jour qui va finir, je ne l’ai pas perdu grâce à mes soins,
j’ai vu sur une face humaine, la trace d’un plaisir ou l’oubli d’une peine.
There’s a mini-Christmas meal in Christophe’s classroom over lunchtime but I’ve already made plans to head to Rond Point for my buffet Christmas lunch. We tuck into our big-bird buffet and I finish off my feed with a bit of bûche (Christmas Log) There are complementary digestifs to follow and swallow. We head to DeliFrance for a coffee. Nicola has another few classes after lunch but I’m officially en vacances J
Nic’s first class with Edith went surprising well but if anything she was overly friendly and even suggested meeting up with us and our friends for New Year’s in Trinité. It’s also Edith’s birthday tomorrow. She has invited us both to join in on the celebrations. We’re not keen but Will told her we would go. What? Without consulting us or without us even knowing about the event?! Il y a quelque chose qui cloche… Something’s up but I can’t put my finger on it…
I’m off to the beauty parlour for another wax attack with hot wax, smarted parts and glaring lights on the agenda. I have to wait for almost an hour – even with an appointment. However, I’m in no rush so it doesn’t spoil my happy holiday mood. I even decide to wander around Fort-de-France before heading home. I deserve to buy myself a little something to wear on Christmas Day. I find two lovely blue bikinis; winter woollies are not part of this year’s merry ensemble.
The town is hopping, though it’s more to do with the flurry of the Star Academy finale than any festive shopping fury. Dominique and Cyril are the two finalists. Cyril is from Martinique. His mother works in the market and it has been transformed for the occasion; there’s a large plasma screen and an even larger, louder crowd under the canopy. The Vote for Cyril Campaign has been ongoing over the past three months. There’s a daily TV programme called Cyril Pliss Foss (think about it…) which shows interviews with ‘Cyril supporters’ around the city. The headline of French-Antilles today is: Cryil: On vote 2 - it’s the suffix you text or dial to vote for him. I think everyone’s been let out to cheer him on; even those strange-clothed strangers are at the bus-stop. The chubby lad is clutching a bunch of multicoloured balloons. There aren’t enough balloons to lift him away but I think he has already flown away with the fairies. I get home in time to see Cyril singing his heart out before clinching the competition with 66% of the votes. Arlette’s grandchildren are over and I can hear them jumping about and shrieking excitedly when he wins. The din soon dies down. I didn’t vote for either contestant but I concede a much needed nap and vote for my bed instead.
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