mercredi 14.03.07 Labour party
Today is one of those days where you can’t find enough time to do everything you want to do. I sacrifice my lie-in and get down to my PowerPoint presentation on St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland. I use photos from last year’s Paddy’s Day celebrations I attended in Sligo as well as Nicola’s shots from the Dublin parade in previous years. Even though I lived in Dublin for four year during college I’ve never seen the countries biggest parade in the flesh. Of course as a child I watched the news coverage but for some reason I’ve always steered clear of the Dublin action. In the past five years I’ve managed to celebrate the day away more times than at home; in my final year of secondary school I was on a football trip in Amsterdam watching Ajax: my first year of college saw me back in Kingscourt for some small town celebrations: in 2004 I was climbing in Dalkey: 2005 saw me living it up in the European capital of Brussels where I drowned the shamrock with a multitude of Erasmus students: last year I attended a friend’s wedding in Fermanagh before heading to the parade in Sligo and taking in six other countries in the one day: and this year I’ll be celebrating in another emerald isle – Martinique.
Nic and I are still on a quest to find matching tops for our dancing spectacle tonight. There are definitely forty shades of green being displayed in the clothes shops of Fort-de-France but it’s a trial to find something which suits both our tastes and shapes. In the end we opt for light green v-necked t-shirts. I also pick up an emerald green string top to diversify my Paddy’s weekend wardrobe.
With our costumes sorted the next thing to fix up is the venue. Both Nic and I are pressed for time as we’ve private lessons this afternoon but we manage to put up a few decorations and mingle with the English tourists before sitting back on the terrace with our fresh, free beers in our hands and the Irish tri-colour fluttering proudly in the midday breeze.
As it happens Nic is stood up by her student. I have Morgane today; her mother Maria works in Cluny Couvent where I did the Irish presentations of late. Morgane’s five years old. She has a gappy grin and wide questioning eyes. And she also has a present for me – it’s a poem about a cat and the sun. She recites it and her expressions mirror the phrases perfectly as she performs for her mother and I. I have The Hungry Caterpillar with me and I read that to her while she repeats some words. She has drawn a butterfly on her arm and she’s delighted to see that the big, fat caterpillar turns in a papillon. We then do a little dialogue – imaging we’re in school, introducing ourselves to a new classmate, and finally we work with colours as I produce a little leprechaun for her to colour as I talk about St. Patrick’s Day. I lent Maria my Bosco DVD and it turns out that Morgane is quite keen on him so I let her keep it a while longer.
I’ve still lots of things to organise for school so I’m glad of a lift home – even if it’s only a ten minute walk up the road! I sort out the Treasure Hunt clues and information sheets all afternoon. Dinner is made courtesy of Nic and we rest for a while before doing a final practise of our dances. While we’re getting ready for our night our one of our new neighbours comes by with some fish soup. I accept it as a kind leftover lunch gesture; it’s the last thing I want to eat as it’s too warm and I don’t like the distinctly fishy smell. Around 20,30 we make our way up to the road where Fred is watching for us. The poor workaholic was only at home for mere minutes before he came to pick us up. Once we get to The Terminal Café he’s glad just to sit in the corner all night with his bottle of black and white.
In true Martiniquan/Irish tradition things don’t get started until everyone is sufficiently watered. There’s a good group out including a heap of locals from the Mayflower and even Celine and Michel join us after they’ve finished work. Two Dutch guys, Alex and Joel, take up the comedy corner for the night with their raucous banter. There are random marines and army dudes as well as our regular crew: Sophie, J.V, Ludo, Cedric, Cyril, Jerome and Dominique. And Lionel even makes a surprise appearance as he has come back from his foreign army action earlier than expected. Two other Tahitians also join him. There’s a new army dude in our midst. He’s a bit cocky and won’t tell me his name or even elaborate on his work. I resort to calling him Mr Bricolage until someone lets it slip and calls him Laurent; he’s actually the barman in the barracks. He’s from Yugoslavia and he speaks his native language as well as French, Spanish, German and English. He’s looking forward to this, his final, year in the army and retirement after 17 years service.
Nic and I decide to wait for David before taking to the floor. He arrives with two of his students. They can speak perfect English – they already have degrees. David’s job gets easier every day and his hours get shorter every week; he only has six hours of class left!
Nic and I start the ball rolling. Nerves and giddiness are rife. For our joint dance I start a fraction later than Nic and it causes some confusion but nobody notices or cares – they just stare, clap and whoop. Looking at the photos the sheer concentration on our faces explains why some people thought we were pros and really in the zone. We don’t make a tit of ourselves though as David points out most people were distracted by our tight tops more so than our fancy footwork!
Marjorie, Bea and a friend saunter in halfway throughout the night. Nic and I are not exactly elated to see them but nevertheless we start to forget about pettiness and we get on with the show. A lone lady has been sitting at the bar all night observing all. Her name is Maud. She’s a dressmaker and her business is cleverly called Maudel. She’s a bit leachy but she’s gentle all the same; I notice David has been sucked into conversation with her for most of the night. At one stage she beckons me over to tell me I dance like a gazelle. My blushes are hidden under the redness of my ruddy face but I thank her and protest that I’m not usually so disciplined on the dance floor. David’s compliment or comment rather, might be closer to the truth as he remarks that I dance like a caribou d’afric.
By the end of the night we spontaneously jump up and perform; I suppose the free drinks had something to do with that and the increasing fluidity of our moves. Its soon time to drag people out for a few group dances and towards the end of the night we too are learning new moves as the Bretons and Yugoslavian prankster take to the floor.
It’s 3,00 by the time we’re home. I arrange to get a lift with Fred in the morning as I want to be early into school so I can set-up for the celebrations there. There are still some things to do for the Treasure Hunt and I decide to do an all-nighter. I lie down for half an hour before I’m up again – in the same clothes I arrived home in; I did change my top towards the end of the night so I won’t be giving the kids too much of an insight into Irish ways of life.
Today is one of those days where you can’t find enough time to do everything you want to do. I sacrifice my lie-in and get down to my PowerPoint presentation on St. Patrick’s Day in Ireland. I use photos from last year’s Paddy’s Day celebrations I attended in Sligo as well as Nicola’s shots from the Dublin parade in previous years. Even though I lived in Dublin for four year during college I’ve never seen the countries biggest parade in the flesh. Of course as a child I watched the news coverage but for some reason I’ve always steered clear of the Dublin action. In the past five years I’ve managed to celebrate the day away more times than at home; in my final year of secondary school I was on a football trip in Amsterdam watching Ajax: my first year of college saw me back in Kingscourt for some small town celebrations: in 2004 I was climbing in Dalkey: 2005 saw me living it up in the European capital of Brussels where I drowned the shamrock with a multitude of Erasmus students: last year I attended a friend’s wedding in Fermanagh before heading to the parade in Sligo and taking in six other countries in the one day: and this year I’ll be celebrating in another emerald isle – Martinique.
Nic and I are still on a quest to find matching tops for our dancing spectacle tonight. There are definitely forty shades of green being displayed in the clothes shops of Fort-de-France but it’s a trial to find something which suits both our tastes and shapes. In the end we opt for light green v-necked t-shirts. I also pick up an emerald green string top to diversify my Paddy’s weekend wardrobe.
With our costumes sorted the next thing to fix up is the venue. Both Nic and I are pressed for time as we’ve private lessons this afternoon but we manage to put up a few decorations and mingle with the English tourists before sitting back on the terrace with our fresh, free beers in our hands and the Irish tri-colour fluttering proudly in the midday breeze.
As it happens Nic is stood up by her student. I have Morgane today; her mother Maria works in Cluny Couvent where I did the Irish presentations of late. Morgane’s five years old. She has a gappy grin and wide questioning eyes. And she also has a present for me – it’s a poem about a cat and the sun. She recites it and her expressions mirror the phrases perfectly as she performs for her mother and I. I have The Hungry Caterpillar with me and I read that to her while she repeats some words. She has drawn a butterfly on her arm and she’s delighted to see that the big, fat caterpillar turns in a papillon. We then do a little dialogue – imaging we’re in school, introducing ourselves to a new classmate, and finally we work with colours as I produce a little leprechaun for her to colour as I talk about St. Patrick’s Day. I lent Maria my Bosco DVD and it turns out that Morgane is quite keen on him so I let her keep it a while longer.
I’ve still lots of things to organise for school so I’m glad of a lift home – even if it’s only a ten minute walk up the road! I sort out the Treasure Hunt clues and information sheets all afternoon. Dinner is made courtesy of Nic and we rest for a while before doing a final practise of our dances. While we’re getting ready for our night our one of our new neighbours comes by with some fish soup. I accept it as a kind leftover lunch gesture; it’s the last thing I want to eat as it’s too warm and I don’t like the distinctly fishy smell. Around 20,30 we make our way up to the road where Fred is watching for us. The poor workaholic was only at home for mere minutes before he came to pick us up. Once we get to The Terminal Café he’s glad just to sit in the corner all night with his bottle of black and white.
In true Martiniquan/Irish tradition things don’t get started until everyone is sufficiently watered. There’s a good group out including a heap of locals from the Mayflower and even Celine and Michel join us after they’ve finished work. Two Dutch guys, Alex and Joel, take up the comedy corner for the night with their raucous banter. There are random marines and army dudes as well as our regular crew: Sophie, J.V, Ludo, Cedric, Cyril, Jerome and Dominique. And Lionel even makes a surprise appearance as he has come back from his foreign army action earlier than expected. Two other Tahitians also join him. There’s a new army dude in our midst. He’s a bit cocky and won’t tell me his name or even elaborate on his work. I resort to calling him Mr Bricolage until someone lets it slip and calls him Laurent; he’s actually the barman in the barracks. He’s from Yugoslavia and he speaks his native language as well as French, Spanish, German and English. He’s looking forward to this, his final, year in the army and retirement after 17 years service.
Nic and I decide to wait for David before taking to the floor. He arrives with two of his students. They can speak perfect English – they already have degrees. David’s job gets easier every day and his hours get shorter every week; he only has six hours of class left!
Nic and I start the ball rolling. Nerves and giddiness are rife. For our joint dance I start a fraction later than Nic and it causes some confusion but nobody notices or cares – they just stare, clap and whoop. Looking at the photos the sheer concentration on our faces explains why some people thought we were pros and really in the zone. We don’t make a tit of ourselves though as David points out most people were distracted by our tight tops more so than our fancy footwork!
Marjorie, Bea and a friend saunter in halfway throughout the night. Nic and I are not exactly elated to see them but nevertheless we start to forget about pettiness and we get on with the show. A lone lady has been sitting at the bar all night observing all. Her name is Maud. She’s a dressmaker and her business is cleverly called Maudel. She’s a bit leachy but she’s gentle all the same; I notice David has been sucked into conversation with her for most of the night. At one stage she beckons me over to tell me I dance like a gazelle. My blushes are hidden under the redness of my ruddy face but I thank her and protest that I’m not usually so disciplined on the dance floor. David’s compliment or comment rather, might be closer to the truth as he remarks that I dance like a caribou d’afric.
By the end of the night we spontaneously jump up and perform; I suppose the free drinks had something to do with that and the increasing fluidity of our moves. Its soon time to drag people out for a few group dances and towards the end of the night we too are learning new moves as the Bretons and Yugoslavian prankster take to the floor.
It’s 3,00 by the time we’re home. I arrange to get a lift with Fred in the morning as I want to be early into school so I can set-up for the celebrations there. There are still some things to do for the Treasure Hunt and I decide to do an all-nighter. I lie down for half an hour before I’m up again – in the same clothes I arrived home in; I did change my top towards the end of the night so I won’t be giving the kids too much of an insight into Irish ways of life.
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