vendredi 16.03.07 Stop-press
The final day of St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in Chateauboeuf goes smoothly; all my clues are intact and securely blu-tacked, the kids are all grins and greenery and we’ve even more decorations around about. A few of the younger kids present me with homemade Bonne Fête Saint Patrick cards. The cutest are from Elsie who has made an orange rabbit card, Yohan with his shamrock creation and Cynthia with her colourful swirly girly poster. I hang all the gifts proudly in my locker.
The final day of St. Patrick’s Day celebrations in Chateauboeuf goes smoothly; all my clues are intact and securely blu-tacked, the kids are all grins and greenery and we’ve even more decorations around about. A few of the younger kids present me with homemade Bonne Fête Saint Patrick cards. The cutest are from Elsie who has made an orange rabbit card, Yohan with his shamrock creation and Cynthia with her colourful swirly girly poster. I hang all the gifts proudly in my locker.
My locker is a state so I linger during lunchtime for some tidy time. Eduardo keeps me company as I sort through the mass of paperwork, the mess of plant paraphernalia and the muddle of my own possessions which are lurking under miscellaneous shamrocks, St. Patrick figures and soiled spoons. Since it’s lunchtime I can afford to zip around the school at my leisure as I reclaim my decorations and other bits and bobs – including the huge Happy St. Patrick’s Day poster and the selection of silly leprechaun hats. Most of the materials used over the week will be on show again at the end of the school year and also during La Semaine de Langue so I’ll have to make sure they stay intact and are finally returned.
I chance my luck and head for the Terminal Café. Thankfully it’s open so I don’t have to traipse home like a bag lady yet again. Jean-Pierre is in and he helps me to hang up the huge poster. He’s out with a hammer and tacks and we totter about stools for an age before we manage to finally get some tacks in without bending them. I nearly fall off my stool with excitement and disbelief when he tells me coolly that he met a Martiniquan who speaks Gaelic! Stop-Press. This is great news. France-Antilles should hear about this. I want to meet this guy. It turns out that the guy came into the bar yesterday evening to enquire about the tri-colours. He had completely forgotten St. Patrick’s Day was coming up even though he lived in Ireland for a while – and learnt some Gaelic. Unfortunately he’s working late on Saturday but he may make an appearance. Meeting him will fill the volcanic void left by our futile flight to Montserrat.
Stophe arrives a while later but he’s gone in an instant. I continue to arrange posters, brochures, maps and shamrocks. Jean-Pierre is out the back attaching another tri-colour to a pole when a client comes in. I greet him and scurry off to alert Jean-Pierre. The client actually turns out to be the co-owner, Mr. Ben. He speaks stilted English and inquires about English lessons. Jean-Pierre has to hop off on some errands but before he leaves he tells me to take a drink. I converse with Mr Ben over a Pepsi; a sugar fix is in order. Mr Ben is a diabetic but he has his fingers in many sweet pies. Before I have packed up a young Martiniquan appears with a satchel full of swimwear. He’s soon in talks with Mr Ben and I’m asked to give my opinion on the wares. At €60 a pop I’d be hard pushed to part with my money for a designer bikini let alone one which was probably made in a Brazilian sweatshop.
It’s a scorcher of a day but thankfully I’ve halved my load and I make it to the shaded bus-stop in time to catch the breezy bus home. There’s a postcard from Lionel waiting for us at home. If the war hadn’t ended so early in St. Martin he’d be home the same day. We’ll have to quiz him about les belles tourists and this Calypso Club he frequented.
Nicola arrives home with a present from her responsible. Chantal gave her a classy wooden photo album, two cute créole head pens and a tiny, crystal ashtray. I can’t help thinking that the last element is an implicit warning to cut down on the smokes; it’s amazing how this anti-smoking campaign is infiltrating the smoking system!
Rugby training has been cancelled for the night so Nicolas is free. He invites us two out but I leave the lovebirds to it. Don’t feel sorry for me on this solitary Friday night. Etienne, one of Will’s Rasta cronies, was on the blower again tonight and he invited me around to his. He tries to lure me with jewellery. I’m not materialistically lead when it comes to guys but I think even the most grasping of girls would pass on another bean and pea Rasta necklace. Anyway, things need to be done so I settle with laptops and CDs as I make up some Irish music compilations for our Paddy’s Day Party.
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