Outta there

So, I’ve left Montpellier and I’m back in london for the third time since leaving Australia. Lots to say about the last few months, but, as usual, not the will to say much at the moment. I’ll endeavour to write a full update of events in the next day or two.
PS: Thank Christ that’s over!

habitué

It seems that the only friends I make around here, using the term loosely, are the habitués of the street. I met a guy called Sam the other night while wandering across the Comédie. An English drifter who had spent the last 8 years in Spain and now thought Montpellier worth a try. He certainly had some stories to tell, but he didn’t seem one for the tall kind, just honest ramblings. The fact that he had left Spain to escape alcoholism and had ended up slurring away at me for half an hour suggested he has some work to do on that front. But who was I to complain, I got to have a half-decent conversation with another human being who wasn’t a teacher or another assistant, or a French shopkeeper, or one of the surveillants where I live.

In the course of our chat, I mentioned that if he wanted to live successfully on the street in this town, then he needs to get himself a dog. He replied that he thought it funny that all these kids on the street think they’re completely different from society but they all end up victims to just another group mentality: dog, piercings etc., it can all seem very tribal.

How inspirational!

It’s all so depressingly transparent. I’m not sure why the word clever should be used to describe this type of politics: conniving and pathetic and hypocritical are more apt. I wonder how long they’ve been cooking this one up, and how many public servants have worked up their hours looking for anything perceived to taint Rudd’s character. Reading this sort of stuff is like being force-fed horse shit, and there sure is a lot of it to go round. To spare my appetite I might have to stay out of Australia for the rest of this election year.

It’s gonna be ugly

It was clearly in a moment of bitterness that I wrote the last entry - not world-shattering bitterness, just one of those moments that doesn’t need to be unleashed on the world but ends up posted all the same. Who cares, it’s my blog; if I feel annoyed, then I shall unleash, or at least, whine for a bit.

Now that I’ve found out that I’m starting this week with two 8.30am starts at one of my schools -holidays are nearing their end, alas – I’m even more inclined to whinge. 8.30am might seem reasonable to most people, but when it means catching a tram to get to the bus stop and then the 7.30am bus to head out to the sticks, and add in the fact that I hate mornings, and that I thought I’d already negotiated 9.30am starts with this teacher who does my timetable, and who seems to have conveniently forgotten, and keeps forgetting that fact as well as keeping me in the dark on my timetable until the last minute, oh, and when I was sick in December told me not to worry and stay at home and rest, and then hit me up for extra classes afterwards – what ever happened to sick leave, people? – then, it puts me in a foul mood. I really need to learn how to be a better negociator. That said, she’s a lovely person, just sneaky. Well, maybe not sneaky,… but she could be sneaky, or she could just be forgetful. I’ll have to suss the situation out a bit more.

On this week’s agenda: learn how to get your own way in France with the teachers and the counterpeople.

On this week’s blacklist:contrarian at library and teacher who will remain nameless until I leave France and can’t be tracked down. 

7 weeks of classes to go and the countdown is well and truly on.

The art of always refusing

Ok, this post was too unnecessarily narky. henceforth deleted.

Mind you, the gist of French service people taking pleasure in the knock-back still holds. 

Inertia

I’ve come to the cybercafé to do one thing and one thing only, and that is to check my email. And, of course, wouldn’t you know it, the server is too busy. So, I just have to spend the next thirty minutes steaming away. There’s certainly nothing to write about. My days - and I’m in the middle of a two-week school break - are filled with relatively little that’s eventful. I’ve been going to the Mediathèque quite a lot. I borrowed the first 8 episodes of the second series of Lost – a show that I previously couldn’t be bothered with. I’m finding it quite compelling. Saw the Last King of Scotland (Le dernier roi d’Ecosse) the other night. Not bad, although nothing to get too excited about. I saw Little Children a while ago, and was thoroughly disappointed, although Kate Winslet is always a stand-out. Saw Stranger than Fiction (L’incroyable destin de Harry Crick) on the weekend, and although I’m not a big Will Ferrell fan, whether he’s playing the clown, or playing it straight, I quiet enjoyed the movie. Mind you, it’s a bit strange to be laughing away in the cinema and not hear boo from anyone else. I think I may even have been shushed by the woman two seats down from me. That, of course, could be in my imagination. Maybe it was just a sigh. But, surely, there’s room for a bit of a distracting chuckle when watching what appears to be a comedy? I think something was lost in the subtitling.

So, there you go, that’s pretty much all I’ve been doing: going to the movies. For my second week of the holidays, I hope to leave Montpellier for a bit. Bonne continuation for me!

The beginning of the end?

Some good news for those like me who wish to see the end of Little Johnnie’s Glorious Decade-odd Reign. I can only hope the momentum holds. Although, frankly,  I can’t really give an opinion on ‘New’ Labor under Rudd. The last time I paid any attention to him he sounded a bit too scripted for my liking. But, hey, people can change.

If there is to be a political change in Australia, the new big question won’t be about climate change or Daivd Hicks, but who the hell will our outstanding Aussie journalists turn to when they need that much anticipated Prime ministerial opinion on the latest cricket score or some other wonderful Aussie sporting exploit? Kevin just doesn’t seem the type.

Will they continue to need the PM’s imprimatur on any and every issue, irrespective of its relevance to the job? Perhaps they might discover their collective testicles and do their job. What a thought! And we can only hope that when they see these new poll results that they start quicksmart to actually help generate intelligent debate. I, for one, won’t be expecting much on that front, but at least I will be here, and not over there, having to listen to the cut-and-thrust of what does pass for debate in a country where there are just too many smarmy lawyer-politicians and too many soundbites.

Treading water

So, not much has happened to warrant a post, but I feel like I have to give you three something to read, or at least something for me to later regret writing.

It seems in some parts of the world it has gone to hell in a handbasket – if you’re there, you know who you are and what it’s like. In my little part of the world it’s all about waiting for the next school break, which starts next Friday. Being stuck out in the Pacific Ocean treading water for two days straight seems like a breeze compared to managing through some of my classes until then. And that’s not to mention the persistent health problems that I never seem to shake. I’m not sure who to blame for it – I think it’s always important to blame someone if you fall ill - but I’m going to share the prize between the people who run the school where I live (infernal, uncontrollable heating) and all the kids in my classes who force me to raise my voice every 2 minutes. I’m probably what you’d call a quiet talker/mumbler, so the pissed-off, disciplinarian voice doesn’t come easily, and has put a bit of a strain on the old throat. 

In a way, I’m used to all of this now. That’s to say that I don’t really give a shit if I make a difference in the lives of most of these kids. A vey quick fall from grace, indeed. It only took 4 months to realise that being a teacher would not be my future vocation. Having said that, I occasionally get a good class, or even a few in one day. Today, I had some 6ièmes (11-12 year-olds) who were a lot of fun, and enthusiastic about going through the dialogue we were working on. On Tuesday, I had a couple of really nice, interesting 3ème (14-15 year-olds) students who had plenty to say and made the class time speed by. Of course, the day ended with an uncontrollable rabble who couldn’t care less about what I was trying to teach them. So, the moral of the story is to not give a shit, to not take it personally and you’ll come through mentally intact in the end.

The word of advice for all those who become an assistant is to be persistent in asking your teachers for class lists. Particularly good are the sheets with names underneath pictures of the kids. I have only one teacher who has bothered. For the others, when I have trouble, at the end of the class I have to go to the teacher and point them out or try and describe the students- this is fairly annoying. It’s also annoying that the kids often aren’t inclined to give you their names. So, I’ve got 400-odd students that I teach and I might know 30 names. The fact that I have that many students is also ridiculous, but hey, while they’re still paying, I’m not complaining. It also means that I can rehash a lot of the lessons.

For those library people still reading this, I should let you know that here in France, well, in Montpellier, when you return a book (DVD, CD etc) you have to queue up, and hand it in personally to the returns desk so that they can have a good look at the state of it. You often have lengthier lines for those waiting to return than for those borrowing, and there’s no return chute in sight.So, that’s where I am now, in the library, the home away from my dormitory. I might finish up here and track down some trashy DVDs to borrow for tonight’s viewing pleasure.

  

Hiatus

So, I’m back in Montpellier after 11 days in London. London was great, even if the weather was pretty miserable. My health has been less than sterling since I’ve been back. When I’m feeling more up to it, I might actually think of something worthwhile to contribute here. Although, you might need to give me a week or so more to reach that point.

school daze

It’s my last day of school before the Christmas holidays. Two weeks of bliss which will include a trip to the country for Christmas and then a week or so in London for New Year. The holiday couldn’t have come sooner as the school experience has been less than a complete success, vocationally and emotionally. It looks like I’ll be biding my time right through until the end of April, when I finish. Of course, it could eventually become something  fulfilling and worthwhile, but, you know, I think it very unlikely.

I’m still at one of the collèges waiting for the Christmas meal. I’m hoping it’s edible because it will be had in the school canteen. I had a dinner at the high school canteen last night which consisted of a salmon tartare entrée, quail with scalloped potatoes and stuffed zuchini, and for dessert, a lemon meringue-type number on a crumbly base. Not a bad meal all up, and a far sight better than anything dished up in an Australian high school.

We just finished a meeting with the school principal. It was interesting to sit in on a French work meeting. There was the principal and vice-principal trying to explain budgetary matters for the new year (yawn) and 35-odd teachers acting like kids in a classroom. No wonder I have so much trouble getting the kids to stop talking to each other and pay attention, the teachers aren’t any better. One thing I can say based on the meeting is that the French people, the ones from around here, are a lot louder and demonstrative than their Australian counterparts. I’ve been in plenty of crap meetings in Australia but they don’t normally get as raucous as this one. It seems strange that the principal has to raise his voice to be heard above the rabble of teachers who couldn’t be arsed paying attention.