You'll remember I mentioned a French PR firm back on Friday. An update for you: I have a Skype interview next week with the firm in question and I'm incredibly excited, although at the moment it is only an interview. Let us be calm and not overdo it.
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| Alright. That'll do. |
That email came this morning, meaning I had to balance replying in French with a translation I'm undertaking for a colleague's daughter. That's a little unfair; it's not a translation. The daughter has written a little presentation on Simone Veil, she told me, would I mind checking it over quickly?
I was honoured to be asked and agreed, of course. I went over to my colleague's office and had a look over the printed document.
Alright, five sides. Not a quick job, but a half hour maximum. And then I read the text.
Nothing else will be said on the subject save that I will need some time tomorrow to finish it.
So: aside from my happy dance and the translation, nothing else of great interest happened today save for the recommencement of an oral class; some debate this evening on prostitution, drugs and guns. Because there are safe topics, that students will never talk about, and there are topics that are dangerous, cause arguments, and absolutely will come up in everyday life.
I would rather teach students about them.
Plus, one of them argued passionately that the 1st Amendment of the Constitution protected the right to bear arms, and he was doing so well and flowing so easily that I couldn't bring myself to point out the flaw in his argument. I hope someone else does.
Following my oral lesson I was off to another oral lesson; this one private. It was excellent as ever; her errors are becoming less and less frequent and are centered more around complex tenses and sentence structure. As I left she told me about some more holiday she'd be taking; I'm a little gutted that I won't get to see her but it does give me some free evening time to catch up on some reading I've been meaning to do. Silver linings are everywhere.
On the way home they were directly above me, and the lining parted from the cloud and landed on my head with a soft flump. The snow had arrived, having swept down past Scotland, blanketing London, Normandy, and now blowing into my face in rather large clumps.
I got home eventually, looking more like a panda bear than I have done in a long time, but also terribly dramatic: a long black coat, turned up, a scarf covering my mouth, nose and neck alongside my naturally pale skin. Apparently my sudden apparition from the snow was unexpected, because one of my students caught sight of me as she left and skidded marvelously on the fresh snow. Legs, arms, bag, windmilling everywhere. It was a work of art in its gracelessness.
It was matched only by my own performance as I made it through the door and onto the tiled floor. The tiled and recently polished floor. I didn't stand a chance.
In any case; I'm back now, I'm thoroughly warmed up, and I've just read Mary's account of our trip to Rouen. It's here. You may need a strong stomach.
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