Unfortunately, email replies to this address cannot currently be accepted, responses can be sent by fax to Ryanair Customer Services on +353 1 5081702
01/02/2010
Private and Confidential
Mr Martin Heeley
Featherstone
UK
DNREMA
Our Ref. 297813/X7BTRF
martin_heeley89@hotmail.co.uk
Dear Mr Heeley,
I acknowledge receipt of your letter dated 13th of January 2010, received in our office on the 1st of February 2010.
On behalf of Ryanair, we sincerely apologise for the cancellation of your flight the FR1653 from Dinard to East Midlands on the 08/01/2010. Unfortunately, this flight was cancelled due to Snow.
Ryanair is committed to providing on time services for all passengers and continues to be the No.1 on-time airline in Europe with the least flight cancellations; as detailed in audited statistics issued by the UK Civil Aviation Authority.
Notwithstanding this, there are situations outside of our control such as adverse weather conditions that affect our flight operation. We sincerely regret that this flight was one of the occasional flights cancelled
In relation to our regulatory requirements under EU Reg. 261/2004, we can confirm that the wording of EU261/2004-Article 14.1 is printed on all online boarding passes and displayed at the airport bag drop area. Our airport handling agents have confirmed that flight re-routing or refund services were provided and that the EU261 Article 14.2 passenger notice was distributed. The Article 14.2 notice is also available at all times on our website and homepage flight disruption notices.
From our records we note that you chose not to be rebooked onto an alternative flight and requested a refund of the unused flight at the airport. As per EU Regulation 261/2004, once a refund has been accepted the airline has no further liability under Article 9 – Right to Care.
We can confirm that a refund of 25.00Euro has been processed back to the original form of payment used when making your original flight reservation and this refund will be reflected on your next statement.
Please note that as this flight cancellation was outside of the control of Ryanair (extraordinary circumstances) we regret to advise that no monetary compensation is due under Article 7 of EU261/2004. However if you have incurred expenses resulting from this flight cancellation, please contact your insurer to initiate a claim.
Yours sincerely
For and on Behalf of
RYANAIR LIMITED
________________________
Sinead Clarke
Customer Services
E-MAIL DISCLAIMER
This e-mail and any files and attachments transmitted with it
are confidential and may be legally privileged. They are intended
solely for the use of the intended recipient. Any views and
opinions expressed are those of the individual author/sender
and are not necessarily shared or endorsed by Ryanair Holdings plc
or any associated or related company. In particular e-mail
transmissions are not binding for the purposes of forming
a contract to sell airline seats, directly or via promotions,
and do not form a contractual obligation of any type.
Such contracts can only be formed in writing by post or fax,
duly signed by a senior company executive, subject to approval
by the Board of Directors.
The content of this e-mail or any file or attachment transmitted
with it may have been changed or altered without the consent
of the author. If you are not the intended recipient of this e-mail,
you are hereby notified that any review, dissemination, disclosure,
alteration, printing, circulation or transmission of, or any
action taken or omitted in reliance on this e-mail or any file
or attachment transmitted with it is prohibited and may be unlawful.
If you have received this e-mail in error
please notify Ryanair Holdings plc by contacting
Ryanair Holdings plc (Company No. 249885) / Ryanair Ltd. (Company No. 104547).
Registered in the Republic Of Ireland. Dublin Airport, Co Dublin, Ireland.
Well, well, well. Hola, bona tarda, salut, hello. I appear to be in Spain. Still. I’m not complaining; I actually like it here. It’s nicer than France (nothing personal, Frenches). It’s not exactly warm, but it’s not as cold as home. Plus, it is very sunny. M’agrada aixo. That is the one catch about Girona. It is very lovely, but it’s also very Catalan. This is a familiar sight around these parts :
Anger.
More anger.
They’re really quite angry towards Spain, and think that Catalunya should be separate from Spain. It’s weird. I kinda think they should, as they are very different to Spain, but at the same time, if they get independence, then so should the Basque Country. And doing that, means giving into the terrorists that are ETA, which is a bad thing. Anyway, let’s tackle this day by day.
Divendres - I arrived. Oh my God, it’s like a palace here (Off topic, I’m currently eating some digestives I bought here. They are sweetmeal. I am judging.) Compared to le ghetto, this place is like Buckingham Palace. No lie. What it did lack however, were any bed sheets. For the first few nights, until I found a bedding shop in town, I slept under a rather suspicious looking brown sheet which I was shown to be in my wardrobe. Thankfully, I bought a bedding set in town a few days ago, and now I can sleep in comfort. That said, it’s difficult to get a normal bedding set here. Mine consisted of a ridiculously long pillowcase (for my ridiculously long pillow, duh), a mattress sheet (which only just fit) and a sheet. So, on top of my sheet I have to add the sexy brown, marginally thicker, sheet that was in my room upon my arrival. It’s just right. For now. By summer, I feel I will be fine with my thin green sheet. So all will be good. Every loser wins, as the saying goes. That was pretty much it for Friday.
Dissabte didn’t involve much. I got up, and headed off towards the mystical Mercadona that I had heard so much about. All my friends already in Spain, Samantha mainly, have been singing Mercadona’s praises for months, so I was keen to see what all the fuss was about. It was an experience. I was only following the route there from memory of a map, so it could have ended up a lot worse than it did. As it happened, I made it there alive, if a little scared. You see, Mercadona is at the bottom of rather a large hill. It will be handy for losing weight, but not handy for avoiding coronaries. Well, I arrived at Mercadona, and it lived up to it’s hype. It is ridiculously cheap, marginally so than Novavenda (the supermercat nearest to me – not up or down a hill, just right), but I feel it lacks any kind of order. At home we have a nice comfortable order in most supermarkets nowadays – [home/non-food stuffs,] fruit & veg, fridge/freezer stuff, larder stuff, bread etc, alcohol. In Mercadona, it is all over the place. Imagine if Primark sold food (I almost said clothes, then realised my mistake) and this is what you have. I’m not complaining though, cos it’s cheap and great. That was pretty much Saturday.
Diumenge I decided to go for a walk to town, seeing as Becca wasn’t to arrive until later in the week (asthma attack etc etc). I got a bit sidetracked on the way in, as I kept seeing things which could have been exciting/suitable supermarkets which may have sold duvets. As it happens, Sundays in Spain are exactly the same as in France – CLOSED. Except here, they are “tancat” or “cerrado”, depending on where in Spain you are. So, I found a Carrefour (Meccaaaa), but alas, it was closed. I continued my walk into town, and explored things, found out where the Facultat was. This is another downside to Girona – they do love hills here. For example – I live at the top of a hill, Mercadona is at the bottom of it, so is the Campus Montilivi, but on the other side. The Facultat de Lletres, where pretty much all my lessons will take place, is up a huge hill in town. This involves walking up stairs, a steep hill, more stairs, a steep hill, and finally more stairs. Oh, and more stairs within the Faculty itself. I will be so thin by June. So, yes, I had a small coronary upon reaching the Facultat, then explored and stuff, and decided that town was dead, so I should set off home. Now, Sunday in Spain, as mentioned is closed. So closed in fact, that even the buses do not run, or those that do are every hour. The issue here is that the timetable runs as follows :”First bus from Montjuic 945, every hour”, but it doesn’t really give any scope for what time the bus will be at any of the other stops. So, as it happened, I decided to walk back. I was knackered, but proud. In the evening, my flatmates and I (Antoine, Fr. and Petar, Hr. – apparently that’s Croatia) wandered to Mcdo. Mcdo here is weird. It is all in Catalan, with packaging in Spanish and Portuguese. It seems lazy that McDonald’s can’t be bothered to brand for two separate countries. That’s like Branding Norwegian and Swedish together – LAZY. Anyway, aside from that, you could order a McPollastre amb Patates Deluxes o Patates Frites. Seriously, fucking weird. Here endeth Sunday in Girona.
Dilluns was go to campus day. So, Antoine and I set off on the bus (which we weren’t even sure was going to turn up) to town, the commenced the epic HIKE up the hill to campus. I arrived so out of breathe it was unbelievable. Anyway, we arrived, on time, and were welcome to UdG – Universitat de Girona. In English. It seems that as not everyone speaks Spanish, or indeed Catalan, English is to be the international language of communication. Take that, France. Anyway, we all introduced ourselves, à la AA, and got shown several videos. I was so scared without Becca. Seriously. In the end, when we had our lunch, it was a question of “Hi, will you be my friend?”, and it worked. Well, all us Erasmuses stuck together and started chatting, and it was good. So, it wasn’t so scary after all. What WAS scary was meeting with my tutor person. All in Catalan. So difficult to speak. Maria would be ashamed, but I made myself understood. Me and Špela (look at the effort I made to put the V on the S) went for a coffee (which was also good) and waited until the afternoon stuff, which wasn’t hugely interesting. In the evening, we went off to La Bohème, which the Erasmus bar, apparently. It’s nice, if a little small. We learnt about our mascot, Jordi Catala, who is a monkey that last term’s Erasmuses found in a tree whilst on a trip to Sevilla. It’s odd to us too, but it’s also kinda cool. Oh, also, we learnt the Erasmus dance. It’s to I Gotta Feeling, aka 2009’s most overplayed song, but it’s cool.
Dimarts was the beginning of Catalan lessons. They seem nice enough, and the teacher (well, one of them) reminds me A LOT of Olga, one of my teachers at Lancaster, which is odd. Imagine Olga, but in Catalan, and organised. So, yes, that’s all good, plus, it helped us to learn each other’s names, which was handy. So, we are all bonding over Catalan. I forget what else happened on Tuesday. Not a lot I don’t think. Maybe something did, but I forget. Oh yes, we had a little apéro with the Frenches, which was nice. And in French.
Dimercres was more Catalan, plus gripping Catalan Culture. Well, actually, it was interesting. We learnt about the strange Spanish eating times, and things like that, so it was good. In the evening we went out to La Bohème, and what I have been informed was Deluxe. It was an embarrassing night for me, as someone introduced me to both Sangria AND absynthe. I left my coat in La Bohème, maybe, and fell over in Deluxe, and walking home. Well, we attempted to walk home. Adéla (cz) was as sober as the Pope, like me, and informed me of all of my misadventures. No es bueno. Anyway, the Frenches went by in a taxi and stopped to let me in, so I got home at 5am of dijous, technically. Dijous involved missing Catalan due to sleep. I was proud, well, ashamed. I sustained my first drunken head injury. I think I vaguely remember banging into my door handle. Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, thursday was a quiet day for me. In the evening, I wandered into town to finally buy some bedding, and prepared for Barcelona, mentally of course.
Barcelona day was great. We had a guide, who told us words. We listened. Kinda. We saw erm… Sagrada Familia, Parc Guell, some buildings, the Olympic Park, the old town, La Rambla. And, oh my god. We went to the Museo d’Història de Catalunya. Quite possibly the most boring place on earth. Seriously. We had a guide, and I feel sorry for her, because she was trying. The most ‘exciting’ part of the tour, was when poor Alix collapsed because of the heat. Naturally the guide continued. But that was the ‘highlight’, if you can call it that, of the tour. Anyway, aside from that (Oppression this, Franco that) it wasn’t so bad. Barcelona in general was a great day. Here are some photos of the dia :
Coming 2027...
Spela, Me and Adéla on the ergonomic benches at Parc Guell
Prettiness at Parc Guell
Moi, Antoine, Spela, Adéla, Julie and Katrin with our zumos...
The museum was packed...
Well, that pretty much sums up my time in Girona so far. Although, I should add the weekend’s antics. We stayed in Friday, being tired and all, and on Saturday, I went to town to collect my post from the Correos. It was my much awaited Spanish sim card, so it was all good. I went to luncheon at Špela and Katrin’s, which was good. AND they live in the most amazing place (at the moment), with an AMAZING view of the river Onyar. Afterwards, we met with Adéla, and went to make shopping, which was good, if only to spend time with people. This was followed by Churros. Oh. Em. Gee. Churros are the best thing ever. If you don’t know what they are, they are these :
Om nom nom. So that was good.
I’m kinda getting bored of the terrible public transport system here. Like, on a night out, I have to walk back. It’s tiring, but a good way to walk off the alcohol. On the other side, we have to go into town before 10pm (9.30pm Saturdays) if we want to get the last bus into town, which is annoying. Otherwise we have to walk, and navigate to wherever our meeting point may be. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll cope.
AND, today, Becca finally arrived. I’m so happy I have another English to converse with. Like, it’s great. I like everyone here, but you can’t beat catching up with a (not so) old friend, and exchanging news.
Th-th-thats all folks. ‘Ta luego!
Well, I’m sure you’re all pretty sick of hearing about my travel woes by now. I know I am. This is mainly because people aren’t reacting how I want them to : with shock and horror, and disgust that something this atrocious was allowed to happen. Instead, at most, I might get a chuckle, or a ‘how bad, wowwww it’s snowing’. Bastard snow.
Anyway, on Friday I commenced by voyage to Girona (not Gerona, Facebook. Oppressor.). We set off in good time to arrive at Leeds-Bradford, or Yorkshire’s Airport. I needed to bob some birthday money (a £50 note plus £50 cheque) into the bank, so I nipped in, thinking I wouldn’t be long. Well, the woman said something had come up on the computer, and if I had a moment free, they’d get an advisor to talk to me. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I thought they were gonna shout at me for being so bad into my overdraft. As it happens, being Natwest, they just wanted to try and sell me something, insurance as it happens. Oh, well. I said no, then trotted off. Not trotted, obviously. I then nipped into Marks and Sparks, cos I fancied some foods for the plane. Now, M&S has always been known for it’s lack of brands other than M&S. Well, imagine my surprise when I found out that they had started selling brands! Not only did I buy a packet of Walkers Cheese & Onion (which sit in my room, as an emergency supply), but I bought a bottle of Ribena, which I had to drink before the airport, cos otherwise it would have blown up the plane. Or something like that. I also saw tins of Heinz baked beans. I was scared. Scared for the brands, and scared at the amount of old people surrounding me. Oh, God It was like something from Cocoon. Anyway, off we went, trundling along in the Punto, when the mother rang. I had received an important looking letter. So, we had to turn around, and go home and open it. As it happens, it was a cheque from CROUS sending me back my deposit. All is good in the world.
So, we set off again. Through the fog, despite the numerous wankers driving without headlights on. Cunts. We made it, I checked in, with my two cases, naturally, and waited. The waiting was terrible. Waiting around for the flight to be cancelled. It didn’t look promising : so many cancelled flights already. I tried to use the wifi the airport was advertising. It turns out they wanted £5 for an hour. I decided no, and opened my copy of The Times. I’d have bought The Guardian, but it’s just so damn big. Anyway, our gate was announced, I was straight through. I was scared. Actually, at this point, I shall just insert mine and Samantha’s MSN chat, cos it sums up the events.
| Sammy | martiiin… estas en el aeropuerto?! | |||||||
| Martin | Siiii | |||||||
| Martin | My gate is to be announced at 1225… | |||||||
| Martin | There are a lot of cancelled flights… | |||||||
| Sammy | porque? | |||||||
| Martin | No se… | |||||||
| Martin | Tinc por… | |||||||
| Sammy | im soooo excited. | |||||||
| Martin | For? | |||||||
| Sammy | for you! | |||||||
| Martin | I am just afraid | |||||||
| Martin | So very afraid | |||||||
| Sammy | dont be afraid! | |||||||
| Sammy | you will have the internet, so nothing can go wrong! | |||||||
| Martin | Espero… | |||||||
| Martin | I just read an interesting article in the times | |||||||
| Martin | I would have got the guardian | |||||||
| Martin | But its just too big | |||||||
| Sammy | its too big? porque? | |||||||
| Sammy | i always feel my fellow passengers will judge my newspaper  |
|||||||
| Martin | Lol | |||||||
| Martin | The times is a4 | |||||||
| Martin | The guardian is a3 | |||||||
| Martin | Anyway | |||||||
| Martin | This article was about australia | |||||||
| Martin | And how they don’t want rid of the queen cos they hate her | |||||||
| Martin | They just want their freeeeedommm | |||||||
| Martin | Find it online | |||||||
| Martin | Its by malcolm turnbull | |||||||
| Sammy | they dont have their freedom? | |||||||
| Sammy | last time i looked they had a government… | |||||||
| Martin | Well you know | |||||||
| Martin | She is their head of state | |||||||
| Martin | They want an oz | |||||||
| Sammy | ahh | |||||||
| Martin | All letters to the editor start with “sir,….” Lol | |||||||
| Martin | 1 Pennington Street… Could that sound any faker?! | |||||||
| Martin | Lol the cameroons | |||||||
| Sammy | i shall write in with “sir, madam,”.. | |||||||
| Martin | Madam, sir, surely? Ladies first etc | |||||||
| Martin | Boarding! But they are not ready | |||||||
| Martin | A gay gay has told me to take a seat | |||||||
| Martin | Omg omg | |||||||
| Martin | I went to the bank today | |||||||
| Martin | And they wanted words | |||||||
| Martin | I was scarrreeedddd | |||||||
| Martin | They were just seeing how I was! | |||||||
| Sammy | words? | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | yes, mine did the same | |||||||
| Sammy | then tried to sell me a credit card | |||||||
| Martin | I already have one lol | |||||||
| Sammy | i can’t believe this message…. is going through the air… to bradford. | |||||||
| Martin | They tried getting me insurance | |||||||
| Martin | Leeds!!! | |||||||
| Sammy | oh my. Leeds. | |||||||
| Sammy | either way, its far, and youre not connected to anything! | |||||||
| Martin | is magic | |||||||
| Martin | More waiting | |||||||
| Martin | Of course | |||||||
| Martin | Fit it in the ryanair frame time | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Martin | Look at them | |||||||
| Martin | Priority boardung | |||||||
| Martin | I always regret this decision | |||||||
| Sammy | i would if i was flying with someone | |||||||
| Sammy | but since i am alone i do not.. | |||||||
| Martin | Omg they’re not | |||||||
| Sammy | monarch ask you at check-in if you would like a window seat  |
|||||||
| Martin | Its people off t | |||||||
| Martin | Our plane | |||||||
| Martin | I’m happy wherever | |||||||
| Martin | Buut I need a wee | |||||||
| Martin | I can last til 16h15 | |||||||
| Martin | Nooooo | |||||||
| Martin | I forgot my ipod!!!n | |||||||
| Martin | Actual nooooo! | |||||||
| Sammy | :-O:-O | |||||||
| Martin | Lots of people | |||||||
| Martin | Ill take them down | |||||||
| Sammy | should you not be doing the whole… switching off the phone thing now |
|||||||
| Martin | A queue has developped | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Martin | I feel superior | |||||||
| Martin | No no | |||||||
| Martin | It’ll wait til the plane | |||||||
| Martin | Gahhh | |||||||
| Martin | I wanna go on the plane! Go for a wee! | |||||||
| Martin | Elazzy?! | |||||||
| Martin | Its laggy! | |||||||
| Martin | Everyone knows that! | |||||||
| Sammy | Elazzy? | |||||||
| Martin | I hear old people singing ryanairs praises | |||||||
| Martin | Odd | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | i guess you cant beat the price | |||||||
| Sammy | you just can beat… everything else  |
|||||||
| Martin | I also see real priority boardings | |||||||
| Martin | Lol | |||||||
| Martin | You can beat everything about ryanair | |||||||
| Martin | Even the price | |||||||
| Martin | Tax is their plan | |||||||
| Sammy | i would love to fly british airways | |||||||
| Sammy | i’d feel so non-budget |
|||||||
| Martin | Come to america in september with me? | |||||||
| Sammy | “yes, yes i would like my FREE meal now. why thank you.” | |||||||
| Martin | Noone will! | |||||||
| Martin | 300 monies! | |||||||
| Martin | Return! | |||||||
| Sammy | no no…. if you’re going to america it has to be American Airlines | |||||||
| Sammy | home alone reenactment! | |||||||
| Martin | But BA! | |||||||
| Martin | Luxury! | |||||||
| Martin | Leg room! | |||||||
| Martin | Annoying students | |||||||
| Martin | I’m such a traveller | |||||||
| Sammy | i feel very suspicious on flights | |||||||
| Sammy | like everybody’s thinking “why’s she alone…” | |||||||
| Sammy | “that poor 13 year old girl…” | |||||||
| Sammy | |
|||||||
| Martin | Boarding | |||||||
| Sammy | |
|||||||
| Martin | Pushed in! | |||||||
| Martin | I am in! With a window seat! | |||||||
| Martin | I see… Fog | |||||||
| Martin | Mucho fog | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | yayyy | |||||||
| Martin | Time to go over catalan | |||||||
| Sammy | i would tell you to switch off now | |||||||
| Martin | I hear victims | |||||||
| Sammy | but you should check you dont get delayed in your seat for an hour first |
|||||||
| Martin | “I can’t wait to land at barcelona” | |||||||
| Martin | Muhahaha | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | they dont know the poor things… | |||||||
| Sammy | they’ve been duped. | |||||||
| Martin | Lol | |||||||
| Martin | Now | |||||||
| Martin | Let’s play “spot the spanish” | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | good luck | |||||||
| Sammy | when i came back from malaga there was this granny | |||||||
| Sammy | english | |||||||
| Sammy | but she spoke really good (lancastrian) spanish | |||||||
| Sammy | and had a spanish passport | |||||||
| Martin | The hard work is done, announces a calm soothing voice | |||||||
| Martin | Wowww | |||||||
| Martin | Will you save this convo? | |||||||
| Martin | For the blogg… | |||||||
| Martin | Omg | |||||||
| Sammy | i think it all gets saved… | |||||||
| Martin | Someone mightnt sit near me! | |||||||
| Sammy | |
|||||||
| Martin | Omg | |||||||
| Martin | Were almost ready | |||||||
| Martin | Early! | |||||||
| Martin | And noone next to me! | |||||||
| Martin | Aaaand | |||||||
| Martin | Not in the ‘help out if we crash’ seat! | |||||||
| Sammy | yayyy | |||||||
| Sammy | that freaks me out | |||||||
| Sammy | as if you’re on a plane! |
|||||||
| Martin | It freaked catherine out | |||||||
| Martin | Alot | |||||||
| Martin | As a first time flyer… | |||||||
| Martin | Everything is going to plan… | |||||||
| Martin | I’m unnerved | |||||||
| Sammy | i’ve told you, spain goes very to plan! | |||||||
| Sammy | you’re not in france anymore martin…. | |||||||
| Martin | I’m excited | |||||||
| Martin | Omg | |||||||
| Martin | We can skype this evening! | |||||||
| Sammy | well | |||||||
| Sammy | we’ll see about that | |||||||
| Sammy | spanish internet is.. unique | |||||||
| Martin | Do I want a leaflet? | |||||||
| Martin | No | |||||||
| Martin | It will detract from learning | |||||||
| Martin | Omg | |||||||
| Sammy | you intend to learn catalan before you land?:P | |||||||
| Martin | I can go pee without bothering anyone! | |||||||
| Martin | I have not peed on a plane in yeaaaaars | |||||||
| Martin | I do! | |||||||
| Martin | And spanish! | |||||||
| Sammy | yayy | |||||||
| Martin | I hope they sell ribena/ive remortgaged to buy some… | |||||||
| Sammy | “Por favor, no hagas pis mientras el vuelo está aterizando.” | |||||||
| Martin | 1€ sisplau senyorita | |||||||
| Martin | The engines are winding up | |||||||
| Sammy | haha | |||||||
| Sammy | WOOOOOOO | |||||||
| Martin | I should go now lol | |||||||
| Sammy | say that out loud. now. | |||||||
| Martin | Noooo | |||||||
| Sammy | buena suerte, ‘ta luego! | |||||||
| Martin | Ill look weird | |||||||
| Martin | Er than I look | |||||||
| Martin | Cheerioooo | |||||||
| Martin | Fins despres! | |||||||
| Sammy | byeee |
So, yes. Off we went. Choo choo. I made it alive, and ON TIME! There was a fanfare and everything. Then, I made it out of the airport, two bags in tow, in record time. Like seriously. Then I hit my first snag, although to call it a snag compared to previous travel issues is exaggerating. Well, the hunt for the taxi was interesante… I was unsure what was going on. The first four taxis were empty. Where were the drivers? I eventually asked someone who looked like they were in charge. They were, and off we went! Snag over! I arrived, explained my situation, and got the natural “wow, you speak Catalan?” response, as he showed me things. It was good. I like this palace. It is good, if a little dirty in the corners. Yarrrr. What I did notice was that I hadn’t spoken a word of Spanish until my flatmate, Petr from Croatia, arrived. Even then, it took a while for Spanish to happen, as he speaks English quite well. We agreed to have an English day, a Catalan day and a Spanish day. Also, I tried changing my Facebook location to ‘Girona’, but it got nothing. It forced me to put ‘Gerona’, the Spanish way. Oppression. Gah.
Well, oh, I don’t know where to begin. It’s all so magically awesome.
To describe “The Slaidburners” as the most amazingly awesomest bestest friends ever, is an understatement. (I know you Rennes folk will probably be reading this, and you’re amazingly awesome too). I will explain for why.
On Friday, the fifth day of the week (or the final day of the week if you work in an office/school), I hopped in my beloved Punto and commenced an epic voyage. “Where to?”, I hear you cry. Well, I will tell you.
LANCASTER!
The town of dreams, Lanny, Lanny-C, to name but a few of it’s many nicknames. (Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s it.)
Anyway, I arrived, after some brief queuing on a motorway somewhere, and some godawful parking on Regent Street (the street wot they live in, innit?). It was so lovely. As their house looks slightly 1940s, they had made it a kind of “Welcome home from the War/Jolly good show defeating Gerry”. I opened the door, to be assaulted (in a good way) by party poppers, 1940s housewives (complete with pearls and aprons), being serenaded by Vera Lynn in the background. It was actually amazing. I was given a brief tour of the hallway, complete with my adventures from afar (Martin farts again – with a picture of a soldier being sanctioned. Martin approves of Gerry’s planes – a photo of a man in a Nazi plan giving a thumbs up. And simply “Martin” – a photo of dearest Winston Churchill). A cake had been made, and a ‘pork loaf’ had been bought. Needless to say, we did not touch the pork loaf. Tales were told of France, and the war in general, then we ventured off to town, as Jess was eager for me to see the new Juicafe we have in town. She had given a lot of hype to this Juicafe, and needless to say, this hype was met. It is an amazing place, and is cheaper than Starbucks/Costa/the penguin place, AND it has beanbags. We braved the beanbags. Naomi instantly regretted it. She was gone. Never to be seen again. Until her Wispa hot chocolate turned up. Then she emerged briefly to drink it, and eat the marshmallows. Then went, to never be seen again. Well, until later on anyway. We then returned back to their Manor (it has 3 storeys, plus a cellar) to generally sit around. We ate the cake, and drank champagne (well, not technically Champagne, as it wasn’t from Champagne, but the message was there), and attempted to get a penny in the ‘champagne’ cork. We succeeded, and it is now at home. (I asked my mother about this, and she got excited, and went hunting for her “treasure box”, which contained a 20p in a cork. I asked if that’s how they did things back in the 1940s (she’s not really that old, I tease her A LOT), and she told me that apparently it is 20p in a cork for a christening, and 1p for your 21st. Oh. It adds up to 21. That kinda makes sense. Ish.) Then we prepared. After a few brace related mishaps, I finally sorted them out, and was ready to go mime it up.
The BNP party conference had been moved.
Welcome home from fighting Gerry, Martin. Jolly good show.
It was a pretty standard night, and it was gooooooood. No, not goooooood. AMAZING. It was so nice to be back home, surrounded by other people dressed up. On the way down to La Casa de Azucar, a few of the local (worst kind of) drunks stopped us. One told us to be proper mimes and to be silent, and then apologised for being so drunk. Another woman remarked “eee love, I wor gonna say you looked proper ill, but then I realised”, this was followed by polite laughing on my part, and a swift exit, but not after a man who was leaning against the wall of the lesser Wetherspoons insisted on shaking my hand. Awkward doesn’t quite cut it. Anyway, we arrived at the Sugarhouse. It seems it has become rather popular since my departure. Popular in the sense that it was 23h30, and there were HUGE queues already. We joined a smaller queue, and asked if I could get bumped to the front, for my birthday and all. Alas, he said no, but recommended we stay in the shorter queue as it was moving quicker. He was right, and we were in in no time at all! We entered. Wow, I had forgotten just how little clothes we wear as a nation. Seriously. It is a common stereotype that as a nation, we drink too much, and wear too little. This is FACT. That said, I like to think I have just the right balance. Not too much alcohol, and a decent amount of clothes, maybe revealing an arm now and then, like the dirty tease I am. Anyway, yes. Drinkie drinkie. All in all, it was a most pleasant night. One I shan’t forget. Until I’m old and the dementia kicks in. So, in about 3 years then.
Le gang.
The next day involved general not getting up until about 13h30. It was at this point, that I accepted defeat. I was ill. The night before I had a slight tummy upset, but didn’t want to ruin the fun, so worked past it. At about 7h30, I awoke with the most enormous urge to vomit, so I went to try, and nothing. But I felt better for it. Anyway, once the troops had been rallied, we ventured to ASDA, and got supplies. Then it was decided we should go see Sherlock Holmes in the evening. Alas, upon our arrival, bang on time for it starting, there was a HUGE queue for the cinema, so we first decided to go food/drink, then decided to go Sainsbury’s and get supplies for a night in watching fillums. It was a decision well made. We watched POTC and Van Helsing. Okay, so the second film was purely for comedy value, but it was nice. I like the word nice. Mainly to rebel. After years of being told “you can’t use nice”, I am overusing it. Isn’t it nice? Nice nice nice nice nice nice. (Not to be confused with the French city “Nice”, which is pronounced ‘neice’).
Sunday was a day of much eating. The troops were rallied, and we set off to Toby Carvery (in two battalions, the Car Division and the Bus Division – no, I don’t know why I’m keeping with the military theme either). 2A Regiment arrived before Punto Regiment, so got in and told them to prepare us a table. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Toby Carvery, but they are fucking amazing. £8,50 for all you can eat*, and honestly, one serving was enough for me. I was surprised by many things: the quality of potatoes; the amount of meat ration portion we were allowed; and the quality in general. I approve. We returned back, slightly rejiggled (that is an AMAZING word), and prepared for my goodbye. We ended with a Queen-style (the one on the coins, not the one with Freddie Mercury in) shaking hands. It was good, and excellent. I got to practise my Queen voice. “Thankyou all for coming, one is most grateful for your efforts”. There was a rendition of ‘Rule Britannia’, and a cup giving ceremony. The cup is amazing. It is a Union Jack cup, and I love it. It is here with me in Spain right now. I drink Spanish Fanta out of it. Nick Griffin would be appalled. But then again, he doesn’t know where Spain is. He didn’t learn that with his 2:2. Cunt.
So, that was Lancaster times. Love you all. Besos x
*on vegetables and potatoes only
Well, let me see. In case you don’t know, England has been hit by snow. I say “hit” in the sense that we have been caught off-guard by it, and are repeatedly hit in the face with it. For years, I have been whinging about how it never snows here, then all of a sudden, we get my entire life’s (to date) quota in less than a month. Seriously. The bastard stuff managed to delay my first attempt to return to my beloved Shire (Yorkshire, if you didn’t know), and then whilst I was at home, made leaving the estate nigh on impossible. The trouble with snow, is that it’s fine if it snows during the day, but when it snows at night, it settles, and then becomes an utter bitch to drive on. Not only this, but on side roads, i.e. the places where people live, the road snow does not go, and instead freezes over the next night, thus creating twat snow. Anyway, this cycle of snow snow, road snow, twat snow, continued, well, has continued for about a month now. People are boring of it. For me, the final straw came when I was in France. Rennes has maybe about an inch, whilst home had at least 6, on top of which more was added. I returned home (eventually, as snow foiled my plans), to find this:
Neige *ugh*
It’s difficult to see, but to the right of the wheelie bin is a pile of snow where my dad had cleared the path, that was about a foot deep. Seriously. I was in shock. It’s still there, sort of, but is only about 4 inches deep. Most other snow is gone, except the odd patch, and of course, the twat snow is still in the roads, only now, it is called “ice”.
Today, I went to see Daybreakers with Ruthie. I really wanted to like it, and I sort of did, but goddammit Stephanie Meyer, you have ruined Vampire fiction for me. She has become so mainstream with her silly views on vampires that I had forgotten the basics – lack of reflection, fangs, necessity of human blood, aversion/burning up to/in daylight. Shame on you, bitch. I spent the entire film thinking : “Wow, if only someone had come up with a cure for vampirism, and told Stephanie Meyer, then I wouldn’t have had to endure all 3million pages of rubbish”. Okay, ‘you didn’t have to read them’, I hear you cry. You’re right, I didn’t. But, the woman does something very crafty. She spends the entire book building up to nothing. So, as such, you spend the entire book waiting in anticipation for the worst anti-climax ever. Seriously. Anyway, enough of my rant about that silly bint. The film. The film isn’t bad. It has an interesting concept/storyline, but I find what it lacked was any satisfying ending. I don’t want to spoil it for you if you haven’t yet seen it, but it just loops around and around a lot towards the end, and lacks any real conclusion. What I will say though is that once again, Willem Defoe plays a good guy fighting for people’s rights. Okay, so I can’t name a great deal of films that he has been in, but this and Mississippi Burning are two in which I am definitely sure he has starred. Both of which he played someone trying to let justice prevail. Also, if you notice in the Mississippi Burning trailer, the use of the term ‘Anglo Saxon’. This is not how the French intend it to be used. By moronic racists.
Also today, two things arrived for me. Number one was my results letter from CIREFE. You remember my CIREFE woes from last term, non? Well, here is the letter…
Editted for my privacy
So, as it happens, I got 14,5 in my oral overall and 12,75 for my écrit. Considering how I managed to get 8,5 for my first écrit test, I figure I must have somehow got an exceptionally good mark on the second one to balance it out. So, all is good. The second thing that arrived today is this. It is a t-shirt so I can go out dressed as a mime tomorrow night. I am returning to my beloved Lancaster to see the Slaidburners. We shall be reunited once again, and it will be the sex. Seriously, it is impossible for you to comprehend how excited I am about this right now.
So, that was my day. Other little snippets include:
This is the most common way by which people have accessed my blogg today. No, I don’t know either.
And, my friend from Rennes, Emmi, has begun a blog, which you can check out here.
That is all. You may go now. Shoo.
Well, I suppose “the beginning” is a good place to start. So, let us begin.
Attempt #1 to return to France :
Well, this was intended to simply be “Return to France”. Thanks to snow (believe me, you will see a recurring theme with my woes), it was merely attempt #1. So, yes. I arrived here:
"Yorkshire's Airport" aka Leeds-Bradford
It’s a bit basic. The check-in desks for Jet2.com is just a portacabin. And, for some reason, there aren’t many seats in the departure lounge. It’s all very odd. Anyway, I proceded, optimistic. Checked-in. Sat. Bought a magazine. Moved through to the departure lounge. Spent £6 on a bacon and sausage (2 rashers of bacon, one sausage) and a cuppa. Tried to be persuaded to buy a croissant “for when I get there”. Pointed out to moron serving me “I’m going to France, I will have them coming out of my ears.” Ate and drank food and drink. Wandered through Duty Free. Wondered why there is produce for the 2012 LONDON Olympics on sale in LEEDS, YORKSHIRE. Waited. Pondered why a man was speaking to his child in Spanish, but to his wife in English. Also wondered why child didn’t respond in Spanish, but with a perfect Yorkshire accent. Stood. Boarded plane. Plane trundled to end of runway.
-Here endeth attempt #1-
Attempt #2 to return to France :
So, following attempt #1, calamity struck. Hence why there was an attempt #2. Duh. Anyway, we managed to make it to the end of the runway, engines revving away. Then, the engines wound down, and we trundled back towards the terminal. The captain announced that there was a hole in the runway. An actual hole. 1 whole metre, made by whichever moron (I suspect they were probably French) they had let clear the runway of ice. How can someone make a 1 metre hole clearing ice?! Anyway, thankfully, it can’t have been too bad – we weren’t let off the plane, and the pilot announced that some workmen were on their way with some sort of fast-setting concrete/tarmac stuff. Anyway, we managed to get off, and arrive in Paris a mere hour late. If you’ve never flown to Paris Charles de Gaulle, I imagine you’ll have a lovely image in your head. Similar to Manchester, but in French. It is not. The terminal we landed at was infact a portacabin with a conveyor belt and a desk in. Grotty. Anyway, my trek across the Île-de-France began with a 3 mile hike across the Charles de Gaulle area to the RER station. After another 5 mins queuing for a ticket machine, followed by 8,50€ being spent on a ticket into Paris, I made it onto the RER into Paris. It also appears that I made it back into the 1990s. France likes the 1990s. Well, I assume they do, seeing as they don’t appear to have redecorated at all since 1992. Anyway, whilst on the RER, experiencing the sights of France (ghettos and a man pissing in the street), the traditional Parisian beggar came down the train. They left this:
There were a few issues here. In the French version it says the following : Hello, enjoy your meal! I am a deaf (wo)man. Find the beauty of this object. Buy-it for the good of your heart. Price : 3€ or a restaurant ticket. Thanks! Anyway, that doesn’t quite correspond to the English translation, which bugged me. What was he? Deaf and dumb, or just deaf? Either way, I didn’t touch what he left, so I didn’t see the ’small object’ he left on my seat, so I don’t know what it was. Later on, a man with an accordion turned up. I won’t deny he wasn’t good, but, I hadn’t asked him to provide my journey with a musical interlude. If I knew how, I’d add the soundbite I took of his accordion playing, but I don’t. So, I’m sorry. There was a tense moment between him and the deaf man, in which they had a sort of glare-off, complete with chuntering. It made me chuckle.
Anyway, we arrived in Paris, and I managed to find a moment to get an Orangina and a tarte au sucre from ‘Paul’. It was delish, and I felt rather French. I managed to also just make my train, after a panic moment where I remembered “Arghhhhh! I haven’t composted my billet!!!” I managed to, and I began my epic voyage to the end of the train. There is something odd about the TGV trains. Odd, in the sense that I quite like them. This is for a few reasons: you are guaranteed a seat, and the seat which you are guaranteed has enough leg room to fit a small farm in. I actually love the TGV. Compared to the Paris Metro, which I would never inflict on any poor soul, it is heavenly. Compared to any British train infact, it is heavenly.
My time in Rennes :
Well, let me see. My time in Rennes involved mainly watching Sex and the City with Fiona (which was amazing, by the way), sitting 2 exams in one day, and going out in Rennes. Watching Sex and the City is fairly explanatory. Exams. Oh, yes. The purpose of my visit. I’m pretty sure I’ve already mentioned the fuss we had with history, who conveniently forgot to write all (but about two) Erasmus students’ exams. Seriously moronic. So, what followed the exam was pure embarrassment. I managed to fall, rather, I misjudged the height of a step, and fell onto my ankle. I’m pretty sure I hurt it pretty bad, cos it swelled up, and forced me to hobble around for the next few days (in fact, it still hurts now a bit). Anyway, what was worst about the whole débacle was the fact that A. Someone saw me, asked how I was, and then I hobbled on, insisting I was fine, B. I’m pretty sure an entire lecture theatre saw me, most of whom were in my TD. So, my pride suffered greatly. Anyway, as if that wasn’t bad enough, my English exam was pretty dire. I spent over an hour doing a rough draft, then copied it up nice and neat. I had managed to get stuck in a corner (I refrained from saying ‘Nobody puts Baby in the corner’), so had to manage to get out. This was a challenge to do silently and discretely, and I all but managed it, until I got to the edge, and missed the step (déjà vu), and fell on my other foot. It made an awful noise, and there was definite giggling, but I managed to make my way to the front, head held high, safe in the knowledge that “I am English, ergo I am superior to all of you”.
So, that night we ventured into town. For drinks, duh. One bottle of wine later (red, naturlich), we were in a bar in town, and I appeared to be ordering my second glass of Bordeaux (or Merlot, I forget). Well, at this point, a Frenchie approached us. He looked familiar. Ann-Charlotte and I exchanged glances. I had temporarily forgotten who he was. Then it hit me. I don’t know if you remember my argument I had with a frog a few months back, but this was him! Seriously, I was filled with rage. And worst of all, he remembers none of it! Bastard. I hope he falls down alot. And that is putting it mildly.
Attempt #3 to leave France :
Well, after a pleasant week in Rennes (despite the ankle incident) it was time to leave. So, Friday was spent mostly sleeping until we went to Le Haricot Rouge (H aspiré), which was lovely. I miss it already. Although, to be honest, I miss the company of those I went there with. Anyway, soppiness out of the way. AC and I left in good time to arrive at the Gare Routière. We left, and were hit with the first omen : getting caught in the metro doors. We even joked about it at the time – little did we know… So, I boarded the coach, after having put my suitcase safely (or so I thought) in the boot. We left on time and everything looked good. Until about an hour into our journey, there was a big bang, and we came to a stop. It seemed that that boot door had come open, so those with luggage in the boot had to get out and check. As luck would have it, mine was the only case that had fallen out. So, the driver and I began our trek, in the dark, along the road to look for my case in the snow. After 15 minutes we had found nothing, so decided to return and keep looking. Thankfully, we found it, and it was actually intact. Still closed. Seriously could not believe it. Despite this, he didn’t apologise, and didn’t offer to carry my case, like it was somehow my fault. Needless to say, I stuffed my case onto the coach. It was not leaving my sight until I checked it in at the airport. Anyway, we arrived in Dinard town rather late, so I got off, and rang a taxi. This was stressful. I rang, asked if I could book a taxi as soon as possible to the airport, after being addressed as mademoiselle ON THE PHONE. I was then told I would have to wait “tuaintee farv meeneets” for a taxi, in English, which bothered me alot. They could tell I was English, just by my accent. All that work, wasted. The taxi did however turn up on time, and I panicked, thinking I would not make check-in. But, I did. By 5 minutes. So, I sat and waited, optimistic that the snow would not scupper my plans. We were then told to move to the other end of the cattle shed departure lounge to wait to board the plane. I saw no plane. None of us did. Then, an announcement came on announcing that “Ze flart to EAST MIDLAND eez *unnecessarily long pause with fluttering of dictionary pages* cancelled”. I couldn’t believe it. After the Eurostar mess, I was again subject to transport woes. Was I cursed to never leave France?! I collected my baggage, and queued, as this is all you can do when things are cancelled, apparently. Then, I decided I wanted my money back, so got a form, and headed for the taxi rank…
Attempt #4 to leave France :
Well, I made it to the taxi rank, and asked how much it would cost to various local places – to Rennes (140€), Dinard (15€) and to St. Malo (30€). I decided upon Rennes, after much deliberation, as there I could get a free bed for the night. Then commenced my ringing up of people asking them what there was in the way of escaping the arse-end-of-nowhere that is Bretagne. As it happened, there was a coach from Paris the next morning, so I decided upon this. I got to Rennes about 45 minutes later, paid the taxi man (150€, down from 166€!),and trundled to Robs to book my coach ticket. This was done, and I continued to ACs to weep about my transport woes and sleep there for the night. So, at about 1h30, I managed to nod off, only to awaken at 5h30 to get my metro into town. Naturally on the way I was accosted by drunks on the way home – one wanted a bisou, one wanted McDo and the other wanted to know if he was on the right metro line for Ste. Anne. I didn’t have the heart to point out to him that there is only one metro line, so just said “yes, this is the right line”. Moron. More panic ensued in the train station, as when our TGV platform was announced, it was not there. Turns out, it just wasn’t in yet. I still panicked. We faced issues getting to Paris, because of snow, and had to slow down, but aside from that, it was pretty plain sailing. We got to Paris, then the epic walking began (again). I was in one of the last carriages of the train, so had to walk the full length of the train to escape the station. I was a man on a mission, walking at the speed most people walk when they’re late. I was just determined to leave France. Again. After 3 miles of walking, I got on a metro and waited. Changed. Waited. Arrived at Galliéni. Checked in. Waited. Boarded the coach. Waited. Endured hours of inane Australian conversation. Arrived at Calais. It seemed that we were going to be taking the ferry this time. It had been so long since I had been on a ferry that I was unsure if I still didn’t get seasick. I was scared. But, we passed through French and British passport control (in the rooms next to each other, duh) relatively quickly. Naturally a woman was taken away by French police, as per. Then we joined the queue to get on the ferry. We watched a ferry sail. We were not on it. We then waited for an hour. Apparently, due to the bad weather, the channel services were disrupted. So, we left quite late, on a rather choppy ferry. I was peckish by this point, so went to find food. After remortgaging, I managed to get some fish and chips, which were nice, if expensive. The ferry was really quite bad. I sat down most of the time, waiting. It seemed that another ferry had overtaken us, and arrived at Dover before us, so we had to wait for them to manage the difficult manoeuvre. Then we attempted said manoeuvre. We made it alive, thankfully. Then, I thought all was good. As it happens, it was not. We had to go to baggage check. That took an age, as a lot of people’s main reason (non-UK citizens that is) for coming to the UK was, and I’m not exaggerating, “to become British”. So, yes. We got to London about 3 hours late, and I had missed the last train (at 20h30) to anywhere remotely north of Nottingham. I got a taxi to St. Pancras (£13.40, actual bargain compared to France), and then proceeded to try and find where they hide the trains. Typically the ticket machine didn’t have the station I wanted, so I had to settle for Derby. I managed to find my hidden train, get a seat, and relax. Safe in the knowledge that nothing bad could go wrong now, as it was all British organised. Not Irish, or European. And it didn’t. I made it home. Only 28 hours late.
Thanks, Ryanair. (Spot the sarcasm)
For the record, I am claiming the entire journey back, courtesy of Mr. O’Leary. Yeah, watch out. C*nt.
Well, I shan’t blog about my journey here. That deserves a whole blog to itself, based on the notes I took on my journey… Seriously. All I will say is : public transport hates me.
Anyway, I have been back in Rennes since 6pm Monday, which has been pleasant. It’s been nice to just walk across the road without looking, and eat baguettes and croissants. Anyway, yesterday involved doing revision in the library, ish. I’m staying chez Fiona. I love her to bits, but she does sleep ALOT (which she blames is only ‘cos of my snoring, and French speaking in my sleep…). So, yesterday we got up at 12noon, begrudingly. I only got about half way through revision in the end. On the plus side, living with Fiona has made me discover “Sex and the City”. Look, I admitted it. Like a secret shame. I kinda like it, cos it’s funny, but short, which keeps me happy as I have a terribly short attention span.
So, yes, d-day (jour-j) came. I was awake in good time, got dressed, then emerged, to find that it had snowed. Seriously, someone hates me. So, I trudged on through the snow. First mission : which room?! Second issue : “Erm…Your tutor hasn’t actually sent us an exam for you to do…” (cos us Erasmus folk get a special exam), so we were taken out of the ‘amphi’, and waited whilst he got the secretary to ring our tutors, and told he would email some questions soon. Seriously. This country is such a joke. Anyway, it wasn’t too bad. I managed to write 4 short essays, plus 4 lines for my 5 questions, so I think maybe I have passed. Maybe. I hope so. Anyway, I left (after 2 hours, maybe more), and proceeded down the silly stairs they have outside the building. I completely misjudged the height of one, and fell over, on my ankle. Right by the exam window. Gah. Someone saw and asked me “Ca va?”. Naturally I replied “oui oui”, as I hobbled away, blinded by pain. I sat down, and thought “owwwwwwwwwww” for a good five minutes. Then Ann-Charlotte arrived and we had coffee chez Joy. Oh, Joy. I will miss the ironic joy you bring to my life. I will explain. The woman who works in one of the cafés on campus is really miserable, so we have nicknamed her “Joy”. This is an example of the tiny coffee she serves (although she does serve ones that are smaller:
Tiny Coffee!
This is all, for now. I have an exam in just over an hour, and then I’m freeeeeeeeeeee! So, as such, alot of wine shall be consumed ce soir, whilst resting my ankle, or “cheville” in French…
… all my troubles seemed so far away… (How are we liking the lyrical theme I have going on?)
Well, yes. As I mentioned, yesterday was the day of my eye test. All was well. I found a great spot to park. I only paid 50p for it. I got seen to early. I found out I had been over-prescribed by Lancaster. I managed to pass the glaucoma test after two attempts on each eye (This is the part where they blow a puff of air into each eye. I flinched three times the first time.) I managed to get re-prescribed. I managed to choose some new glasses. There was a 25% off sale on in Specsavers, so I got my glasses and eye test for under £100, a rarity. Then we hit a snag. The glasses I had chosen didn’t have separate “nose supporters” or whatever their technical name is. They were built into the glasses, so there were issues as to whether they’d stay on. Second snag of the day : the tills weren’t working. I practically ran back to my car to make it there in time before the traffic warden turned up. Thankfully, I made it back in time.
Afterwards, we decided to go to White Rose, for Karen to buy me things. So, off we went in the car. Brum brum grind. Brum brum grind. (The grind indicates the noise my car was making). So, we had to stop. It was awful. The mother was actually panicking more than me, and she wasn’t even driving. We I managed to pull onto the hard shoulder, whack the hazards on and send mother to the orange phone we had conveniently stopped by. For some reason I can’t upload my photos I put on tweetphoto, so here is my car all by the side of the road. So, yes, Mother rang the Highways Agency people, who in turn rang the RAC. We were given a rough ETA of up to 30mins. So, as is law, we stood on the grass verge and waited. And waited. And waited. 35minutes had passed, as well as 3 other RAC vans and an AA one. We were not amused. Finally, the RAC man turned up, drove the Punto up and down the hard shoulder a bit, decided it could be driven to a garage… Then changed his mind. He decided to tow it. Honestly, I was a bit excited. I had no idea how it was going to be done, as he had turned up in a classic RAC Transit van, but I suspected it was gonna go all Optimus Prime on us. I was right. Somehow, a magical towing device emerged from the rear of the van, and my Punto was ready to be towed, like so. So, 2 hours later, I got home, sans car, but avec a lack of feeling in my toesies. I was unamused, but alive. So, it was quite epic. We all lost feelings in extremities. But we didn’t die. That said, we all have a sniffle today, which is not good.
The day did, however, end on a high. I had planned to go see Jess, and do things with Jess, but the car mishap had scuppered these plans. However, the Father offered to take me to hers AND pick her up. So, I got there, and we decided upon going to Meadowhall (like White Rose, but bigger and better). This involved (or so we thought) a train. Alas, it just so happened that there were no trains, but a rail replacement service. The three words every rail traveller dreads hearing. Anyway, we found this out, just as a coach turned up, which was handy. We honestly tried paying, but he just said “get on”. So we did. And got to Meadowhall for free. Yay us. We arrived quite late, about 5ish, which only gave us a few hours there. Two, to be precise, as everything shut at (or slightly before) 7pm. We had planned on getting the 9pm coach back, but as it happened, there were no good films on, and seeing as the shops had shut, we got the 8pm one back instead. We also tried paying for this journey. We enquired where we get tickets, to be told “at the ticket office”, which was shut. So we were told “You’ll have to pay double next time, and forget our names and faces”. Win! That said, we did see Cadbury’s Creme Eggs on sale already. And, it had snowed, which made driving back difficult. Ugh.
All in all, a very mixed day of wins and loses. But, on the whole, a rather positive one.
Well, as it happens, I quite miss France. I miss the French way of doing things, surprisingly.
Since being home I have frequented two supermarchés – ASDA and Tesco. It is odd, but I never really noticed the difference between the two. The ASDA we went to appeared to be full of chavs, whilst Tesco, still with an elevated number of chavs, appeared to have an infestation of the elderly. I have missed despising the elderly and the chavtastic. They just walk around saying things like “woah, it’s fuckin’ mingin’, innit” (minus the correct punctuation, obviously) and general standing in the way. Anyway, despite the chaff, it was wonderous to go round a logically ordered supermarket, although, I do miss French brands, and the HUGE cheese section (despite never buying cheese). I attempted to hunt down a nice French wine : Tesco’s range of French reds was poor, to say the least. And, it was expensive to get a decent red WITH A CORK IN! It is a very British thing to make wine have screw tops. Personally, and this is totally unfounded, I think wine is much better if you have to get a cork out. Also, what struck me about both of these chav-magnets was the amount of sheer Christmas crap. Seriously, there was a whole aisle dedicated to Christmas shit – cakes, selection boxes, last-minute gift ideas, mince pies, wrapping paper, crackers etc etc. We know how to do Christmas, but a part of me can’t help but miss the subtle French Christmas – nothing too fancy; just enough to let you know “yes, we know it’s nearly Christmas”, but not too much to be tacky.
Hmm… What else? Oh yes. Crossing roads. In France, I think I mentioned, when crossing the road, you just go. You can look (optional), but generally, you just go. Cars stop there. Here, as I discovered the other day, they just slow down and shout abuse. You would think in ASDA car park of all places that the pedestrian would have priority. Well, I’m pretty sure they do, but this is not the point. Especially if I am pushing a trolley laden with goods purchased in ASDA.
I miss nipping to the bakers and getting a nice baguette. Or even from Carrefour. Mmmm baguettes.
I miss the lack of 4×4s in France. This is mainly because Citroen, Renault and Peugeot don’t make them. If they don’t make them, the French won’t buy them. Seriously. France is just one big advert for French cars. Every car is French. It is odd.
Back to the subject of chavs, I don’t understand why in this freezing cold weather, they’re still in trackies. They must be freezing. Utter morons. Funnier still is watching them slide around in their poorly prepared shoes. Says I, in my Converse.
