Preparation, preparation, preparation.

Wednesday 31^st August. A month (and a day) until I move to Le Havre, France (admittedly not Rouen itself, but I couldn’t resist the pun, courtesy of the ingenious Charlotte Campbell). As part of my university course, I’ll be spending 7 months there, attempting to teach English by cajoling a bunch of unsuspecting French teenagers into copious amounts of over the top role-play  and renditions of ‘Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’.

          When I first decided to start a blog in order to document my time abroad, I was met with a variety of responses. Most were predictable; the candid encouragement from my parents, the ‘oh-great-but-I-bet-you-won’t-actually –do-it’ smiles from acquaintances, the miscellaneous comments about boosting up my CV. But from one particular friend (who shall remain anonymous), I received the following gem of camaraderie: ‘You’re not gonna start one of those gay blogs when you go abroad are you?’ Followed by the equally supportive: ‘I KNEW you would’ when I assented that yes, yes I did intend on becoming one of ‘those’ people.

           Scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, it is amazing to see just how many of my peers have jumped on the blogging bandwagon. I hasten to add that I have not started mine because it is the ‘done thing’, nor to discover my ‘inner emotional self’, neither indeed as an outlet to experiment with just how pretentiously one person can write, as some people seem to do. This blog is primarily for entertainment purposes; for those who wish to be updated on my inevitably hilarious (/mortifying) French frolics in an upbeat and light-hearted manner.

          Those who know me (and indeed anyone who has moved abroad!) will understand just how terrifying the prospect of life in a foreign country is. In fact, with only a month to go, I’m only just pushing myself out of the denial stage; a phase which incidentally I’m told is completely natural and expected. So far, in my career as a French student at university, I’ve managed to become French Society president and organise a social to Brussels, only to then win the trip award for ‘Worst French’ after my gloriously embarrassing utterances of ‘où est l’hostal’ (‘hostal’, to all you non-francophonies, is by no means a French word and what’s known as ‘franglais’) and ‘est-ce-que je peux avoir some ketchup’, which lead to a bemused Belgian taxi driver whipping out his phrase book and a considerably diminished reputation amongst the society members.

However, when l visited Le Havre with my family last week for a pre-year abroad look around, things seemed to be looking up. I’m by the coast, my two schools are only a 20 minute walk apart, and the worst phrase I came up with was ‘j’ai oublié le fromage’. Admittedly, this remark was slightly out of context when I announced it to a vacant French waitress when she brought a platter of cheese over to our table....but at least grammatically it couldn’t have been sounder! Maybe there’s hope for me yet.

‘Gay blog’ entry number one: Complete.