Bee Careful

It seems the CAF (housing benefit organisation) has finally decided to stop fighting with me and just give me some money after all. Hooray! I’m quite surprised actually. I’d practically given up on them after all the messing around they were doing. They sent me about five requests for information which I’d already given them and I spent at least 30 euros on the phone to them going round in circles and being put on hold. So finding this money in my account was a lovely Christmas present!

My visitors and I reached beach saturation point yesterday and decided it was time to do some touristy things before their return to icy England. So we went to see the ruins of a 17^th century chateau in Tartane – a very pretty setting for the few remaining lumps of rock (castles aren’t really my ‘thing’) – and had a picnic in the grounds. We had a wander through the forest and paddled on the rocky shore too where we saw the most enormous bright orange starfish. And in the evening we went to a restaurant for accras de morue, steak frites and bananes flambées with glace coco which was all rather delicious.

Today I took them to Ducos to do the Kayak adventure that I did with Nick and Courtney a few weeks ago. It was a bit tougher this time due to windy weather and choppy water but we managed to make it back to base and a good time was had by all.

As we were coming back I paddled past what looked like a drowning wasp. I hate wasps. I really do hate them. They have a way of smelling my fear and loathing and they always pursue me, cackling and buzzing with evil glee. I’ve been stung more times than anyone I know (including one time when one went up my sleeve and stung me about ten times, and two occasions when they have been lying in wait for me to tread on them so they can martyr themselves, stinging my foot in the process. Oh, and also there was a time when one landed on my hand so I decided to do the brave and sensible thing and stay still and wait for it to go away – and it sat there eying me up and sussing me out before stinging me and flying off laughing to tell all his waspy friends about his victory over the foolish and trusting human.)

Anyway... so when I saw this drowning wasp all it stirred up all these memories and emotions of fear, hatred and need for revenge. So I poked it with my paddle – ha! Unfortunately I poked it in a rather scoopy way and actually managed to flip it, still alive and now very angry, into Keeley’s canoe, where it stung her. And yes, I do feel guilty (mostly because it was actually a bee, not a wasp, and I have no argument with the honey-making peace loving buzzy). But K was quite positive about the whole experience anyway, insisting that she was pleased to have a bee sting story to share at parties. So I didn’t have to feel too guilty for long anyway.

I don’t want my blog to turn into a list of fings wot I av dun but I’ve been a bit pressed for time while I’m playing hostess so I apologise if there has been a recent drop in the quality. I’ll try and get back on form once they’ve left me. In fact I might make it my New Year’s resolution. But Christmas was fun - WAY too much turkey though. We had turkey salad for lunch on boxing day and then turkey soup for dinner and it still wasn't all used up!

Fort de France

We went to Fort de France this morning ...but it was closed. It’s the day before Christmas Eve and the whole of the capital was deserted! Ok, it was Sunday so I wasn’t expecting EVERYTHING to be open - but even McDonald’s was shut! To be honest I was secretly glad we didn’t have to hang around there as I think it’s a bit of a dump. From the approach road it looks like some dirty polluted shanty town. The shops are full of expensive old tat (unless of course you’re after some shiny red underwear, gold stilettos, a Martinique ash tray and a tortoise made out of old banana leaves), and if you want to park on a meter you have to buy a ‘parking card’ from a shop in advance (I was told this last time I was there by a fierce traffic warden lady who intercepted me as I was trying to work out where to put my coins. When I enquired as to where I might purchase such an item she looked at me as if I were completely retarded and said; ‘At the photocopying shop of course’. Erm... ok.)

So we went to the beach at Tartane instead. We’ve had a few days of enforced relaxation due to K’s chest infection so all my plans for horse riding and kayaking have been put on hold. But no one is complaining, least of all me. I was exhausted after the last few weeks at school and I think I needed a few days of lazing about as much as my guests did.

The sea was gorgeously refreshing today. It can be a bit wild here depending on where you go -the first time we went to the beach I made the mistake of taking us to one with huge waves and Mum kept getting knocked over by the force of them, taking me with her and leading to much hilarity and salty spluttering and sand in knickers - but today we went to a much calmer bay where we splashed and floated in clear still water and our swim was altogether more civilised.

Sorry I’ve not been blogging as much since my guests’ arrival but three people make a LOT more mess than one and I feel like all my free time is spent washing up or sweeping or doing washing at the moment! And despite all this, my insect killing routine is slipping dangerously out of control (I found two dead cockroaches in the house this week and we’ve all been bitten by evil mosquitoes more than once). I need to educate my guests on mozzie massacre. Right – that’s a job for tonight then.

L'Etrangère

I slept really badly last night. I think I was over excited at the imminent arrival of my visitors from Angleterre (Mum and Keeley, on Sunday evening). Anyway, by five in the morning I decided to give up trying and go and find a nice place to watch the sunrise instead. So I jumped in the car and trundled off eastwards to look for a beach.

I found a secret plage not far away, near Rivière Salée, where I could drive almost onto the sand and get a really good view of Dawn’s crack. But just as I switched off the engine and opened the door it began to bucket down lashing rain and wind. And due to the incredible saturation risk, I was forced to remain in my vehicle.

So, fatigued and saddened by my adventure spoilt, I rested my weary head on the steering wheel and listened to the rain pounding the car instead. And somewhere in the few moments that followed I found a kind of inner tranquillity - or maybe it was just exhaustion taking over. Anyway the persistent precipitation tapping on the roof reminded me of good old soggy old England and I felt momentarily happy again.

It was still far too early when I got back to do anything useful (like all the food shopping I needed to do) so I spent the next hour making a ‘Joyeux Noël’ banner out of clever drawing talent and tinsel. And then I hung it up and looked at it proudly for a moment ...before realising I’d spelt it wrong and had to start again.

Still too early to go to the shops, I decided to make an enormously elaborate breakfast of fried potatoes and onions, egg and salami. Mmmm... heart attack... And eventually I got so bored of the shopping channel and its anti-cellulite knickers (how the hell do they talk people into buying such ridiculous things?) I decided to go to my school’s Christmas Fête.

I wish I hadn’t. Those things are rather irritating at the best of times but at least one would normally go with a friend (or have a dad working on the tombola stall or something) and therefore have someone to talk to. But apart from a couple of games of dominoes with some of my CM1 kids, the only person I spoke to there was Mr Lazimo – and that was only out of desperation and loneliness and being unable to bear feeling like a complete outsider any longer.

So I’m currently filled with yearning and sadness. And this evening, like some annoying existentialist French ponce, I can only fix my eyes on my own belly button and contemplate my pointless existence.

But don’t worry – it won’t last. I’m entertaining this week! xx

It's a carrot!

The ‘lovely’ teacher of one of my CM1 classes who once told me my handwriting was illegible and who argues with virtually everything I say was away today. She’s doing some training (though not, I imagine, in good manners). And I have to admit I breathed a sigh of relief when I found out she wasn’t around.

However, that sigh came before I realised that rather than being replaced by the mild-mannered substitute chap that stood in for her last lesson, it was the headmistress who would be holding the fort today. And mild-mannered is something this Madam is most certainly NOT.

She’s a rather large lady. Not fat – but hefty and muscular with broad shoulders and manly looking arms that could crush anyone much more quickly and effectively that a boa constrictor. She always dresses in pink flowery clothes and wafty peachy twin sets. Perhaps she does this to soften her appearance. But really this juxtaposition of meat and frill just makes her look like a bulldog in a fancy dress competition.

And not only does she look scary... she really IS scary too. Just to donne an example – one time BC (that's 'Before Car' by the way) when I was passing some of my interminable lunch break in the computer room, this formidable fortress of (femininity...?) came in and started screeching at the teachers in there that they were all using the wrong computers - I hadn’t noticed before but each computer has a sticky label on it saying a teacher’s name. Fair enough you might say. Labels are important and should be respected. But when the Trunchbull started going around the room smacking her colleagues over the head with a newspaper as punishment for their mal-comportment, I decided it was time to make a hasty exit so I quickly shut down my machine and slipped out of a side door to hide in the toilets until the next class.

If she were just shouty and cross I think I could cope with that. But the thing that most disturbs me about her is the simpering ‘niceness’ that always follows the raging storm. Like today during my class only moments after she EXPLODED with fury, launching into a two minute tirade at ten thousand decibels when a boy was fiddling with his book instead of listening to what I was saying, she turned to me with a very sickly smile and said, “I’m sooooo sorry for interrupting you. Pleeeease, do continue”. I mean... how does one follow that kind of an outburst...?

Today we did ‘Pets’. The kids had a lot of trouble with ‘horse’ – it’s that pesky ‘H’ again! But they seemed to love saying ‘parrot’ - although one boy insisted on saying ‘carrot’ which was quite amusing. It’s still not as good as Courtney’s story today though. A kid in her class spelled the word ‘house’ ‘ARSE’. Oh, how did she keep a straight face??

Non-event

Well I was going to write a hefty blog tonight recounting my adventures in Tartane, Anse Mitan and the various supermarkets (YES supermarkets can be places of mystery and intrigue and great adventure!) of Martinique, but when I got home from taekwondo this evening I got sucked into an adaptation of War and Peace on the telly which is very gripping and I just can’t seem to tear myself away from it.

I’m trying to watch telly as much as possible in the hope that listening to more French will help my comprehension. But I’m finding it hard so far, partly because I’m not in the habit of staring at the goggle box - I only really watch Lost and Q.I. when I’m at home – but mostly because the programmes they show here are so terrible!

We have hours and hours of shite such as ‘Judge Judy’, ‘House Invaders’, ‘Jerry Springer’ and ‘Pop Idol’ dubbed into French. There are bizarre ‘Zouk’ channels that show what looks like home videos of old people dancing at parties, a Martinique music channel usually showing men dancing awkwardly on the beach while miming (badly) to some terrible rap song, and soap operas direct from Brazil and Mexico with names like ‘La Femme de Lorenzo’ and ‘Le Rose Sauvage’, which I’m sure I don’t need to tell you are all hideously bad.

So when something good is on I have to take the opportunity to watch it ...so the blog must wait I’m afraid!

Tremblement de Terre !

Before I launch into the dramatic events of yesterday I need to do a quick catch up. So here goes. I saw the doctor last week who told me I had a virus, which in my opinion is another way of saying I have no idea what’s wrong with you. Go away. But I feel a hundred times better now, largely due to having hired a car this week thus avoiding hours of carrying ten kilos of teachery stuff around, spending a ridiculous amount of time wandering around the supermarket during the two hour lunch breaks and waiting in the hot sun when already exhausted for stupid taxicos that never arrive. I’ve also found a car to buy (with the help of Lisette’s friend Jean Jaures (A.K.A David – weird nickname huh..?) which should, fingers crossed, be ready for me to collect next week.

So anyway, time for the drama...

Yesterday when I was heading back to the car after having spent an hour on the beach at Tartane (one of my new after-school activities since having a car), something very peculiar happened. My legs started shaking quite violently. Thinking I must have overdone the exercise this week and silently cursing my aging limbs, I carried on walking. But then I started feeling like my stomach was wobbling too. Baffled I looked around for the car thinking I’d better put myself to bed early and get some rest tonight. ...And it was only then that I noticed that in fact it wasn’t me that was shaking. It was the rest of the world!

My little car was lurching backwards and forwards, the trees and lamp posts were waving madly and the ground looked like it was rippling. Everyone on the beach was rushing around in a panic but no one seemed to have any idea what to do. And being somewhat of an earthquake novice myself I wasn’t sure what to do either. I decided to get out of the way of the trees – seemed sensible as they looked as if they might fall any minute - and stand still (or try to – difficult when walking on a huge earth jelly) in the middle of the car park.

And so I stood there, bemused rather than scared, and watched the bizarre spectacle of the earth shuddering, as if trying to shake us annoying humans off its back.

There had been another earthquake two days earlier but it was less intense (and I didn’t feel it as I was driving a very noisy rattling Citroen Saxo at the time) and of course there was the one which terrorised Courtney in the night a week or so ago too. So when this one started I wasn’t too concerned. I thought it would be a minor tremor, a bit of a grumble and then back to business as usual. So when it was still going after what felt like about thirty seconds, I started to realise it was probably quite serious.

In fact this earthquake measured 7.4 on the Richter scale and even made it onto the BBC news website. It might have just been a slow day for stories of course but when I got home after going out for dinner with Courtney (did I mention that having a car is AMAZING!) I even had emails and messages from people at home who were worried I might have perished.

All the schools in Martinique were closed today so they could be inspected by safety officers, which meant the weekend started early for me. So I used my extra day to get all my boring shopping and tidying out of the way. And tomorrow Courtney and I are driving up to pick up Nick at his house and then try and retrace our terrifying bus-on-cliff face journey up to Anse Couleuvre that we made last weekend on the boat trip day.

I LOVE having a car!