Monty P

While I was in Montpellier, (pronounced Monpullier) Monty P as I now fondly call it, I called the little flat I lived in home. I'd say things like "I'll just make some pasta when I get home" or "I've left my tram pass at home." But now when I say I'm home, I mean home. My cosy little apartment, full of my own things with Mr.K in Leeds, England. It's substantially colder here. And windier. Much, much windier. But I'll stay here anyway and still happily call it home.


My month in Montpellier was a blast. A blast of French language, French culture, sunshine, making new friends, taking photos, hugs and bisous from the cuties in my class, 3 chocolat chauds, 2 crepes and 2 nutella covered waffles, skyping (skyping was my miracle when I was missing Mr.K a lot), visiting Lyon and seeing Grays and Boome, teaching French children English songs, laughing at them when they sing Katy Perry and Pink then laughing even more when they accidentally sing 'raise your ass' instead of 'raise your glass'. I had lots of good times in Monty P. 


Now, on to the photos. Some of the photos. 

Warning: This piece of information will blow your mind.
This is painted! That's right, painted!

Note to Mr.K

Dear Dearest, 

Your back in England now. The homeland. I'm still here in France where it's sunny but cold. I have my observation this week and I really could have done with you being here for me to practice my French and for you to support me and keep me chilled out. We'll practice on skype though. When I was walking back from the bus stop earlier a... kind, old French lady asked me if I was ok. At least, I think that's what she said. I said yes and thanked her. I'm glad that you got to come out here for a week. But now I miss being with you in England and in Montpellier. But I'll make myself enjoy these last two weeks so that I have lots of stories to tell you. Anyway, there's only one more Sunday to go and then I'll be back in Leeds for the one after that. I miss you very much. I love you very much too though. Xxxx

(PS. I would have sent you this by text message, but that was before I found out it costs me 85p per text!!)

 

Lost in Translation

Quick post. Two funny(ish) things that have stemmed from my inability to speak French have happened whilst I've been here in Montpellier. The first was last Tuesday, my first day in school. The teacher was introducing me to the class and asked if I had come via Paris. I thought she had asked if I'd visited Paris, so I said yes. I did not come via Paris. She then asked me if I had come here by plane. (En Francais, aeroplane in avion.) I thought that she has asked me if I had ever been to Avignon. I said no. So my first lesson learnt was two fold. 1). My ability to understand French isn't that great. 2). If I can think of any way to respond to a question in French, even if I can only think of lie, if I can say it in French, I will say it.


The second thing happened in school with my teacher again. We were talking about a lesson that I was going to be teaching that afternoon and she asked me how long it would last. My answer was this "a peu pres trente ans". That mean's about thirty years. I wondered why Francoise (the teacher, how French is her name?!) looked a little bit surprised and confused. Then I realised that basically I'd just told her that I'd prepared a little English lesson that shouldn't last any longer than about thirty years. I think that she think's that I'm a moron. 

On the upside, Montpellier is beautiful. The weather is beautiful. And now that Mr.K is here, all is right with the world. (Apart from the fact that I missed my Mom's birthday yesterday. Happy Birthday Mom!)

En France

Montpellier is beautiful. It is expensive and people are very French. They walk around with baguettes and say "Ooh la la." Not really. Well, the baguette part is true, not so much the ooh la la. Also, they take their dogs everywhere. One on the tram yesterday licked my arm. 

Pictures will come when Mr.K brings my laptop next week. I miss my Mac. But I miss Mr.K the most of all.

Happy with my choices

15 year old self.

It's year nine, I'm fourteen years old and it's January. It's my friend's birthday party and it's a sleepover, but I'm not sleeping over because it's a Saturday night and I'm going to church the next morning. And that's the whole point. I'm not sleeping over because I'm going to church in the morning. And I'm happy with that choice. But it's not widely understood by my friends at the party. They don't understand why I can't just miss one Sunday.


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It's the same night. Same age, same party, same friends. Everyone is drinking a brightly coloured, sweet smelling alco-pop. I'm not. Even though "if you just drink this last mouthful there's not even that much alcohol in it!" They're my friends so they all know that I don't drink, but I've explained it again anyway. I'm happy that I've stuck to a choice that I've already made long before the party even started. It's not widely understood by my friends at the party. (But this time most of them don't mind so much because it means that there's a free alco-pop up for grabs.)


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It's year eleven. I'm fifteen years old, at school in my GCSE history class. We're learning about the American West during the time of the big immigration. Part of the syllabus is the Mormons. ("Does anyone know the proper name of the Mormon church?" "Yes Sir, it's The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints." The boy sat next to turns and ask "how the heck do you know that?" "I am one.") The history teacher is great. He tells loads of stories peppered with character voices, hyperbole and dramatics that captivate the class and genuinely make them interested in history. But some of his stories about the early Mormons in the American West aren't quite accurate and aren't quite as respectful as they might have been. The accuracy has nothing to do with the teacher, he only knows what is in the curriculum and he only knows about Mormons from a historical persepective, not a religious perspective. The slightly lacking respect however, was all him. My whole class knows that I'm a Mormon. They ask me questions about what they've been taught in our history class and I gladly answer them and sometimes correct their misunderstandings. Eventually the history teacher is told that I'm a Mormon and he apologises to me. I'm happy with my choice to talk about my faith with some of my classmates, but mostly they don't understand why I believe what I believe and most of them think that I'm a bit strange. 


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It's my first year of A-levels. I'm sixteen years old and in my second ever psychology class. My class has two teachers and this is the first time that I'm meeting my second teacher. Straight away she is very open about her sexuality and her atheist beliefs. She is very different from any teacher I've ever had before. We call her by her first name and she freely expresses her (extreme) opinions on God and religion. She asks if anyone in the class is religious. I look around. I raise my hand. I am the only one. She hones in on me and pelts me with questions. Are you a Christian? Which church? What do you believe in? Why? I was happy to answer her questions, but I was so aware of everyone staring at me and the slight tone of ridicule in her voice. I was happy to share my beliefs and I intended in time to make everyone in the class aware of them and my church membership. Eventually. But I want them to know me as Becky - the Mormon first, not 'The Mormon - oh, whats her name again?" I'm happy with my choice to raise my hand and answer the teachers questions, to declare my Mormonism to the whole class before I even know all of their names, but these strangers that were my classmates and my teacher didn't really understand my faith or why I believe. 


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I'm now in my third year of university. I've had more experiences like these, where I've explained to people about my faith, my beliefs, my religion. I'm happy with the choices that I've made to do this, my faith is a large, nay huge, nay massive part of who I am, but sometimes, because of my choices I've singled myself out, drawn a big red arrow above my head that points out that I'm different. And I'm happy with that. 


On Friday I go to France. I'll be there for a month with 11 other girls from my primary education course. I don't know any of these girls especially well and this is the first time that I'll have spent a lot of time with and lived with people that aren't Mormons too. They're nice girls, I know this for sure, so in this coming month I'm sure that I'm going to have many more opportunities to be with happy with choices to explain what being a Mormon is, what I believe and why I believe it. 


Here's to choices that we're happy with. Ching ching. 

The Flashing Lights of Christmas

This was taken last Christmas. I like this photo.

This Christmas has been a memorable one. Well, a memorable one and a not so memorable one. Some of this Christmas has been just like every other Christmas. I consider this to me a good thing. Family, carols, decorations, food, presents and lots of reruns on TV. Typical Christmas. And there isn't anything wrong with a typical Christmas. In fact, it's predictability is one of the comforts of Christmas. The jolly, merry surety of it all. 


Well, for me & Mr. K this Christmas was the start of a new Christmas groove. With it being our first as a married couple. We have to balance ourselves between our two families and make time to start a few new traditions of our own. That is no easy feat I tell you. 


So, we spent a quite Christmas morning by ourselves, opening our presents and drinking a cold Coke from a glass bottle. (This is one of our traditions) Then we hot footed it over to Grimsby, where all of Mr.K's family lives for Christmas dinner. Momma K sure knows how to organise a dinner. She said dinner is at 12, and it was. Almost exactly. That woman has a talent for organising dinners. After we'd had dinner, a few more presents, a chat and a nap me & Mr.K left for Sheffield. And this is where the memorable (memorable as in what happened was not part of the usual Christmas groove) portion of Christmas took place. On the way out of Grimsby, as we casually drove along, listening to the Glee version of O Holy Night, we see blue flashing lights in the rear view mirror. We got pulled over. On Christmas day! We were certain that we weren't speeding. And obviously we weren't drunk. The car is insured and all of the lights work. So, after Mr.K had spent 10 minutes sat in the police car and after he'd done a breathaliser that can back at 0.000 they sent us on our way. I was terrified. That was my very first run in with the police. And I wouldn't like it to happen again. So when we eventually got to Sheffield, we had more food, more presents, more family and more games. Comfortable Christmas. 


And now that Christmas is over I'm starting to get nervous about going to France. Christmas was the big event that stood between me and going to France. And now Christmas is over. So France is the next thing. Je dois apprendre francais rapidment. 

Post it notes

Yesterday, I went post it note crazy. I now have post it notes on everything from the wall, curtains, oven, tooth brush, laptop and everything in between. I don't just have random post its everywhere for no reason though. There is a purpose. And the purpose is to help me to learn French. And I think it's working. Mr.K keeps randomly testing me and I seem to be able to remember quite a lot of them. So I recommend the post it note method of learning!

I'm just on my little lunch break from university at the minute and before I go back for my afternoon lectures I have quite a lot to do.

1). Put out the wet washing.

2). Finish making notes from my French lecture.

3). Review the presentation I have to give in my lecture this afternoon.

4). Make a list of presents to buy for Mr. K for Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas presents I found two Christmas presents that Mr.K had hidden for me the other day. I found them and a looked at them. Completely ruined the surprise. Then a few days later I completely accidentally stumbled across another present (yes I'm a very lucky girl and I obviously have quite a lot of presents already) while Mr.K was in the room. He made a big fuss about ruining the surprise and then I told him that I'd found another two. He was quite mad with me. Actually, not so much as angry but disappointed. Which is worse. I've promised not to look for anymore presents. And I haven't. And I won't. I want to though. But I won't.

Bad News & Good News

The last few days have been busy. Mr. K & I went to my parents house on Sunday for lunch. I always love going back to my parents house. It still feels like home. Well, it is still home. I was absolutely amazed at how much my brother Rich has changed. He is taller, skinner and has a jaw line now! Anyway, while we were at my Mum's house Mr. K got the phone call he's been expected for the last month. His Aunty has cancer and finally on Sunday night the cancer won. Mr. K was a little upset. Not for himself and his own loss & grief but upset for the pain that he knew that his Mum would be feeling. Momma K is a sensitive woman. So on Monday, I had no lectures and Ross took a compassionate day so we could go to Grimsby & spend the day with the family. Despite the circumstances it was actually a very nice day. The funeral is next Tuesday.

Yesterday was another busy day. Tuesdays are always busy. I have a very full day at university. Tuesday is French day though, so I actually quite enjoy it, no matter how much I might complain about it. Anyway, because I'm doing French electives this year, it means that I have the chance to maybe go and do my teaching practice in France this year. I decided that I want to do it. So did everyone else in my class, which is where the problem comes from. There are only 15 spaces to go and 18 people want to fill them. Simple maths says that that isn't possible. So after weeks of waiting, yesterday I finally found out that I was one of the lucky ones. So on January 2nd I fly out to France for a month of teaching FRENCH children in FRENCH. Maybe you think that that's an obvious point to note. But do you have any idea how terrifying that concept is for someone that doesn't speak French & hasn't studied it for 3 years. I'll tell you, it's very terrifying. Luckily for me though, Mr. K served his mission in Southern France, so he speaks fluent French. He helps me a lot. So speaking of my lack of French ability reminds me that I need to go do some more work. A bien tot!