Where it's at (no dj equipment will be mentioned in this blog entry)

For a refreshing change, here are some photos of me drunk in Toulouse. One even features me in a lift. I'll leave it to you to guess which

Have you ever noticed how funny it is to eat a banana? I found myself just now winding through the streets of Toulouse, lit for the first time in about 2 weeks in beautiful autumnal sunshine (the weather here has been terrifyingly english of late), riding high and no handed on my beautiful shiny bicycle which I am hiring for 2€ a day from the Toulouse city council, eating a banana in the 'pull off a section and pop it in the mouth' style unable to supress a small laugh and a grin as I watched the good people of france go about their day unbanana-ed. Imagine the joy of a man with a banana and a bike, viewing the general public who had none and you will be close to sharing the fun.

This anecdote, apropos of nothing, heralds in the latest edtion of my life in which an element of stability has finally been acheived. I mark it down here in unwithering digital posterity as a reminder of the difference between that which you imagine will make you happy and that which actually has the power to do so.

Things are going from good to still good at the Alliance Francaise. It's something of a drain of the savings, but infinitely worth it in it's capacity to give me a reason to get up in the morning (class starts at nine!) and a way of meeting lots of nice people (virtually all spanish and german, but hey) who have nothing to do but enjoy themselves and speak french. My routine is this: Get up and go to class, buying a croissant or a pain au chocolat en route (I've paid for breakfast in this mad house but my hostess doesn't feel the need to buy anything) where I remain until 12:30. I then go with a group of espagnophones (I may have made this word up, it means spanish and south american people) to what is luxuriously known as Le Restaurant Universitaire which is basically an uber-sized canteen serving up slop for the students at remarkable prices. Seriously though. The food is great. After lunch I slope into town to find a cafe with some folk and discuss aspects of the french language or just life in general with my co-students (this is where I get to do all my french speaking at the moment). Then it's siesta time from 4 till 6. Then I do my homework like a good boy, and then I go out to a bar. That's it. Every day! And it's great.

I'm going to do one more month I think, taking me to the end of Level 6 (of a possible 7 or 8 depending on the size of the current student population at the start of a given month) which, from what I've seen of those that are nearing the end of this level, will give me a good working knowledge of the language and, more importantly, an ability to actually understand what's being said to me, rather than just catching a general drift. This will be mighty fine.

I'm still waiting to hear from "the clown who don't frown" (I just thought of that. Maybe I should go into advertising...) about my forthcoming McEmployment but I spoke this weekend to the manager, who actually seems like a nice normal human being, unlike the manager of a McDo in the UK who I'm sure would not have the time for a pleasant chat with someone coming to his or her place of work with broken english asking for a job. He said that it's far from extraordinary to wait two or three weeks before hearing anything as the application form has to go off to some distant sorting office for processing, flavourising, odourising and putting into a bun. I wait patiently for my response.

What I should really do now is go back and read my previous post as I can't remember whether or not I've already said that I've found an appartment... but I have. I'm in serious danger of repeating myself here so skip ahead if you need to.

Twas a rainy day in the south-west of france. When it rains here it really goes for it. It's been hailing a few times to. This would never have happened if the french had said oui to the EU constitution... I was in the southern reaches of this city with the english friend who I met through a Cambridge friend who I stayed with for a week when I was first here (that seems like not only a different city but a whole different lifetime). You can see my post sometime around the start of August or end of July for full details and a photo! We went to the cinema which was showing a french film, in french, with no subtitles, which I found frankly selfish but I went along for the ride nonetheless (how do you write that? Is it hyphenated or different words or what? Any linguists out there...). When I returned to Jonny's superb glistening flat I was soaking wet and cold. I bemoaned the fact that I was finding it impossible to find anywhere to live and blah blah blah when out of the blue, in a voice that seemed not to understand the pain and anguish of the previous 20 fruitless days of searching, Jonny said "you can live here if you want". You can insert your own falling-off-chair style hyberbola of amazement here if you like but, needless to say, I was speechless. Here was an opportunity to live in perfect harmony in a super-swish flat with someone who I already know and who is fluent in french... safe.

Now I realise that this presents serious problems for my language-learning. I'll be living with an english guy who's been here for long enough to be over the excitement and to have started to have feelings of nostalgia for stuff like the BBC, but I really think that for 4 months or so, I could make my home life comfortable and pleasant in contrast to the hell of grease and noise that I'm sure will be McDo, and I have one week to make up my mind. Do I turn the offer down and carry on living with my fruitcake host "mother", vainly searching for a place that as far as I've seen doesn't exist. Do I bollocks. I said yes. In fact I said "yes please, that would be wonderful. Pluck me from my life of homelessness and obscurity and give me a place to be. A place with a double-bed and a fridge and a shower that works and cooker and a SENSE OF CONTROL OVER MY LIFE!". Or words to that effect.

So that's that. I'm moving in with an english guy on the first of October and there's nothing that anyone can do about it. You might as well save the condemning-to-monolingualism emails and instead write me that you think I've made a good decision and that I'm brave and handsome and great.

You don't have to do that of course...

All my lovin'

Rob