Notes from a small suitcase

This is a blatant lie. My suitcase is not small, the problem is probably the amount of rubbish I’m trying to pack into it. In fact I don’t believe I can get one an awful lot larger than I have… I’m leaving on Sunday and my general unpreparedness is worrying. I do have somewhere to live, and as Ford Prefect urges I have a towel. Two actually, bath sheets the pair of them. Taking a leap into the unknown is a worrying thing to do, but I do feel sometimes like a mountain is being made out of a mole-hill, albeit a reasonably sized mole-hill.

Everything happened, as usual, at the last moment. The bank have been unhelpful, the tax man more so. Sometimes I feel quite glad to be leaving Britain behind, but it’s more than just unhelpful functionaries. Saying that my French and German friends are, by and large, already in abroad, which means I’m a long way behind them, some have even been issued with their chalk and set to getting dusty teaching.

And so, I shall now go and stamp on my suitcase and bully the contents into submission. Huzzah!

La France

So I found out where I’ll be teaching next year. I’ve been posted to a place an hour north of Strasbourg, with a pathetic train service. I’ve thought about getting a car, but that doesn’t solve getting from the Eurostar/Airport to wherever it may be that I end up living. It’s certainly an interesting predicament, but saying that I still haven’t introduced myself to the school yet, which is something I should probably do sooner rather than later. As I feel just a little bit ill from too much alcool yesterday I suspect I ought to put this off until tomorrow. I’m told no-one will be reading it until la rentrée in September, but it’s probably better to organise things sooner rather than later in the vain hope that someone will reply. I’m quite excited about the whole thing really, but strangely not as worried and anxious as I might expect. I’m sure they will come in time.