FRANCE - day 1

It's like Germany, but with more French people. Yeah. Well, I'm sitting here at 11.04 in a Berlin hotel suite, listening to a German version of Die Hard and chewing my lip. And now, I shall henceforth give a full and frank description of my time spent in France. Well, the first day anyway, as I really am far too goddamn lazy. La di da di da da da.

Day 1 - Friday 18th
Well, I got up at 3. DAMN. I didn't even know time EXISTED before 5am. It was odd. I had my first cup of coffee (black, lots of sugar) before hopping in the car and tootling down to school. The Hampton area is WEIRD in the early hours. Gone are the pikeys. Instead there are a bunch of random guys in bright orange jackets, cycling about, possibly sodomising each other in the cold street corners. Odd.

Now German Lethal Weapon 4 is on. Mel Gibson is oddly dubbed over. I didn't think it was possible to do a german accent with an australian twang and, uh, I've been proved right. It just sounds retarded.

So yeah, we arrive at school, and the first thing I see is Murray, with a backpack bigger than THE SUN. I mean, CHRIST. I know you're in CCF, but do you really need to bring all your clothes in a huge fuckin' camping pack? We're going to live in Marseille for 6 days, not the damn amazon rainforest for two years. Grr. Meanwhile, I had my HUGE holdall, with my 8 pairs of underwear (works out at 1.3 pairs per day, perfect for my extra leg and huge genitalia. Yeah.) which I gleefully used to squash everyone else's.
Also present in this crazy vaudenville we call life were Saz, Miles, some others, and JASON. The others need no introduction (well they do, but they're not getting one) but JASON. Jason is a huge indian guy with a beard and the worlds most hilarious laughter. Seriously, he GIGGLES like a girl. Its brill. Jason, seriously, needs his own fan club. In fact, he has one. NOW. It consists of me and Curry (who will be introduced later, bless his heart), and basically we parade about waving flags with Jason's adorable face on it. Yeah.
So, yeah, a while later, we were in Gatwick. After they had ascertained, repeatedly that yes, we were indeed not terrorists, we were finally allowed through security. Airport security really annoys me and I will blog about it later on, possibly after I've gone through the German equivalent which, I hear, is about 200x worse. Damn fuck shit. ANYWAY. We weren't terrorists -phew- but I did get some measure of amusement at finding out that J-Dog had managed to get a pack of razorblades through the security screening. BLESS HIS HEART, he'd forgotten he had them in his bag.
I had my second cup of coffee in the airport, and bought some batteries. I KNOW, big spender, eh?
Then, after about another 5 layers of security, we got onto the plane. I was struck at this point that riding on planes is like riding on buses. Its just a form of public transport that takes about 40000 hours to get onto. Wankers. I hope that planes start falling out of the sky again, for no reason. It would be HILARIOUS.
So yeah. On the plane, I listened to the Pixies (BAND) and screamed in frustration as I remembered that Parker pens leak like crazy in the air. I don't know why, they do. But my nice new trousers had permanent black ink on them for the remainder of the week. I had another cup of coffee on the plane. Mmm, coffee.
Skip to the end... we took a coach, train, then bus, and ended up at the lycee. On the way, I ascertained one important detail about France, which MUST NOT BE IGNORED:
French girls are FIT
Well, not the faces so much, but most of them have nice bodies. Me and Miles had a competition to spot the fat french girls, and over the week we only managed about 10. TEN. I get that many just rotating my head a fifth of a turn in London.
At this point, we met our correspondants. The meeting went off well, and the English/French were soon intermingled and joining forces to make a better, more unified world. I am of course being facetious. We looked at each other nervously, laughed, then slowly backed away into our separate countrymen. AND A GOOD THING TOO. We can't have the British/French intermingling. Imagine the CHILDREN. They would be weird tall plant people with huge noses and a terrible sense of direction, prone to spontaneously combusting at the first mention of the word 'lemons'. Christ.
Then, yeah, there was a tour of the lycee. I'm sure that this was very interesting, but the effects of the coffee had worn off, and I was in a serious coffee low, to the extent that I was only able to sing two lines of a Pixies song over and over again. Singing "I hate this street" gets old. Fast. So, yeah. But the lycee was very nice, and there were some quite good bits of machinery. Who am I kidding, I was paying no attention.
BUT THERE WAS SOME AMUSING grafitti on the tables, so that was good. And there were table football things. So, yeah.
I AM LOSING INTEREST IN THIS ALREADY. I cannot BELIEVE that you have read this far. You fucking losers.
Bla bla bla... we all stepped on Jason's shoes. AND GUESS WHAT? A certain member of the teaching staff once went out with Miles's mum. Hahahahhahahahhahahahhahahahahaha. Ah, clarkey, you legend.
So then I met my guy's mum. SHE IS SO NICE. She's like, nicer than Jesus. And jesus was a nice guy, in his pussy way. I mean, just because he got beaten up by a bunch of Italians who, lets face it, aren't the hardest race on earth (that honour goes to the Phippsys, a master-race of people fathered by ME) doesn't mean that he wasn't nice. Yeah.

Ok, I feel that a paragraph break is necessary here, just to break the monotony. BET YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING THAT, were you? Yeah, I bet the paragraph break gave you a damn heart attack. Twats. I'm missing a decent party to type this up, so you should be honoured. The fact that the party is taking place in a different country makes no difference whatsoever.

BAM. Another one. My initial plan (to speak as little french as possible) was scuppered almost immediately, by the discovery that Nicoz (my frenchy) had had pretty much the same idea, but in reverse. And, as it was his country, he had the advantage. So I was SCREWED. I actually had to speak FRENCH. Damn. Man, just you wait till you get to England, frenchy. I'm gonna be talking in the fastest, thickest, chav-tongue you ever heard. And I'll get really angry if you fail to understand anything.
NOT REALLY. The french are NICE. They were all lovely. And anyway, Nicoz had a big ol' selection of video games. Really, after you've blown up a car, hijacked the fire engine and run over 5 innocent pedestrians on GTA, you'll feel at home. Yep.

And after a meal of ham/cheese/potato things, and me making a really dipshit French error (I said "my mothers says today" - TODAY AND HELLO ARE SIMILAR SOUNDING IN FRENCH, YOU WANKERS) I collapsed into bed, a tired, quivering wreck. Yeah.

Stay tuned for football, anchovies, a town named after my least favourite person, and a techno remix of that sound your phone makes when you send a text message next to a radio

Honourary zombie killer: a German-speaking John Maclane