Parliament, Hike, Hair

Best hair reactions:

  • Gran “Best to do that sort of thing when you’re out of the country”
  • Andie “So did you misread the packet and it was meant to be red?”

It puts me in mind of a poem brought in by Ruth to an English secondary school class, possibly first year:

Warning by Jenny Joseph

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Always struck a chord with me, not sure why 😉 Minus the sausages. Yuck.

Anyway, so I’ve just about got over having to run to my mirror every 15 minutes and grinning maniacally while saying “ARGH MY HAIR IS PURPLE YAY” (In the midst of intense revision here, cut me some slack.) Life chundles on, leaping towards my departure, a fact which is really not helped by one of main topics of acquaintance-level conversation being “Will you be glad to be home? Will you miss France?”.

  • Yes it will be lovely to see my Scottish friends again; no it will not be nice to leave my French, English, American friends behind.
  • I will love not having to stress about proper grammar in my speech; le fait de parler en francais semi-courrament va me manquer.
  • Having a proper kitchen and bathroom will be fantastic; the bother of finding a flat / mate leaves me unmoved (on that note, if anyone’s looking for a flat/mate in the West End, please do let me know – hard to be motivated from so far away!).

Basically, there is a mix of positives and negatives in any situation. But fresh from about 4 sermons in a row on how God has a plan for our lives and is in control, I’m not too worried. To go Spanish on you, Qué sera, sera… whatever will be, will be. Erasmus has been and continues to be amazing (apart from the small matter of studying for exams) and I’m still here for a month, which is 1/9th of my total time in France after all.

Dwelling on the past and worrying about the future are both a waste of time. My aim is to rejoice in and make the most of opportunities in the here and now, so that future Sarah in a stray period of reminiscing never does say “I wish past Sarah had just gone on that trip / taken that chance to relax / had that picnic in the park / got off her bottom and done some work!” (Yes, I’m aware that this makes me sound mildly schizophrenic, but that’s how the inner monologue of Sarah rolls.)

The journal:

That’s Parliament finished, terminating in some of the most random assignments of the year. I’m so glad my Higher Modern Studies has come in handy in answering the questions about the Welfare State from some student in at Herriot Watt university.

Last “life in France” blog, I believe I forgot to inflict upon y’all the song that I was currently singing. Last time, it was definitely Gotye’s Somebody That I Used To Know. While revising and writing this blog in between times, “I love Rock and Roll” came into my head… took a while before I realised the last time I’d belted that out was on a tiny foam-raining German dancefloor. Don’t think I needed those memories coming back, but there you go.


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