Well, that was not so bad - must have been Pokarekare Ana and the haka that did it

Dawn from our house

Turns out French students are not so terribly different from the kind I'm used to at home: possibly more polite, and definitely better dressed, but otherwise fairly closely related to the wider species, I'd say.

So, first lecture today. (What follows will be less than riveting unless you have an abiding interest in the minutiae of tertiary teaching. If that doesn't sound like you, skip ahead with my blessing! And even if it does sound like you, it may not be all that riveting anyway ...) First different thing: classes start/finish at 10 past the hour, rather than on the dot. Second different thing: the handheld mic. I've spoken of my fears of this before. Turns out I didn't need to worry about spontaneous song and dance routines, but only because I didn't use it. Have to next time, though, as one poor young soul told me AT THE END OF THE LECTURE that he'd sat through 2 hours not understanding a single thing and could I pleeeeease use the microphone next time. I said that would be fine, as long as he could find me a song to accompany a class on the similarities and differences between presidential and parliamentary democracies (thanks, Chris ...). Not sure he'll be back. Third different thing: whereas in NZ students must enrol in a class before attending, for my course here they are not obliged to formally enrol until 3 weeks out from the exam. Which means they come and go as they wish, sampling this course and that - and that I have no idea how many people will be in the lecture theatre from week to week, and cannot assume they'll have read what I'd like them to. On the subject of reading: they laughed - not unkindly; more in a sympathetic sort of way, or perhaps in shock - when I suggested they might like to read a couple of academic articles a week to flesh out the lectures. Turns out that was not good form on my part - the curriculum lies in what I say, rather than in the readings ...

Cakes ...

Anyway, it was interesting, and I enjoyed it. On other fronts: Rosalie continues to grapple with the French education system. Working on the principle (if it can be called that) that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, we're keeping her in the local primary school. It cannot be all that much fun sitting for 6 hours a day in an environment most of which is incomprehensible, but she's getting there. She was Called To The Blackboard again yesterday - and aced the long division! Go her. And today she went skiing for the day - that is not only better than being Called To The Blackboard, it is also, in my view, better than cross-country running, swimming or athletics. Rosalie is largely of that view, too, although she appears to have experienced the same sorts of challenges in arresting forward momentum as I had some weeks back ...

Where we were on the weekend

Cam is struggling manfully with her frantically busy days, which at this point entail the following activities (the precise combination of which, I am assured, varies in small but important respects from day-to-day): getting out of bed, having breakfast, reading, Facebooking, and doing dishes. And shopping (for 13-hole Dr Martens and such like). I think that's all. Nope - sometimes (to her credit) she tosses in voluntary stints at the cute wee library down the hill. And of course there's the promise of the 1-day course in the Army to look forward to.

And Ema is busy catching up on nearly 20 years worth of tv, films, books and popular culture; friends and family; and mountains. On the subject of friends, last weekend we went to Voiron, which is not only the place Ema's grandparents are buried, but also where good friends live. Food, of course, featured large. Oysters and foie gras - again - were on the menu (see earlier posts on this). But - and this bit's for Craig and Regina, and for anyone still convinced of the merits of kiwi fruit wine and such like - so did 2 seriously good wines from Bourdeaux. So that was all right then.

Much of the rest of it is strangely quotidian: travelling by bus and tram to work, shopping, cooking, keeping an eye on the budget, blah de blah. But then you look out the window, or think about the trip in a fortnight to Venice, and it becomes something else ...