Fox en France Ep.2: Rennes, Forrest, Rennes!

Wednesday 28th Sept

During the day time when we’re exploring nearby towns and sorting out paperwork or when I’m with my colleagues and being shown round the school, I feel almost calm and like this year is going to be weird, different, but really cool and quite special.

Brittany cider ain't bad

But then I get home... And I still have no oven, the kitchen light doesn’t work and I potentially may never have housemates – and after Leeds, which had one of the former and eight of the latter, this is taking some serious adaptation already. My solution is to get a radio hooked up ASAP and find the French equivalent of Capital. Or something.

The paperwork continues to be on top of me and I may in fact purchase an avalanche alarm for when the ever-growing pile inevitably topples over and buries me for days.

Shockingly, the language barrier is actually the easiest part of the culture shock so far, and as of this moment I’ve only once needed to actively stop someone talking and tell them I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on.

SO:

Clouds: Kitchen lighting iffy, public transport a mystery, am potentially only 20 year old in Brittany, will have “ADMIN OVERLOAD” on gravestone.

Silver linings: Saw a beaut medieval town, am breathing, I found out my official address and I literally live on a “boulevard”. How’s that for a classy French year abroad?

Thursday 29th Sept

Place de la République, Rennes

Good day: drove over to Rennes (making the most of my dad’s car…) to meet a Leeds friend who goes to university there. It’s a gorgeous town with lots of old buildings and pretty streets, great shops and three/four universities so loads of young people (nearly fell over at the sight of people my age). It was great meeting some of the uni students there and knowing that I have people to see if I ever manage to sort transport from this little place.

The wifi/SIM card debacle ceases to end and I have now more confusing options, a SIM I may or may not be able to use, and dying hope for the future. Just kidding, that’s a bit pessimistic. My hope is not dying but rather just pretty seriously ill. Comatose. Very, dormant, like a volcano you let tourists potter around on because it hasn’t surfaced for literal millennia. Anyway.

I am trying to listen to French radio to feel all French and like a properly dedicated language student immersing herself in the target language but I’m very certain the station I found this morning just made a horrific joke about Syrian child refugees using a remix of the “Bear Necessities” from the Jungle Book. So I think I need a different station.

....Aaaand the song that just played on the new station is one I’ve already heard twice yesterday. I feel like French pop is even more limited than I thought.

SO:

Clouds: iii-soooo-laaaaa-tion, noticing the echoes in my apartment, French radio is like being submitted to a 24/7 special of Eurovision.

Silver linings: Rennes is lovely, my colleagues are so kind, and my balcony gets loads of sun during the day.

Fox en France Ep 1: It's Brittany, bitch.

Right well, here I am, overtired and baffled, sitting along in a big, big flat somewhere in France. It is a ridiculously big flat and I’m still a bit confused as to if/where other flatmates might appear from but at least it’s very very nice and brand new. Clothes away, diffuser out (rooms that smell good are A*) and I even have a microwave (this morning I had pretty much zero furniture). I even have two irons and a big sofa, a desk in my room and lots of chairs. Lots of chairs. I hope I make some friends to sit in them or I’ll be going all Marius-in-Les-Mis (“Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”, for those less in the know).

I met some of the other English teaching staff today, and had lunch with them – they all seem lovely. Some are even kind enough to speak to me in English a bit. Nadine said she could drive me to the shops every week, so she’s currently top of the bae list. They have also told me I am not allowed to speak French to any of the students, nor tell them I can speak French at all (ha - oh no, how terribly difficult that will be). 

Meanwhile, others only spoke French to me and I actually kept up (surprised). They chatted a lot about previous-assistant-Brian, who was American. He, and I quote, “had a very kamikaze approach. Oh he was such good fun! Didn’t speak a word of French”. This means I have such a lot, but also so very little, to live up to there – so thank you, Elusive Brian.

They all admit that public transport is genuinely a bit of an issue here, but a lot of them commute to other towns so hopefully I can nab a few rides. There was a bit of grimacing when I said I didn’t have a car (great) so that bodes well.

So I am here. Bit scared but hopefully tomorrow’s big admin day will help sort my main questions (am I seriously living alone in an apartment that the Von Trapps could comfortably inhabit? Where’s that pesky oven at? Etc)

Bring on da cheese.

Sobbing to my dentist & talking to cats

“Ooh, a year abroad! How exciting,” smiles the dental hygienist, putting on plastic gloves. “Where are you going?” 

There is a moment where I almost say Sydney. Toronto. Los Angeles. Heck, I almost say Melbourne, I even almost say Paris. Because then at least I haven’t lied about the country.

I swallow. “Brittany.” Silence. Does she need clarification? “Northern France.”

She is polite, and if surprised, she hides it well. “Lovely! You study French?” she coos, getting out the mini-mirror. I nod but say nothing. Mostly because there’s a mirror now wedged in my mouth.
“That must be beautiful! By the coast?” And it’s tempting to just murmur "mmmhmm" or some sort of affirmative, and be done with it. Because if I say no, she’ll look confused, and I’ll want to explain, and I’m worried it’ll all come out in one gushing torrent (tears and all) and she won’t be able to stop me even with a local anesthetic and dental drill:

No, not by the coast. Central Brittany – in what seems to be the only non-coastal town – and a tiny town at that. Smaller than Leeds by about six hundred thousand people, smaller than Guildford by about fifty thousand people. Tiny. An hour and a half from the capital city of Brittany. But you can get there by train? No, no train. But by bus? Nope. Two hours, sure, by getting a train north for an hour then southeast for an hour. The two longer sides of an isosceles. You see?! I'm so wound up and nervy I've managed to remember the word "isosceles"!

Didn't you pick where you were going? Only by vague region. But… there
will be another assistant, right? At your school? Apparently not. But there’ll be stuff going on in the town, right? All French towns have things going on! Well, a terrifying night using Google street view promised a few restaurants, a couple of banks and a MacDonalds. The height of French culture and cuisine, clearly. That night ended in sniffles, some hyperventilation and snapping my laptop shut so quickly in frustration I almost cracked the screen.

So all in all, it takes four hours to travel anywhere of note, I have hundreds of free hours per week but nothing to do with them, and am scared I’ll have fewer friends than when I was four years and old and went to nursery in Switzerland and everyone spoke French but me. Haha, oh wait, it's France, so it’s exactly like that time I went to nursery in Switzerland and everyone spoke French but me.

I can’t help but think it’s just another smidge of proof that if my life were transformed into a script and popped on Channel 4, it’d be the new farcical, Miranda-esque show for Britain to laugh at. "Rural" doesn’t even cover what’s happening to me. Come on, guys, show’s over, time to reveal the cameras. Nice prank! Where am I really going on my picturesque, romantic, chic French year abroad eh?
No?
For real?
Okay.

I'm worried I may devolve into a socially inept creature who scuttles around on all fours and speaks to cats. Or something. I’ll be rooting through people’s bins by fourth year!!! Look out, the Menace of Hyde Park strikes again!

That said, I know it's only daunting because it's a mystery. Certainly a mystery, but I’m sure I’ll live. It’ll be fun and great and I just need to have a lot of faith and hold tight, etc. etc. etc., thank you all for your advice and support. Expecting the worst means it must be better in comparison. It’ll be so different from anything else and today’s shudder-inducing nightmare is tomorrow’s hilarious blog post and so on. Yas yas.

...At the end of the day, in that dentist’s chair, I do just smile and nod ambiguously. Suuuure, it’s by the coast, why not? The woman isn’t a therapist so she doesn’t need me bursting into tears and sobbing until I choke to death on her dental implements. That’s not a fun day out for anybody.

I am so intrigued – perhaps almost excited? – to see how this year pans out. Expect blogs, maybe lots of them. Apart from that, expect absolutely nothing. Because I really, really don’t know what to expect myself.

Growing up with NCS

Brief silence. A hand shoots up. “Social enterprise is, like, when Jamie Oliver teaches homeless people to cook, right? Social enterprise is a charity business.” A small pause as she recalls the second question I’ve asked her. “Oh, and I want to work in events management.” And so another year as Summer Staff at NCS with the Challenge is well underway. I’m lost for words as I look at my team of Young People. Although they have already impressed me last week with rock climbing, hiking and canoeing, showing fearsome team support and bonding as soon as Day One, today already seems to be topping even that.

Next. “I want to work in artificial intelligence.” “Um, graphic design.” “I’d quite like to… Be Prime Minister.” Oh right – nothing too difficult, then. Was I this sorted when I was sixteen? Surely not. This lot are incredible.

Although, after five summers at NCS with the Challenge, I should have learned: they always are. A fact completely unanticipated in July 2012 when, a week before the London Olympics began, I sobbed in the car, begging my mum to take me back home. “I don’t want to go! It’s going to be… Weird!” the sixteen-year-old me whimpered. “I won't like anybody!”

Yet four years later, and the Rio Olympics in the limelight, I'm still coming back for more, and not one year of my journey with NCS has failed to impress or amaze me. Starting with my own 2012 experience as a participant after my GCSEs, completing two years of volunteering as an Associate Mentor then Senior Associate Mentor, and then beginning my journey as a Senior Mentor in 2015, I truly have seen the ins and outs of the entire programme and feel lucky to know both sides of the process. How I respected my Senior Mentor four years ago continues to inspire me as I work with my own team now, and my own memories of my time on NCS with The Challenge give me absolute faith that with the right encouragement and empowerment, every single young person we work with has the potential to achieve incredible things.

(Clockwise from top left) Me as a participant in 2012; me as a member of staff 2016: during the talent show, Dragons Den day, dressed as a "Roadman" by my team

Hiking on the Isle of Wight, 2015

I used to think, in fact, that NCS attracted the best of the best (how else would team after team after team succeed so perfectly and be so motivated, intelligent and hard-working? How else would I see so many original campaigns and inspiring speeches?) – young people who were without fail driven, kind, supportive, eager to be creative and willing to volunteer. The stars of their school, the rare gems of their community. I was astounded that whatever the challenge, they managed to take responsibility, think for themselves and make a difference. However, I was wrong. NCS does not simply bring in a specific streamlined breed of young people who are all automatically equipped to inspire and destined to change the world. Instead, the NCS programme has the ability to include and involve any single young person in the country, and then coax out that inevitable, dazzling talent within them – regardless of who they are. That’s right – watch out, world. They are all capable.

And when it comes to raw material to work with, we are ready for, and actively welcoming of, anything. The entire programme is about social mixing and inclusivity – any background or past is welcome and an astonishing number of tailored staff roles are at hand to cater for any severity of anything from a physical disability, to a mental illness, to a learning difficulty. Rest assured that you will be on a learning curve, no matter the part you play, but the challenges faced become the glue between a staff team, the bond between young people, and ultimately the most valuable lessons each participant takes with them for life. ‘Challenge yourself’ is on our code of conduct, and with good reason.

It has been a joy to watch NCS with The Challenge develop since I first became involved: only six years after the initial pilot of the programme, the ball is well and truly rolling, and I have faith that the momentum won’t be lost any time soon. NCS does not simply tell the young people of today to go into their communities and change what isn’t good enough; it shows them how to do so, and then encourages them to do it themselves. If ‘teaching a man to fish lets him eat for life’, then NCS is the equivalent of teaching a person the necessary skills to fish sustainably, to create a fishing business and then to divide produce amongst those unable to fish themselves… With some guidance on campaigning for endangered fish in their free time.

So… Why do NCS with The Challenge? Why work with us? Why participate?

I've been to Sussex. Durham. Isle of Wight. Devon. I’ve visited countless charities, businesses and local high streets. I've managed teams, made films, organised talent shows, directed workshops, been moved to tears, been confided in, and been utterly humbled. I’ve had Total Eclipse of the Heart sung to me while frozen with fear at the top of a high ropes course. I’ve had my hand grabbed as I jump, shrieking, into the sea. I’ve campaigned about social media and mental illness in teens, given speeches on the dangers of stereotyping, visited Make-A-Wish foundation, listened to stories about the Second World War from people who were there. Now, years later and a member of staff, I’ve performed S Club 7 tributes, been dressed up as a “roadman” (twice), witnessed the most seemingly unlikely friendships grow time and time again until I have come to expect them, dealt with complex situations I never thought I would, learnt to cherish the unexpected, held myself and others together (and in turn been held together too), watched fundraisers and performances of a lifetime, been made to laugh until I was in pain – and it’s my job. Is it any wonder that four years on, I still consider NCS an essential part of my summer?

I genuinely believe that NCS with The Challenge is the beginnings of the revolution of thought we so badly need in this society and across the globe. Social mixing, acceptance, respect, team-building and communication are being instilled from the ground up, from the generations that will form our future leaders and communities. NCS with The Challenge is encouraging, year by year, the foundations of the change our messy society is thirsting for, through a committed ethos of inspiration and social action.

Current affairs may seem bleak, but have faith: there are good things coming… And while they may be only sixteen years old today, just you wait. They could well change the world.

Second Year was a BLAST

I have done a lot of very heavy writing lately. And there is plenty more of that dark and dreary "what has our world come to, oh god no not Donald Trump" stuff to come, fear not, but for a light-hearted twist in the meantime, here are some fun facts about my second year of university. 

SRA tings

When I wear fresh jeans, I spill something on them within the hour.

Hélena

Scott Mills holds a special place in my heart.

Fun nicknames make things more fun.

Unless that nickname is “bindog”.

I enjoyed briefly having a manservant called Josué.

Precisely 57 mochas can get you through three horrific pieces of coursework.

I really like talking about cinéma du look.

Parkour is one of life’s true delights.

Chicken and chorizo is a staple.

You can plan to dress up as “the sun” but end up wearing blue with butterfly stickers on your forehead.

Don’t get Windows 10.

'Sun, sea 'n' sand'

Horace & Frédéric

It’s best not to tread in sick when wearing flares.

Avoid Nigel.

If I tell the Young People I’m working with that they have to keep going to the top of climbing wall, they will force me in turn to climb to the top of Jacob’s Ladder.

Lille is a cool place.

Even if you decide to enter the Student Radio Awards five days before the deadline, you can still cobble together a passable entry. Ish.

Ordering nachos with a pal and eating them in bed is great.

...Going out six days in a row is not. Can confirm - am not 18 any more.

If a taxi driver says “it’s my first day, you’re the boss now! Where are we going?” and I’m in the passenger seat, be worried.

Fringes aren’t bad at all.

First Aid Kit can get you through some tough(ish) times.

Fairytale of Hyde Park

Cardiff feels like a long drive away if you’re relatively ill.

You can start and finish Gossip Girl in one academic year and still pass your exams.

It’s possible to dress as a flirty penguin.

If someone isn’t very nice say goodbye to them!!!! Maybe forever!! Prioritise yourself lol!!!

Bonsais and oaks are both great.
Rewrite The Pogues' lyrics and get interviewed by The Tab.

I can get lost even when using a SatNav.

Always agree to face paint at charity festivals. You might get paid in wine.

Belgrave is where dreams are made.

I hope your year has been just as enlightening.

- xoxo Gossip Fox

don't even know who

The Cha-Cha Slide Taught Me Nothing Part II: How to MOVE ON

So, well over a month ago, I wrote about "disappointment". What do we do when potential dream-shattering is on the horizon? Relax, I said, and if that sweet old disappointment hits you, learn and do better next time, basically. Great advice from me, congratulations, I've solved all of your problems, yes?

Oh.

I was lucky (or worked quite hard. Either way): on 5th November I escaped the fiery claws of gnawing disappointment. But post by writer and friend Megan: "The Cha-Cha Slide Taught Me Nothing Part I" reinforced that actually, in so many realms of life, you just don't. You can't just act like it's a Year 3 birthday party and "Reverse, reverse!" your way back through the crap. You can't scream "EVERYBODY CLAP YOUR HANDS!" and expect the world to be rectified. You'll get upset and properly well confused innit, and when it comes to the bit where you gotta "Charlie Brown", you'll be all over the shop.

Who actually knows how to Cha-Cha?

The disappointment or general upset inevitably comes, be it in work, school, university or your personal life (or conveniently out of the blue for no reason whatsoever but that stress packs a punch anyway), and you need to be prepared with 'the next step'. Sometimes, it just is not as easy as taking a deep breath and saying you will do better next time. Sometimes, it knocks you very, very hard.

Megan and I have turned our posts into a collaboration of two parts: hers about the moment when you go back to something because it's familiar, against all better advice or judgement. She also admits it's not healthy to do so, but it may well be a natural human trait that lets us cave so easily. We have teamed up to decide what comes next: whether a personal story like Megan's, a bad grade you didn't want, or just an utterly terrible day/week/month where I-don't-mean-to-exaggerate-or-anything-but it feels like the sun quite possibly won't rise the next day, I'm considering what you might be able to do in that situation.

If it's at this point, it has already gone too far.

A friend said recently that in a tough situation, you have to "power on through". I disagree: you do not always need the power. It may well help, at times, but as long as you are getting through in any way available, that may be the utmost you can do. Powering through with the force of a thousand vodka-fuelled Freshers at a pub crawl is just fabulous when you have the energy, the motivation, the wind in your hair and you haven't just skipped your sixth lecture of the week (and Christ, I don't even have six lectures in a week so that's quite a triumph). ...What about the other times? When you feel feeble and very, very "un-okay" - and whether you deal with this by flouncing about from room to room declaring it to everybody who has a pulse, or just repeating it to yourself very, very quietly without anybody else having the slightest clue - "power" is the last thing you may be able to conjure up when it comes to feeling better. You haven't got the power to, um, power through. Yet you could crawl or just sort of... fester with some vague direction, and at some point you will magically be at the other side.

And it gets better: this will always apply. I'm only a lowly arts student, but I do not need a science degree to tell you that time will always go on. Whatever there is to "get through" will eventually be the past, and as Megan suggested - maybe that's where it should stay.

Seriously

So just keep plodding on. Keep plugging away at everything, chipping away at any horrible-ness of this week or the week before, and don't be disheartened if today feels, hope-crushingly, just like yesterday did. Whether it's a 2:2 on an essay that wasn't even assessed, somebody you cannot bear to let go of, or anything more serious: do not be disheartened. If you won't believe me when I say it, take it from a whingey ginger kid instead:

Are u sure tho Annie bbe?

Because "moving on" only really requires one thing: moving. And nobody is telling you how quickly you should move.

Let the soothing, trashy pop of the 2000s help you along your way.

For more advice on how to cope with stress, specifically at university, see this article from #SpiceUKOnline. As mentioned in the article, please seek help if stress or negative feelings are persistently affecting your life.

OUCH! Yeah, that's disappointment.

It’s the last day before the Easter holidays. My eyes are watering. There’s glitter in them. It’s prickling and it’s in my mouth too, all over my lips and it’s itching my scalp. My fingers are a clammy mess, holding the hands of somebody else – two people, perhaps – and we are silently squeaking, jogging on the spot in ridiculous leotards, blinking rapidly. The signature school drum roll begins with the cocky Year 9s until everyone is furiously bashing their feet as we wait. We grip our hands tighter and I look up at the assembly hall ceiling and mouth “Come on. Say it’s us”.

…  It wasn’t. We didn’t win. Because that’s not how it works. You can’t win the House Fashion and Dance Show by crossing your fingers and praying to the assembly hall ceiling God.

Incidentally, I have, along the way, also found out that you can’t get into the Guildford pantomime in Year 8 by clasping your hands and whispering “please”, nor can you get an A in your Philosophy A Level by clenching your fist and fervently ‘hoping’ until you have a headache. I’ve learnt it over and over, hundreds of times, that success isn’t about hoping and praying in the moment that you’ve done enough – oddly, it’s about actually doing enough beforehand.

But knowing this, of course, does not make the disappointment sting any less. It didn’t stop me crying for an evening when I didn’t get into the first Year 7 play. It didn’t stop me feeling winded and broken for days in Year 12 when I wasn’t employed for the Junior School “Late Stay” job (and all my friends were. A painful year). It in no way softened the blow when I wasn’t picked as a breakfast presenter last year on Student Radio, or when I didn’t get in to the National Youth Theatre.

Yet knowing this – knowing every single time I’ve been rejected that last minute praying didn’t affect an outcome – did (eventually) stop me crossing my fingers and mouthing “please” when I want something to go my way. Because frankly, I started wondering: what if this is a genie-in-a-bottle scenario, and I only get three “please” moments in my entire lifetime which actually come true? Would I want to waste them on my house winning a school fashion show? Would I use it to be an NYT member? Or would I rather work my arse off just a little bit harder to make those things come true by myself, and save the “please” for a moment when, God forbid, I actually need it?

And once again, I know that moment is not now: I was recently nominated for a Student Radio Award. I’m incredibly excited. It’s almost time for the awards ceremony, and I’m well aware that this time tomorrow evening the feeling of good ol’ disappointment may well be slapping me round the face like Justin Bieber walking into another glass door. It’s fairly probable, statistically – but although the result is unknown to me, it has already been decided, and I did my best at the time. Finger-crossing, last time I checked, ain’t going to whizz me back to June and tweak my application, nor is it going to change a judge’s mind set, or the standard of my competitors. All that’s left to do is take a deep breath and practice the Joey-Tribbiani-Gracious-Loser-Façade. I’ll smile and clap politely, saying, “No, really, you deserved it, and never would I steal your award and present it as my own for decades to come…” And shockingly, I will probably live. Maybe.

The point I am trying to make (to myself. I am trying to counsel myself here, let’s be honest) is that each moment of disappointment happens for a reason: either one completely out of my control (come on, Wellington house, we know that Music Contest judge was biased), in which case there’s nothing to be done anyway. Or alternatively, the effort wasn’t quite put in, and the work wasn’t of a high enough standard. So next time, you ramp it up.

Blatantly, all of this logical knowledge is never going to stop the ten year old inside of me feeling like I’m back in Year 5, being told that my sister got into our local theatre’s production of Jacqueline Wilson’s Double Act when I didn’t (proper killed me, that one) and feeling like a puppy that’s just been kicked with a lead-soled boot. That’s just human nature. It’s not going to stop my fingers twitching tomorrow evening as some part of me wants to cross them and look to my old pals, the assembly hall gods, and really intensely wish that it all goes as I hope. However, it does mean that I can breathe deeply and put off the fervent praying yet again, because there have been plenty of times I wasn’t disappointed. And at every single one of them? I didn't use no "please"! I’d worked really, bloody hard.