UPDATE

On the 7^th of October I surprised John for his birthday. After one bus ride, one flight, one taxi ride, 4 different trains and another taxi ride I finally arrived at the city for which I had yearned so much. It was so so nice to hear English voices; here's what I wrote in my diary on arrival: "Man opposite just took a pump on the inhaler and is reading "Britain at War". For the first time in my life, I absolutely love the British. I love them all, even the tory sat next to me reading the Daily Mail, I love her."

As John’s a liittle bit of a pansy and goes to yoga on a Thursday evening (I still can’t get over this) I waited outside his flat for about an hour in the rain. At approximately 845pm on the horizon I could see this skinny yet dapper young man with fluffy hair approaching me with one bottle of banana Yazoo in his left hand and a bottle of chocolate Yazoo in the right (he must have known I was coming). Despite the fact I was sat on the bonnet of his car, he walked straight past me supposedly thinking I was some psycho woman lurking (but didn’t do anything about it nonetheless)... a cheeky “oi” and he soon realized.

After all the romantic shizzle, my main priority was to get An Idiot Abroad on the tele and get on the phone to Dominos Pizza and get us the standard: large veg-a-roma without mushrooms and the complimentary chicken strippers with garlic and herb dip. Winner! Not saying that was in my list of top 5 reasons to go home but… I re-established my ownership of the right side of the bed and had an amazing sleep knowing that the following day I would see the one and only LAZ and experience her mighty roast dinner.. Laz “What shall I do with the gravy?” Jamie “Well you know that thing you usually do?” Laz “Yeah? Jamie “Not that” Teeell him…

The next morning Tubs and I probably had the standard really-early-morning-conversation-that-probably-shouldn’t-be-legal ("I'm soooooooo short" "Don't start") and I made my way to Caldicot. At the Severn Tunnel Junction train station I was greeted by Laz in her EXQUISITE new car – Volkswagen Beetle. Hugs with the fam, a long-awaited bubble bath/jacuzzi, a big catch up and a roast made for an amazing afternoon at home. This was followed by an amazing week with John including The Plan café (for SCONES and teaaa!), a record fair, vintage shops including trying on coats that were double the size of me, Cardiff bay steam train driven by the Welshest man on this earth; "we just gotta drop off at Dales house on way back, to give him 'is ice-cream milk alri guys", a massively overdue catch-up with my longlost uni friends including milkshakes, BEANS ON TOAST, and the Duck Song. The rest of the week included a second roast, Spaghetti bolognaise feasts, naps, Jamie’s Italian, shopping with Mama and general Cardiff embracing...

Back in mighty France, after arriving running into the airport cupping my face as my nose had decided to implode mid-flight and I was sans tissues, I managed to sick in my mouth (we’ve all been there) on the way to the dreaded 830 lecture, fall over and land in a muddy puddle (resulting in a lot of banter for my “slutty knees”) all within half an hour – I DO NOT do mornings!

Went to Angers and spent most the day jumping and laughing

Went to Paris (pure bliss, with the boy who for 47 days I will miss); a week spent mainly eating an absurd amount of cake and taking vulnerable photos of John

Fell over on a bus and landed in a woman’s lap who didn’t seem to find it half as funny as I did (probably because in the process I managed to trample all over her shopping). No one else on the bus seemed to find it funny either, I think I was the stupid English girl who can’t even walk on a bus unaided let alone speak their language, “oh fuck sorry”. Although amusing, it was very fluster-provoking for all involved.

Realisations that: French people are very openly nosey; my life plan has changed a considerable amount; a select amount of my friends here in Nantes, not naming any names, are very open about diarrheic incidents, and it always seems to be when I am not at all ready to hear about it, ie, tucking into a pain au chocolat, drinking a chocolat chaud; sorry to burst everyone’s little bubble about the French being romantic but French men are the scum of the earth; the French will go on a strike at the drop of a chapeau (hat), i’m sure you’ve heard all about it in the news, I’d rather not get into it, it’ll just be a long rant about how the French are lazy bastards who should just do as they're bloody told…

New career prospect: open up a laverie/laundry – all you have to do is buy a few washing machines, whack ‘em in a shabby little shop, don’t do anything, be nowhere to be seen and be of no assistance whatsoever if the bloody secheur (dryer) decides not to work when a poor foreign girl has just paid £2 (a lot in student terms), charge an extortionate amount and make a fortune.

Us Anglais here in Nantes have invented a new langue – “franglais”; mainly consisting of English sentences with the odd French word chucked in, in the STRONGEST English accent you’ve heard– “Can you pick up my chapeau (hat) please?” “Oh putaining hell i’ve forgotton my bloody parapluie (umbrella)!” Basically making a complete mockery of my degree… similar to how I approached my Italian exam in the summer – just add an “io” to the end of a word, for examplio; “l’environmentio” does not exist. This is quite worrying now as it seems to be a habit so whenever I speak in French now it seems to come out in a really strong English accent.

Too frequently, I find myself resembling one of those “bag ladies” you see lurking about, sometimes with a trolley, other times with just masses of bags. The days that I do my shopping, or washing I always seem to 1) look like absolute merde 2) overestimate my strength, and number of arms for that matter. So I often find myself acquiring a limp with a bag somewhat attached to my leg, using it to support one bag whilst the others are either strangling me or stopping blood circulation in my arms. So there we are, I look like shit, I have a limp, and I carry lots of bags: I may as well be a tramp. I think it goes without saying that whole fabulous idea has pretty much been abandoned...

Although I am completely against the concept of creating facebook groups, one did come to mind the other day whilst in my evening class “Shutup and keep your fucking hand down in lecture. No one cares”. They are all SO keen.

If you've seen my facebook status you will know that currently it reads “Always nice to know/HEAR that the couple next door are “getting theirs” FIVE TIMES A DAY”. And no, I do not mean fruit. I pray to God he acquires some sort of erectile dysfunction by the time my Mum comes to visit this time next week. (Just as I finished this sentence they starting going at it again) About 3 weeks ago, I was up all night scared to death and had to call the police because I heard a woman screaming and a man shouting yet couldn’t work out who/what it was. I thought it was mighty odd that Paul (guy whose family I live with) didn’t come down to check if I was okay when the police arrived... now it all makes perfect sense ; no wonder they’ve got six bloody kids.

Right, they've bloody started again so i'm off to go and bang on the wall... a bientot.

When'sa your Dolmio day?

Highlight of my day: Liam asking the Italian Erasmus students sat next to us in night class "WHENSA YOUR DOLMIO DAY?!"


PS, I really miss Dolmio.

Turns out I probably would marry a tramp then...

I appear to have grown very emotionally attached to the tramp currently residing at l’Université de Nantes. I’ve got a lot of time for the guy, he keeps himself to himself, spends his day tidying his many many bags which are immaculately organised. A sad realisation – a tramp is tidier than myself. When we first arrived I got on my “moral high horse”  - “a tramp living outside a Uni, that’s disgusting you wouldn’t get this is Britain!” But i’ve really started to feel for the guy. I want to take a photo of him but i’m scared he’ll think I’m weird although he’s the one who stands facing the wall having what appears to be a very deep conversation with it.  I’ll get one up soon.

Liam: “Are you Claudine?”

An obscene amount of chocolate - continued..or shall we say finished?

WHY OH WHY is it so god damn easy to eat a 100g bar of chocolate in one sitting? WHY? I was under some deluded impression that being a resident of France would automatically make me skinny, as every bloody female here is. But AU CONTRAIRE indeed. When purchasing all this chocolate, for fear of friends judging me I told them all I was just stocking up and it will probably last ages...I bought it all on the 1^st October, it is now the 3^rd and I’ve polished it all off... TUBS.

As Jess quite nicely put it;

Don't underestimate her,

Because she is small,

A tube of smarties in ten seconds,

She can neck them all.

An OBSCENE amount of chocolate.

It would appear the heavens opened on Nantes for a good 36 hours non-stop. Resembling drowned rats, we went to a “potato restaurant” which was just what we needed. It was like a little taverny hut thing, amazing. My food came and there was 6 slices of raw chicken, which I had to cook myself?! Took me about ten minutes, I should have been bloody paid but whatever. Anyway we eat until we wanted to die, Annie: “my tights aren’t usually this tight they feel so so tight” .

We went to the cinema and watched “Mange Prie Aimer” , coulda been pretty good if I’d understood a word. We basically had a cheeky nap in the cinema and didn’t learn anything. Anyway beforehand, me and Jess went to the supermarket and I bought an absolutely OBSCENE amount of chocolate. We went on the self service till in fear of being judged. Anyway this resulted in me having to shove it all up my jumper/in my bra etc etc as it wouldn’t all fit in my bag. The tram home wans’t the proudest moment of my life to say the least…when I got up to get off at my stop, 5 packets of malteasers, 2 x 100g bars of “Crunch” chocolate, a massive bag of chewy sweets (closest I could find to maoams) and 5 packets of smarties all went flying onto the floor from inside my bra and jumper resulting in me scrambling around on the floor trying (desperatrely, mad I add) to pick up all the calorific goodies which are guaranteed to make me fat. I should have kept my pride (and my ever-ever-growing petite frame) and left it all on the floor for the many tramps here. Not fabulous.

A massive penis

So we went to an ERASMUS party last night. I had a bit of trouble arriving (as per) as the trams weren't running from my stop (probably on strike (as per)). This resulted in me having to walk about a mile into town, which turns out to be a cheeky case of serendipity as I met two French girls and walked and talked (French) with them all the way into town. The one gave me her number and said we should "prendre une verre". It was good practise for my night ahead. I arrived, albeit late (as per) and didn't manage to get a drink as the queue was massive. This declaration was amusing to the group of French people we were talking to as "queue" is pronounced the same as the French word for "penis". So us British girls gasping in shock exclaiming "oh my god you should see how big the queue is over there" didn't do us many favours regarding keeping up appearances.  In return, we explained to them why the tramstop "Vincent Saint Gache" was funny for us. However I warned them not to ever ever use that word as it's "tres tres vulgeur". Kévin decided to tell all these French people the "tres tres vulgeur" phrase I had taught him a few weeks ago (I blame my brother) whilst pointing at me as I hung my head in shame. It was a fun night and was great to speak French (albeit new vulgar words). I stayed at Jesses and we watched Sex and the City, where Carrie moves to Paris and misses the way things were at home... we continued to watch the final episode in the morning resulting in us absolutely blubbing our hearts out. I was not prepared for Sex and the City to be emotional, i'll tell you that now, but Good God. I cried like a bloody baby.

"She delighted in anything ridiculous"- Jane Austen

30^th September 2010

Another sweaty arrival on the tram; I really must OOZE sexiness when I’m wiping sweat off my forehead, stripping off having a hot flush. Went to a Licence 3 translation class with George Latissier today, where he used English words I didn’t even know myself. When reading out the register he read out Matt’s name as “Matthew Smell” (it’s Snell) which was absolutely hilarious for us, as we are very immature like that. Continuing with said immaturity, we’d dared Jess to read out the translation in the strongest Welsh accent possible. We were getting all hyped up and giggly when it was nearly her turn, but she didn't get her turn. We did a bit of a tricky translation, and he would write simple phrases/words on the board, for example, “c’était”, which really wasn’t necessary. However, when it came to pretty much the French equivalent of “Antidisestablishmentarianism” he thought he’d leave us to our own accord with that one. What a joker. Cheers George, nice one mate.

We ended the lesson translating a Jane Austen extract, upon research into Jane Austen I found a quote which really fits me well, in particular the latter five words.

"She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous"
Jane Austen

The fish-faced Frenchie

This whole assumption that I have that all French females have this innate capacity to be fabulous, elegant and refined has somewhat been proved wrong. I walk into Liam's kitchen to be greeted by a young French girl with half of her fish dinner (it made it worse that it was fish) smothered across her face repeatedly telling me that she was drunk. Another false stereotype.

 Anyway, we can hardly harp on about un-ladylike, un-refined behaviour when we spent half our night with a plastic bag wrapped around our head. The ladylike intention was there I promise- to protect our hair from the rain.

So the French had decided to have ANOTHER strike (i'm all for a bit of assertion, but c'mon), which made it a complete nightmare getting to the LC club which incidentally was miles away. So we remained stationary on a tram for a good 45 minutes, which lead to rowdy French people. So when we finally got there, with the memory of the rowdy French and the fish-faced Frenchie fresh in my mind, I was keen on the idea that the French aren't refined anyway so proceeded to dance to "I want some hot stuff" and do the Beyoncé booty shake to "Crazy Love" with my shirt wrapped around my hair like I was some sort of wash-lady. Classsssyy! It was absolutely FAB, but stupidly packed so we left when the claustrophobia got the better of us. The walk home was about four miles long, but I was kept entertained by Jess falling down potholes, Liam groping me and Louisa's rendition of the Nottingham chav (I learnt what a "whombomb" is), making me feel right at home.

I take it back.

You know that thing I said about no rude French people..? Yeah I'd like to take that back please. I woke up, albeit very late and had to run for my tram again (resulting in a very sweaty Ellie on the tram, stripping off as many pieces of clothing as socially acceptable) for a French Communication lecture. Considering the only French I have spoken and perfected time and time again is "Un orangina s'il vous plait" I was pretty keen to learn. (I know) Anyway, we all got chucked out of the lecture, basically because the guy was a complete moron and couldn't be arsed to teach Erasmus students. So I waited around for four hours for my next lecture...thrown out again. She too was a moron who couldn't be bothered to teach us and who was disgustingly rude. In the words of Annie "what a silly silly day!"
So another great day at l'Université de Nantes! Went to Bouffay and drowned my sorrows with "an orangina s'il vous plait" and went on to the Rosé...with a rizla drenched in saliva stuck to head claiming that I was Noddy. What a group of us; Noddy, Nick Griffin, Garry Glitter, Dumbo, Alan Titsmarch and I have no idea who the other one was. Basically we had to guess who we were and I won..huzaahh. Matt, the complete idiot, lost because he couldn't work out that he was Dumbo despite us telling him that he was a cartoon Elephant. We all wanted to punch him in the face, truth be told. Anyway we bought him two double shots of Whisky as a forefeit.

Receieved a package off Laz today with Malteasers (WINNER!) and some horrific socks which I have been strictly ordered not to wear out of the house, only in bed, alone.

So Jess's mum's curry: AMAZING. There was a Kurma, which absolutely blew my mind and a chickpea curry which was also amazing. I think Liam agreed too considering he had FOUR helpings. We spent the night watching youtube clips of Victoria Wood, making me feel more English than I ever have.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZCIKjYDf1g
"Smear an avacoado on me lower portion" Brilliance.
I'm having an amazing time, but am really starting to miss everything about home life.

John suggested I put more references in my blog about him, as apparantly it would be more interesting. So, I have decided to keep track of the stupid things he says. I'll leave you with his "wisdomy";
John: "I swear to God a duck shouted my name at me earlier".

First day of university, 6:30am start...

Well first day of French University was eventful to say the least. If you know me, you’ll understand that it is a rare occasion that I’ll be out of bed after midday. Waking up at half six for my first day of university, therefore, was not dealt with too greatly. I stomped around my room, repeatedly mumbled something along the lines of “fucking joke” *mumble mumble mumble* “…if they think I’m doing this every Monday they’re having a bloody laugh” “no quality of life”, grabbed any clothes from my wardrobe, flung them on, forgot to look in the mirror and started my twenty minute walk to the tramstop at St Mihiel. I put my iPOD in and listened to “Stornoway – Zorbing”, which perked me up a bit.  From a distance I could see my tram approaching St Mihiel, which resulted in me having to run (once again, if you know me well, this is a rare occasion) and eventually try and squeeze myself onto the packed tram, with my face squashed up against the window for the whole journey – apart from the intervals where the doors opened and I nearly fell out. Not fabulous.
So there I was, shocked to actually find myself in a half eight lecture which was to go on for three hours, and baffled as to why none of the French students were moaning like I was, or barely even yawning. Is this the norm for the French? Well as I said, they’re having a laugh if they think I’m doing this every Monday. Anyway, we watched an Italian film “La famiglia” with French subtitles. As you can imagine, to begin with my mind was blown. Afterwards, she went around the class asking people to translate the film summary from Italian to French, resulting in us Erasmus students avoiding any eye contact whatsoever and making a sharp exit.
I really regret saying “Uni is yet to begin and to be honest it couldn’t come quicker –getting a bit restless now” now that I’m landed with early mornings in lectures taught in a language I have a minor ability of understanding.

On our way home from Les Facultés, I think I demonstrated to Livi that I do have a big heart as I grew very emotionally attached to this adorable little boy on the tram who resembled a mole. Yes, a mole. I expressed my desire to just stroke his face but was advised not to do so as I may be arrested for indecent face-stroking. Anyway Livi assured me she’s make sure he got off the tram okay…broodyin’ el.
I got home, and yes, I had a nap. I specifically bought earplugs on my way home to assure I was not woken by the other 100,000 people living in the house. Okay, it’s a family of eight (six adolescent boys, who seem to like running up and down the corridor non-stop). How dare they make noise in their own home? Anyway had a craaaaackin’ nap from 6-9 then met up with everyone and Jess’s Mum, who brought Dairy Milk, Galaxy and Wine Gums and is cooking us a curry tonight. I think I love her.

PS If you have Spotify, look up Christophe Maé - Je me lache. It's our Nantes song and it's amazing.

One in the bhuna...

I’m not sure this whole classy and fabulous thing is working out too great. I taught our new French friend Kévin a vulgar English phrase (which I shall not repeat because I now have class. Honestly…), to the shock of Liam who fell to floor on his hands and knees and jaw dropped not too far from the ground. From afar this concerned Jess’s friends from home who thought he was being a bit of a sexual predator in the middle of the road. Anyway, Kévin is a complete legend, very very sweet. This whole stereotype about the French being rude is yet to have been proven; I have not had one rude encounter with a Francais.

Most likely to "marry a tramp” and “steal off an old lady”

Well! It turns out after playing a drinking game in Bouffay (representing Brits Abroad) that I am the most likely “to marry a tramp” and “steal off an old lady”- NOT fabulous. Laz* would not be impressed. I spent the rest of my night trying to convince my new friends, with whom I’m concerned about the impression I’ve made of myself, that I have a very big heart. Livi tried to persuade me that perhaps people voted me most likely to marry a tramp due to my big heart. Stealing off an old lady however, that is unforgivable. The excuses that I was given for these accusations were pathetic truth be told. Jess tried to give me some bullshit about “we know that if you had to protect your best friend and that was the only way – blablabla”. But ended up admitting that I am the most ballsy. Ballsy?! balls·y  (bôl z )

adj. balls·i·er, balls·i·est Vulgar Slang

Very tough and courageous, often recklessly or presumptuously so.

I don’t want to be ballsy! Anyway, from now on - classy and fabulous, classy and fabulous.

*Laz - aka Lazza, Lazarus and sometimes "Mum"

An idiot abroad, part one...

"An idiot abroad" indeed. My boyfriend was telling about a new programme soon to be broadcasted called "an idiot abroad" and he thought it was very apt for my current situation, thus being the name of this "blog".  Current situation: spending my third year of my degree in France and Italy. First stop: Nantes, which as you'll see from the photo is a very beautiful city.

Now that i'm a resident of France, I decided it be a good idea to put it upon myself to have a change and aspire to become similar to all these beautiful French women – who have impeccable class, elegance, and amazing legs which quite often lead to moments of severe jealousy, self-loathing and determination to go for a run (which never actually happens). As Coco Chanel said, “A lady should be two things; Classy and Fabulous”. I am yet to be either, but maybe I’ll have a *cue pretencious voice* “real cultural and spiritual experience on my gap yahh which will change me, yah yah yah..”

But Eleanor McKeon, living in France – well who knew? It’s bloody marvellous and as I just told Jess my life seems to suddenly be coming together –I’ve finally bought my bin-bags, defrosted my mince and bought my bra’s which I stupidly forgot to bring; the 3 things I’ve “harped on about for the past 3 weeks”. The simple things…

Anyway, everyone is marvellous and I love them all – what hoots! Liam with his hilarious stories about homophobic taxi drivers; Claire who is very very sweet and has a never-ending wardrobe; Annie – our very own Bridget Jones (she comes out with some corkers); Jess, the one who gets gradually louder and louder the more wine consumed, who calls me Little Ellie (just like Lil Wayne, only slightly more gangster), Louisa- the writer-to-be who has such a way with words - whether it be describing her sexual habits or her toiletry needs she still sounds so very refined; Lauren and Livi two lovely girls from Cardiff who come as a duo & Kévin – our French sweetheart and walking dictionary, “Oh Kev, how do you say moobs in French?”

I received a letter off John yesterday, and it’s so so so lovely. Not saying I cried but… yeah. He wrote me a poem and it’s a-maz-en. So, as everything in our relationship is a competition (ie who can eat the most food - tubster that I am, I always win) I wrote him a poem back. Although I feared my poetic ability didn’t stretch much further than “the cat sat on the mat”, I managed to write about 7 pages. No doubt he’ll accuse me of “wafflin’ shit !” as per, but “I enjoyed myself, and that’s the main thing.”

Uni is yet to begin and to be honest it couldn’t come quicker –getting a bit restless now. I am very aware of that fact that I will regret saying this when I’m landed with early mornings in lectures taught in a language I have a minor ability of understanding.

TO-DO list (I swear to God I am always writing these lists, they make me feel organised despite that fact I never actually do anything I am supposed to do. Very much a procrastinator; instead of revising/doing anything remotely important I will find arranging my shoes into colour order to be much more of a priority)

- clean
- plan what to do for J Dawgs* birthday
- be fabulous**

* J Dawg –John aka Dear John, the boyfriend
** Fat chance; went to the “supermarché” without having looked in the mirror beforehand and caught a glimpse of myself in a car window reflection sporting close to Afro hair, previous nights makeup and far from chic clothing, unlike the rest of the French beauties here. I’m not sure the French are ready for this.