How to Fail Your Driving Test

This will be posting twice in a week, which is abnormal for me, but shouldn't be off-limits should it?? 

Anyway, I am currently sitting in St Pancras International in Starbucks, having just said my fourth goodbye to my good friend Emma, from university. (We kept seeing each other spontaneously over the summer not knowing when exactly would be the last proper goodbye!) She kept me company for half an hour – for I have well and truly started my year abroad – ladies and gentlemen...finally I am Paris-bound.

There are still a couple of hours before my Eurostar though and forty minutes of battery left on my laptop. Therefore I am taking this opportunity to kill a bit of time by writing a blog entry...about a particularly stressful episode known as:

“My First Ever Driving Test”.

I say first because there will be at least one more to come, for unfortunately, I did not pass it. The title sort of gives that away, doesn't it? Before I regale you with some of the more amusing aspects of the test, it must be noted that on the whole I drove pretty well. When I say 'pretty well' I mean that the examiner was not physically shaking or having a nervous breakdown when we pulled back into the test centre at the end, as my dad would have put it 'If you were that bad, you would have been able to tell from his face.'

I took it in Ashton, which is not a part of Manchester that I know that well but it's not too difficult to drive around once you know the roads. 

The test was going O.K. (not perfect but not bad) until I got to a small side road. Before that, there had been an unsure moment – for myself and the examiner – where I turned right instead of straight on – I'm not entirely sure what was going on but I had a mini-panic attack and then tried to remain calm. Because I checked the mirrors and indicated right before leaving the junction, it wasn't exactly 'serious' or 'dangerous'. The examiner seemed more surprised than cross. In a bemused tone he simply told me to follow the road round.

In doing this, I ended up re-routing myself to the town centre. Which turned out well because then I got onto a few roundabouts and territories that I know very well from driving lessons – and therefore I drove better.

However, then comes the side road. Actually, even before then, to get to the side road, I had to drive down a completely unfamiliar part of Ashton. This next part is a bit of a blur because everything happened in such quick succession that I don't remember exactly when I started to go wrong.

Perhaps it was the central reservation, which I could not cross until the last minute to change lanes, which frazzled my brain, causing confusion to motorists behind?

Or perchance it was the traffic lights, which changed gracefully to amber to red the exact moment I was approaching the junction edge, causing a knee-jerk, foot-to-brake reaction which I could not prevent?

Or most certainly (or so I thought) it was the fact that when I finally drew to a full halt, I realised with ice-cold horror in my gut that my front wheels were in a cycle-lane-box.

I was so sure that that was the end. I sat waiting for the lights to take an agonizingly long time to change, thinking 'I've failed, I've failed, I've failed...and all because of a STUPID CYCLE LANE!' Never once (or in the past month I've been driving again) have I accidentally gone over the cycle box mark waiting at a junction and on my test IT HAPPENS.

This whole experience has taught me that everything I DON'T do in real life suddenly all happened on my test. Who knows what brought it on – maybe test-condition nerves. Anyway.

We got to a side lane. Driving examiner tells me to pull over – I was wondering vaguely whether he'd say 'I'm sorry Rachel but you're driving like you're in an action-film today. I cannot continue.' 

(Sorry - any excuse to post a photo of Daniel Craig)

But instead he simply said 'I would like you to do a turn in the road. Try not to hit the kerb.'

So I said 'O.K.' and nearly added 'Challenge accepted!' because three-point turns are one of the easier manoeuvres (well, let's be honest they're less stressful than parallel parking aren't they?). But because the road looked a little small, I added 'Is it O.K if it's not done in three?'

He replied 'All I want is that you do a turn in the road, don't worry too much about if it's not done in three.'

I had NOT anticipated just how small some roads can be. In most practise-manoeuvres, driving instructors take you on manageable sized roads (maybe cause they're just getting you acclimatised) but this road was like nothing I had ever attempted. Basically I started off fine...

I turned the car around 90 degrees in a safe manner. But then the problem presented itself. I was horizontal across the road and then reversed back, turning the wheel the other way to get out.

But nothing happened.

I swear, I was trying. I was trying and trying to reverse back, turning the wheel so I could get out, but I kept going back...

braking...

then going forward...

...And then going back.

AND NOTHING WAS HAPPENING. I was NOT EVEN CHANGING DIRECTION AS I DID THIS MANOEUVRE.

I was getting more and more anxious and covered in cold sweat. In that moment, I identified strongly with the Penguin from Wallace and Gromit: The Wrong Trousers in the museum diamond robbery scene. As I lifted the back of my hand to my sweaty forehead, I had a flashback of this scene in particular:

Fortunately, I eventually got myself turned around fully (but there was also a woman waiting – more pressure) and it took me about nine goes in total, making the manoeuvre not a three-but-a NINE-POINT-TURN.

So I failed because of that, basically. That and the fact that test conditions did something funny to my driving – turned me poor from good almost overnight and I can't explain why.

Hopefully on the next one, things will go a little more smoothly. But I'm not ashamed – there are plenty of people who don't pass on their first time. The sad thing is now I have to wait 8 months (or more like 9 months now) to take my next driving test.

Until then, no driving for me in France. My next blog post may not be until next week because since Thursday I've been here (in the Paris region) and my apartment is not yet furnished. So before I can even say the word 'Eiffel Tower', I'm going to be running around my tiny town like a headless chicken this week, searching desperately for kindly strangers who can give me free 'meubles' (furniture).

Not that chicken. But imagine him headless.

And no, before you ask, I am not posting a photo of a headless chicken. Imagine Googling that! Yuck.

Ciao!

Another Adventure in Manchester

Hello!

I believe my last blog post was a while ago...The past week or so has been kind of hectic (or maybe I'm just using this as an excuse to defend my non-bloggatry). (?)

To be honest, everything feels a bit jumbled up and hectic because of the fact I'm leaving for France in a few days (and I'm not reaaallllly prepared! Shh...don't tell Southampton University that).

I am arriving into Paris Gare du Nord at 20:50 on Wednesday evening and then I will make my way to my small village outside of Paris where my appartment is. This is all that is fixed so far: everything else like finding a fridge and opening a bank account is not.

But anyway, my last week in the UK has been fun. This weekend I took a much-needed trip down to Southampton for a few days to rest & recuperate chez Gordon Avenue. I say Rest & Recuperate because this week...something very abnormal happened to me and I had to go to hospital (which never ever happens to me...I am so bad at going to hospital it's been 2 years in Southampton and still I am not registered with a GP yet).

So OK, I will start from the beginning. The other day I walking back home down our road (our neighbourhood at home) and there was loads of rain/wind/generally crap weather and in a particularly horrible gust of wind a small piece of something flew into my eyeball. It really hurt and I couldn't get it out. In short, it felt as though a small tiny beast had lodged under my eyelid and was trying to set up camp.

But I couldn't find it and tried for ages to get it out but in the end I just assumed that it was nothing more than a scratch the pain I was experiencing was a result of a bruised eyeball. My mum said to go to the eye hospital (not like she knows anything specific about eyes anyway) and fortunately there is an eye hospital specifically dedicated to eyes in Manchester. Unfortunately, it closes at 8pm. So I had to go the following morning instead (AT THE CRACK OF DAWN!!!!) to escape the hospital queues. That night's sleep was NOT the best I've experienced. Every 30 minutes when I began to start sleeping deeply (when your eyes start moving rapidly) I woke up because it was agonizingly painful.

So the following morning, I went straight to the eye hospital and I could barely open my injured eye (well, I usually have trouble opening my eyes anyway AT THE CRACK OF DAWN ha ha). But I only had to wait a little while until the eye nurse saw me and kindly checked my poor little eye and discovered a PIECE OF BARK! It was eurghhh....bleurghh...

It was more that I couldn't believe a piece of bark that big had been lodged in my eye all night without me even realising. Well when I say big, I don't mean plank-of-wood type size, I mean big for my eyeball. She gave me medicated eyedrops, which even I understand means “eyedrops that work” as opposed to Ibruprofen which rarely works. So the pain went away within a few days, but my left eye resembles this:

So I guess I might be “a la mode”, considering vampires have made a massive comeback these past few years. And it has turned a few heads, raised a few questions – to which I haven't yet thought of a more creative response than the truth.

But I suppose from afar it simply looks like I've smoked a little too much weed.

Anyhow, I have been back in our old house at Gordon Avenue, spending some quality time with old housemates and friends, doing the park run at Southampton Common (and not blacking out, contrary to what I expected), doing a Sainsburys' shop one last time, getting locked out of the house (for the first time) and just generally being a student in a shared house (something I won't have at all next year considering I am living alone).

Sunny Southampton! (Compared to freezing Manchester..)

The park.

We had a game of mini-golf in town one fine afternoon.

...culminating in some over-enthusiastic golf-club-swinging...

Our student house has been renovated over the summer and I just can't believe I am missing out on this shower next year...

And yes, I did feel very nostalgic (I couldn't quite bring myself to go to my beloved Avenue Campus for fear that it would bring back too many joyous memories) and I did feel very sad not to be joining my housemates in one more year of wonderful student antics. But I also feel excited (and intermittently apprehensive) about the upcoming “First Week In France”. My main fear is probably organizing life. Ie. Acquiring furniture, doing official things like registering with all the various bureaus and social security blah blah blahs.

But that is all. I will have to update my blog the week after I arrive in France. With photos of fridges...and mattresses...

"Just write your dissertation in French so you can finish your degree"

Hello there,

This could end up being a really, really long post (longer than usual, which for someone like me would make it a 10,000 word essay or something) but I think I'll just break everything down slightly and put it in a nutshell.

I've been back in Manchester two weeks now, and only two and a half weeks remain until I go to France. All my friends on their years abroad seem to all be in their respective countries already!

But amazingly, everything seems to be coming into place quite nicely. The paperwork seems to be done (just needs organizing into one file!), finances seem to be in place (thank you Student Loan for being on time for once..!) and last but not least, amazingly so, I have found accommodation.

It was all very simple in the end. The teacher from my school contacted me and said the school could offer me a flat for 300 a month (so not too bad by Paris-y standards).

I was lost in a sea of adverts and flat share offers on Lokaviz and Leboncoin (I gave up on Appartager.com months ago because it appeared only creepy old guys contacted me on there) and I was starting to lose my head a bit. I Skyped my friend Marlena (au pair I met in Mallorca this summer) and told her that when she comes to visit me in Paris in November (flights booked) there was a possibility I would be homeless.

Sleeping under a bridge next to the Seine. Occasionally busking.

So naturally, I accepted the accommodation (not merely because I was getting desperate). There are clear pros: cheaper rent, I know the landlords are sound people, it is actually in Mennecy, right by the school. So I won't have to commute to get to work, which would otherwise be time-consuming and expensive.

There are a couple of cons (there are never simply just 'pros' in life, except for when referring to Daniel Craig).

1. Mennecy is 37km from Paris
2. The flat is unfurnished. And I mean, UN-furnished. Completely.

I will sort out problem number one by getting a bike. (a GOOD bike that functions).

Problem number two is admittedly, easily solvable ---> buy furniture. It just feels so final to buy furniture; the kind of thing you do if you're buying a house, not renting a place for 8 months. But there is a nearby Ikea (so cheaper options are available) and I'm sure there's some kind of French equivalent to Freecycle. I'll just have to scrounge around and make friends with people in the village quickly, and see if any of them are getting rid of a fridge or freezer and jump in on it.

There's also kind of a con-number-three: I think the accommodation is a studio flat, which means...I will be LIVING ALONE.

ALL BY MYSELF. Bridget-style.

That puts a seed of lonely doubt within my sociable and people-loving heart. I always envisaged myself living with some chatty, cultured and FUN Frenchies on my year abroad, with whom I could have aperos, drink wine, cook with and just generally talk non-stop about, well, what we love about France (because French people love France).

(Which puts me in mind of a certain housemate of mine)

In this photo, we were probably lamenting the fact that we were NOT in France.

Anyway, to summarize my flat is 37k from the capital, unfurnished and devoid of housemates. So in short, not what I would have envisaged for myself. Buuut....

I am not worried about being far away. I measured the distance from Cannes to Nice (which is where I lived before) and it's also about 30k. And when I was an au pair, distance never once stopped me having fun. (Seriously. One day I will write a book about my French Riviera Memories and you will see that we once walked 10k just to watch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 in English).

Secondly, (after giving it some consideration) I have decided that I am not worried about living alone either. Actually, it's perfect. When I was an au pair, my friends and I spent half our lives wishing one of us had a flat to ourselves, rather than having to always rely our host families' (for weekends when we wanted to escape). Maybe if I meet some au pairs out there it'll be perfect if they want to crash somewhere for the weekend! Although admittedly, it isn't exactly ideal in terms of location for socialising...

Which makes the situation a bit of a catch-22.

But I refuse to believe that living alone will be as terrifying as I'm envisaging it will be. It's just that I can't grasp the concept yet because I've never lived alone before. And I have never wanted to live alone!

Aside from all this news on the accommodation front, not much new stuff has been happening. I am surprised at how much I'm enjoying being back at home. It has been fun seeing old friends from college, hanging out with my sisters but also meeting some new friends! So far I have actually gotten to know a few people in our small neighbour Heaton Moor, from going to a church Heaton Moor Evangelical Church, in our area.

I'm only beginning to realise how much there is in Manchester (and its surrounding areas) now I am back here for a bit. In some ways (although my beloved Southampton will always – or at least for now – hold a dear place in my heart) I'm starting to think maybe Manchester holds a little bit of space for me somewhere in my heart too.

I realised something today. Over the past three years, I've put a whole lot of energy and passion into learning languages and going abroad. Many times I don't even see 'going home for the summer' as an option – it's always 'the last resort that I don't want to resort to'.

And I have had lots of fun going abroad and au pairing. It's really changed me – I am much, much more confident than I used to be. Maybe cause I've been out of my comfort zone with relation to making friends and also communicating!

But I realised today that I haven't really 'set up home' in any of these places I've been to. Even Nice,

although I spent a year there, was not exactly 'setting up home'. My home is here; much to my disgruntlement. (is that a word?) I've always wanted to 'set up home' abroad – always. I can't explain it to myself, I've just always like that was where I belong. But the honest truth?

Being abroad is tough. I realised that this summer – finally! No matter how much you want to be abroad and set up your life there, being a foreigner in a foreign land still isn't easy. There are many reasons why.

And yet, here I am realising this now as I am about to head off abroad once more. I almost feel like holding up my hands and saying “ENOUGH!!” and hoping someone will say “Okay...you don't have to go abroad AGAIN Rachel. You've done enough time doing French in France. Just write your dissertation in French and you can finish your degree, no year abroads required.”

I do feel a little weary – three years and I all I've been doing is focusing on where I can go abroad! That feels like all I have been doing. It's not that I want to 'settle down' – I would just rather go abroad somewhere and commit to 2 or 3 years there – maybe more. I've done the 'exchange' thing – just staying somewhere a few months at a time.

But I do think this year is going to be good. Who knows, it might eventually even help me to find a job (that's the dream after graduating!). And I can't complain because I'll be getting paid AND I'll be in lovely France speaking lovely French.

I just hope that this year will restore my (slightly-wobbly-after-this-summer) faith in being abroad.

Time will tell.