Rory has been home from his French exchange trip for a couple of weeks now and it dawned on me that I hadn’t told you all how he’d got on. Time to put that right.
As he left in the minibus which was taking them to St Pancras I was rather fragile. This wasn’t helped when one of the dads mentioned to the driver that the small ‘jockey’ wheel, on the trailer transporting their luggage, wasn’t properly hooked up and would have probably burst if our friend hadn’t spotted it. This put the wind up me, as you can imagine, as I now began to think other things hadn’t been fixed properly. Once I’d received the text saying they’d reached St Pancras I could breathe a little easier and let the train take the strain.
We had agreed that Rory should text us once a day to tell us his news. This daily text went something like this:
“Am at JP’s house. Family seem nice. Lots of cats.”
“In Avignon today. Really hot. Nice place.”
“Aix en Provence very pretty town. Bought some new drumsticks”
“Spent afternoon playing pool in Irish pub”
“Marseille today. Decided to wear my shorts. Turned cold :-P”
“Went to house of girlfriend of another French boy. Climbed really big hill”
“Slept all morning then had a nap in the afternoon. Going for meal out later”
“Great meal last nt in gastropub. V busy then realised it was St Patrick’s Day. LOL”
“Can you pick me up in ten minutes?”
I think those messages sum up his week quite succinctly.
He returned home happy, with a light tan and, thankfully, keen to tell us all about the trip. His case had been neatly packed, there were no hideous surprises and, as it was Mother’s Day, he handed me a bar of soap he’d bought at a local soap factory. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘our teacher gave us the nudge that we should all probably buy our mums something from the factory shop so here you are.’ Lavender. Not my favourite scent, if I’m honest, but hey it’s the thought that counts, or, at least, the thought of his French teacher. Merci beaucoup, Monsieur.