I feel bereft.
My eldest daughter left for England this morning to do a 4 week work experience stint as part of her college course.
I suppose this is the sort of thing that gets you used to the idea that, one day, they will leave entirely.
I miss her already.
Tuesday, 1st June – The First Day of ‘Work’
Yesterday, shortly after disembarking from the plane, her and her father raided Waitrose and feasted on sticky toffee pudding, English bacon and muffins (hopefully not in that order), had crispy duck from the Chinese and made the owners of Lush very happy by purchasing most of their range of shampoos and other potions. They are renting a serviced appartment for 4 weeks and have already filled the cupboards to capacity with food ordinarily unavailable or difficult to obtain here. Thank goodness there’s a gym on site.
The mad fools have given her her own email address and I have just received quite a long one from her so they are obviously not giving her enough work to do! I reproduce an extract below:
I met the cleaners today they were smoking outside as I walked in and they
said ‘you’re new aren’t you? Isn’t the appartment big? ‘ I couldn’t bring
myself to tell them that the wardrobe isn’t big enough for all my shoes and
clothes and that the bathroom is already overflowing with stuff from my
trip to Lush.
It’s a nice appartment though, I mean I could live there if I had more shoe
space. Actually, you know what? If dad wasn’t with me I could have his room and just use my room as a wardrobe!
The Weekend Approaches!
..and I’m not completely sure where she’s staying! First of all she was supposed to be staying at a friend’s for the weekend. Now she’s talking about going to my parents’ house but not for the whole weekend. I’m panicking because she will have to get trains and actually arrange things (which isn’t her strong point) and, up to now my husband’s at least been in the same country, but he’s coming back to France tonight.
It’s so weird. When I was almost 17 (back in the stone age, as she would say), I lived in London and was everywhere like a rash. My parents didn’t drive me everywhere (or anywhere, come to that) and I used trains, buses, taxis without a thought and I’m talking about what was, even then, an insalubrious part of London. I survived! I expect she will too.
The Second Week
Well, she survived the weekend – even though my mother dragged her to a boot sale. Her quest to increase 2 dress sizes continues and she is having trouble finding proper English cream. It is impossible to get real cream here – it’s either the revolting, air-filled, ‘squirty’ cream or long-life stuff which is passable but not really an adequate substitute. Apparently, she hasn’t managed to find the right one yet in the local Waitrose as I received this from her today –
I can’t find any of the cream that I like, it’s all runny I like the one
that’s like creme fraiche but creamy… WHYYYYYYYYYY??? I opened some cream
last night with spoon in hand in hope but no… it was not to be… I fell
to my knees in the pouring rain and held my hands out towards the sky and
yelled NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO while god looked on, held the
piano of life above my head and pressed ‘smite’ on his Ipad.
I am of course joking, it wasn’t raining last night.
I’d better email her and explain she needs either extra thick double cream or clotted cream. Also, ask her where she heard ‘the piano of life’ metaphor!