Again? O Lucky Me
You may remember that during the summer I was fortunate to be asked to work in Paris, twice. And now, I'm delighted to say, I've been asked back again, this weekend: I fly out on Friday and then back on Sunday.
Now I think I can tell you where I'm working, as it's officially open: it's the Johnson and Johnson Diabetes Institute which will run courses to train medical professionals to become specialists in the care of diabetes, which is, of course, on the increase.
I applied for the job from a newspaper advert, thinking that I might be suitable because of my experience in working in Communication Skills, and also because I'm diabetic, so have some knowledge of diabetes because of that too. And, having done it once, I was of course really pleased to be asked back.
I'm quite confident about the actual work as I have done a lot of this type of thing and the people I have met there on the previous occasions were great. The Institute itself is in a beautiful building, and it's in a lovely part of Paris not too far from the river and the Galeries Lafayette.
The hotel where I'll be staying is the Hotel Concorde Saint Lazare . Its entrance hall is huge, and I mean HUGE, and I loved it: just stunning.
I love the work, I love the place, I love the hotel: so what's bothering me? Well, I'm always ill-at-ease in posh places. I am a cafe person, not a restaurant person. I am a caravan person, not a Grand Hotel person. I just don't have the instinct for it. I saw plenty of quite ordinary-looking people swan into the Hotel Concorde Saint Lazare as though they owned it, casually tossing their mail to the concierge to be posted, making all sorts of requests of the staff at reception, and not bothering about even attempting to speak French, just setting off at top speed and top volume in whatever language they happened to speak.
Whereas me, I'm always expecting to be rumbled and told to leave immediately. "Excusez-moi, Madame, but nous avons decouvert that your great-grand-pere was un cobbler. Quoi on earth etes-vous doing here?"
(Yes, I speak fluent Franglais. Yes, my great-grandfather really was a cobbler.)
And then there's the flying bit. Notice how casually I wrote "I fly out on Friday" just as if it's the kind of thing I might do any Friday? And not at all, in any way, as if the last time I was on a plane was towards the end of the last millennium? And how I completely failed to mention that I've only flown about seven or eight times in my whole life?
It's not so much the planes (though I don't really understand why they stay up) it's the airports: I always think I'll get lost. Yes, I can get lost even in Leeds/Bradford Airport which is not exactly large. I just don't understand the language of airports. The memory of taking my parents and Olli through Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam remains a lingering horror of my life (and no, it most certainly wasn't Olli, then aged about ten, who was the problem).
But still, the people I'm working for are going to send someone to meet me at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris (yes, I'm even scared having typed that).
And hey - - I'm going early on Friday so will have most of Friday, some of Saturday and some of Sunday to myself to explore Paris. So I'm sure I'll be fine. Well, nearly sure. And I am certain that I'll enjoy it.
Now I think I can tell you where I'm working, as it's officially open: it's the Johnson and Johnson Diabetes Institute which will run courses to train medical professionals to become specialists in the care of diabetes, which is, of course, on the increase.
I applied for the job from a newspaper advert, thinking that I might be suitable because of my experience in working in Communication Skills, and also because I'm diabetic, so have some knowledge of diabetes because of that too. And, having done it once, I was of course really pleased to be asked back.
I'm quite confident about the actual work as I have done a lot of this type of thing and the people I have met there on the previous occasions were great. The Institute itself is in a beautiful building, and it's in a lovely part of Paris not too far from the river and the Galeries Lafayette.
The hotel where I'll be staying is the Hotel Concorde Saint Lazare . Its entrance hall is huge, and I mean HUGE, and I loved it: just stunning.
I love the work, I love the place, I love the hotel: so what's bothering me? Well, I'm always ill-at-ease in posh places. I am a cafe person, not a restaurant person. I am a caravan person, not a Grand Hotel person. I just don't have the instinct for it. I saw plenty of quite ordinary-looking people swan into the Hotel Concorde Saint Lazare as though they owned it, casually tossing their mail to the concierge to be posted, making all sorts of requests of the staff at reception, and not bothering about even attempting to speak French, just setting off at top speed and top volume in whatever language they happened to speak.
Whereas me, I'm always expecting to be rumbled and told to leave immediately. "Excusez-moi, Madame, but nous avons decouvert that your great-grand-pere was un cobbler. Quoi on earth etes-vous doing here?"
(Yes, I speak fluent Franglais. Yes, my great-grandfather really was a cobbler.)
And then there's the flying bit. Notice how casually I wrote "I fly out on Friday" just as if it's the kind of thing I might do any Friday? And not at all, in any way, as if the last time I was on a plane was towards the end of the last millennium? And how I completely failed to mention that I've only flown about seven or eight times in my whole life?
It's not so much the planes (though I don't really understand why they stay up) it's the airports: I always think I'll get lost. Yes, I can get lost even in Leeds/Bradford Airport which is not exactly large. I just don't understand the language of airports. The memory of taking my parents and Olli through Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam remains a lingering horror of my life (and no, it most certainly wasn't Olli, then aged about ten, who was the problem).
But still, the people I'm working for are going to send someone to meet me at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris (yes, I'm even scared having typed that).
And hey - - I'm going early on Friday so will have most of Friday, some of Saturday and some of Sunday to myself to explore Paris. So I'm sure I'll be fine. Well, nearly sure. And I am certain that I'll enjoy it.
posted by Daphne at 11:23 pm
4 Comments:
you'll have a wonderful time no problems, it's easy you'll see. Take the camera?!
Have fun x
If someone's meeting you at the airport in Paris does that mean they will be holding one of those signs with your name on it and you have to go up to them and claim to be the person they are looking for and they then whisk you off to your hotel in a posh car?
I've always thought it might be quite fun just to go up to the smartest dressed person holding up one of those signs and, with the utmost confidence, confirm you are the person they are supposed to be collecting and see where you get taken.
On second thoughts, probably not a good idea. And anyway you're going somewhere posh already so it won't get better than that.
Have fun! (take your shoe repair kit just in case someone asks you to do a bit of cobbling)
God what are you going to be like when you fly to Orlando ??!!
I think numerous pills and vast quantities of alcohol might be needed......for Stephen I mean. He'l be the one who has to put up with you !
Have fun and loved the Franglaise.
Honey - oh yes, I'll definitely take the camera. I hope you're right about it being easy!
Ruth - yes, they'll be holding up a big placard with my name on it, that's what's happened before. I was looking round for someone important with the same name as me.
Silverback - I think you know EXACTLY what I'll be like. I will bring a whole new meaning to the phrase "over-excited".
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