Dawn of the Dead: Quick! Make a Brew for Mrs Brimson.
Picture the scene: a dining room full of munching, slurping and chatter. It’s 7.30am and we’re all having breakfast and looking forward to the day ahead. I said ‘all’ but it should have more accurately been all minus one. Until the door at the back of the room scraped open and it slowly emerged. Fortunately, the children were too engrossed in their pain-au-chocolats and conversations to notice the presence of the undead in the room. It began to move. Cricking, cracking, its lopsided frame seemed to drag itself across the room. The arms hung as if devoid of bone and muscle, only slightly swaying as the legs slid one in front of the other. Hidden by a grey film, the eyes resembled a shark’s in attack mode. Hanging to one side, the head barely moved and no sound came from the drooping lips. Eventually it arrived at the staff table. Pausing, it seemed to be selecting its prey. Who would it devour first? Its colleague of many years, the delicious Mrs DeJean; or perhaps the young, tender esteemed dance teacher, DofE leader and all round superstar, Mrs Trusolve? Maybe it was tempted by the leathery hide of Mr Ewing, cured by hours of lunch duty on the sun-soaked field. Or did it fancy the fatty option offered by the ageing, portly English teacher, whose spare tyres were wobbling in terror? That’s me, by the way. Seconds seemed like anxious hours. Then, movement. But it did not strike. No, it half slid, half flopped into an empty chair, and for the first time, there appeared to be some purpose in its actions. First the cup, then the teabag, hot water and finally, the almond milk. At the first sip, the metamorphosis began. The body cracked itself into shape; the neck straightened, righting the head, and the eyes revealed themselves. One more sip.
“Morning everyone. You all look like you had a terrible night. I slept like a zombie.” Note to self: leave a fresh cup of tea outside Mrs Brimson’s room tomorrow morning.
Super Saturday
So, Saturday: it was a packed day! First, we visited the town of Le Touquet, or Paris plage, as it is often known. We strolled through the busy Saturday morning streets and market, witnessing a brass band attempting a rendition of Proud Mary. To be fair, it was an admirable attempt, and I reckon Tina T would have approved.With a little time to spare and the sun shining, we took the opportunity to go to the beach. Inevitably, the temptation to paddle was too much so most of us splashed in the channel and had great fun. Will, however, decided to channel (proud of my wordplay there - I know, I’m a sad English teacher) the late, great French diver, Jaques Cousteau, and submerged himself. The lame explanation of, “I fell over, sir.” really didn’t wash but how can you not smile when seeing young people enjoying themselves so much? Anyway, the sun soon dried him out, so no harm done and we were ready to head off to our next stop: chocolate heaven!
**Did I tell you Charlotte bumped her head!**
The rest of our afternoon was spent visiting a chocolatier and a boulangerie. Both visits included a talk from the artisan and in the boulangerie, everyone learned the art of shaping their dough, with the magic words, “plip, plip, plip plip.”Remember that when you’re kneading your dough later and then observe as it rises to new, majestic heights.
Both of our hosts conducted their sessions mainly in French and with a little encouragement, our students were soon eagerly practising their language skills. Our hosts were very impressed with the children and complimented them on their excellent behaviour and enthusiasm - we’re very proud of them and hope you are too!
**what was that about Charlotte’s head?**
The final event of the day was crepe making back at the chateau. Two observations: in the stirring department, Sophie was an absolute machine in our team, and Brodie, now known as In-One Brodie, can make a crepe disappear quicker than the human eye can observe.
Well, that just about wraps up Saturday. Oh wait, did you know about Charlotte’s head? Thought so.
Bye for now.
Mr D