You guessed it; it’s that time of year again: the summer holidays! The time when everyone jets off somewhere hot in search of sun, away from dreary middle England, where it rains in august and there’s a Lib Dem in charge. This year I’ve finally seen the attraction of going away for two weeks in search of some peace and quiet, I’ll briefly outline why.
I’d become so frustrated with Britain and its conventions that I was counting down the hours until I could be set free into the world of the French. I’ve always loved France, and always will. I’ve looked into higher education over there, and it is starting to become a serious possibility for my future to live there. “Why France you madman!” you may cry “It’s full of frogs and snails!” I love France because it has common sense. Sure they simply can’t negotiate roundabouts and don’t stick around in a war, but I love it all the same.
For example, the culture of alcohol is a different universe across the channel, kids as young as ten sit up at the table sipping red wine and socialising with their extended families. If this happened in the UK there would be public uproar, and no doubt, an enquiry, and not to mention a 4 page spread in the Mail. There may even be a prosecution. This is simply irrational from the British system; yes we hear stories of groups of teenagers getting severely drunk in fields, and behind closed doors. This only happens because we haven’t been introduced to alcohol in moderation, and see it as a commodity when we get our hands on it without an adult in sight, the French youth however, think it ridiculous to drink until you’re paralytic, and the excuse I seem to get from all my close friends is “it’s well fun, something to do”. I always laugh in their faces when they say this, and walk off.
I come back to the point about common sense; the French simply don’t care if you have a quiet beer while the sun is setting with your parents, because they know that responsible adults aren’t going to fuel their pride and joy with alcohol until they collapse in a heap, and put the snaps taken of the night on Facebook. They won’t however, serve a group of teenagers late at night; they know where to draw the line between responsible and irresponsible.
The other thing I love about France is that on the whole, people are friendly, civil, and nice to you. If you don’t look like you don’t know where you’re going, they’ll offer you a word of advice, and if you ask them very nicely, they may even speak a bit of English to you. Only if you ask very nicely though. Over here, people walk with their heads down, headphones on and bury their faces in their coats. They don’t go out of their way to acknowledge someone’s smiling face, and don’t put in a friendly “Comment ça va?” even if they really don’t expect an answer. It’s the gesture that counts.
So when I returned to this great nation in the early hours of a Saturday morning, I felt a certain anticlimax to the whole affair, I came home expecting messages saying I’d been missed, and acquaintances asking after me when I was away; none of this was present when I got back, and I immediately yearned to return to the land of the French, where people appreciated your existence, and always smiled at if you walked past, if you look someone in the eye and smile over here they look at you like you just said “hey mate do you mind if I just have a little play with your bollock?”
Paris looks an exciting prospect for higher education.
