I don't have long to write this as must pick the kids up from school soon. French lessons are still going well although when I'm tired I really struggle to understand a word. Tomorrow will be host to yet another French strike - in this case a national strike affecting many aspects of day to day life, in protest against the government's plans to alter the retirement age.

 Hopefully the biggest problem I will have is with transport to and from my French school in St Germain des Prés. Trains are still running but slower than usual. Worst case scenario: the childrens' school is on strike and I have them for the entire day, but I don't think that will happen.

I went along to the WHSmith on Rue de Rivoli on my way back home today. Yes I know it's cheating but a good bookstore is a good bookstore regardless. I also discovered that they sell many bilingual books (English and French) which maybe when my French improves I will be able to read. And that they sell very overpriced but genuine English goodies - mostly consisting of unhealthy treats such as hobknobs, walkers crisps etc etc. They do also sell real English tea. I resisted the urge to buy any of these as a) French food is much nicer and b) the prices are extremely farfetched. But it's good to know that when I'm feeling homesick I can find a taste of home there.
The thing I did buy was George Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London, which Elle recently recommended to me and I shockingly have not yet read. Still reading Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame at the moment which by the way is fantastic, but will work on Orwell after.

Speaking of which, the exposition of poverty in Paris is somewhat shocking to me; having lived in many places but currently calling Kent home, I am not used to witnessing poverty so explicitly. There are beggar children which hop on and off the metro, holding out their hands as they plead for sympathy (and what good is sympathy without a little money), and women with small babies doing the same. Homeless people, almost always male, slumber in metro stations at all times of day. The contrast between this, and the luxurious designer clad Parisians, covered from head to toe in such luxury that one is never too far from Chanel, or Louis Vuitton, or Versace... , is odd and as I belong in neither category, makes me feel quite lost at times. It is uncomfortable to be constantly reminded of the extremes of society.

On a more amusing note, crazy people also roam the metro. And I mean crazy, although I have to admit I don't understand a word of their ramblings but that is probably a good thing. Someone once told me that there is a French law against being admitted into mental asylums without the explicit voluntary action of the person in question, and thus these people are free to rudely interrupt us 'normal' people. I have observed the Parisians and gathered that the best way to deal with them is to make firm but dismissive eye contact and then look away. Maybe you think that's harsh; then you obviously have never used the metro in Paris.

Must go and pick the little terrors (I jest, sort of) up from school, will again write soon.