So ten weeks ago, I was waking up to my first mornings in Montpellier, ready to face the challenging day ahead of having to speak proper French to proper French people and do all the serious stuff that needs to be done when you’re setting up a life somewhere. I quickly realised this wasn’t a holiday, and that actually bank accounts needed to be set up and the phone contracts needed to be taken out. Little did I know back then that it wasn’t going to be as easy as I had hoped. But I managed it, and I can safely say that after 10 weeks I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be for whatever the French bureaucratic system decides to throw my way. I now know that if you need to see the bank for whatever reason, you will have to go in, say what it is you want to discuss, be told to come back in another time, to then make an appointment….for yet another day. Sounds crazy? Pretty normal for round here. If you want to get a simple thing such as a tram pass, you will need 3 different types of document and probably a blood sample.

My illusion that the south of France is always bathed in glorious sunshine has been shattered completely this week; the summer clothes and the flip flops have been firmly stored away in the back of the wardrobe, don’t think they’ll be resurfacing anytime soon, sadly. Montpellier has been hit by some sort of monsoon season that has made it sometimes impossible to leave the house. I really wish I was kidding. I know that if I left the house I’d just get blown away by the wind and I really don’t fancy doing a Mary Poppins. It’s the kind of weather where you just want to get into bed and eat chocolate, drink tea and watch films all day. Shame I can’t do that, as it turns out I actually have a fair bit of uni work to be cracking on with. The closer it gets to the ends of term (only 6 weeks to go), the closer we get to actually having to do some work. I'd almost forgotten that that's what we're here to do...

Other small updates on my life…the battle between me and the supermarkets for fresh milk rages on – there are times when I’ve lost, meaning black coffee and dry cereal for me, yum. It’s amazing how such a little thing can become so important! So far this experience is turning me more French by the day. I now eat my steak much rarer than I'd ever have even touched before (in my opinion, it's raw, but damn it tastes good), I drink COFFEE and haven't had made a cup of tea in all my time here (sorry Steph), I've taken to olives (so sophisticated) and my staple diet consists of wine, bread and cheese (très française). I’ve also learnt another major lesson – the green man at the road crossing, which I’d always assumed was an international symbol for “you’re ok to cross now”, apparently does now have the same meaning in France. Cars can still go, so you take your life into your own hands every time.

One last thing. As much as I love France the one thing I have to admit that I’m missing more than I had realised…the English pubs. There just isn’t anything quite like them!