Here we go…
First day with Gaulier yesterday (not goulia, not gawliur, it’s Gaulier)
We stand outside introducing ourselves, our smiles betraying our complicit knowledge that we’ll forget most of them. We lean in trying to wade through the myriad of accents, mostly Australian, all of us waiting to file in one at at time past Ad Min I Stration. Proof of payment is the ticket to get in and we’re all in various stages of panic as transfers haven’t gone through and there are skype calls on tablets to Australian banks and line ups to use computers to find the banking transaction page to email and then the drum starts upstairs and a voice starts to dictate rules.
It’s started and I’m late.
The game has already begun and as I walk in and someone is already in trouble. She has broken a rule and must plead for kisses from the group. If one too many says no then, oh la la, it’s punishment time at the hands of our Master. Indian arm burns, knuckle twisters, nougies, nothing is sacred anymore.
I jump in, I have no idea what’s going on but I can guess and I do okay – even if I quietly justify my lies and fail to denounce my mistakes – I don’t know the rules yet!
Tomorrow I think, tomorrow I will be honest.
That’s today now. Place your bets.
I’d tell you more, like how I totally bombed in the afternoon. I think I actually pissed him off, but I slept late so I’ll leave you to imagine me feeling about eight inches tall with a mask that doesn’t properly fit on my face, facing the angry man with the drum telling me I just ruined everything “they liked you and then you did nothing. Go away”. Worse still feeling like I was standing, eight inches high and mile away from the group, feeling the heat of the ‘supportive’ faces, the ‘we’re sorry for you’ faces’, the ‘i want to smile at you but that was really bad’ faces.
Boff. That’s what I came for isn’t it?
Now, to bypass the passive aggressive landlady (No Parties, Post-its in triplicate on every nob), grab some breakfast, deep deep breath and off I go for Day Two.