I Don't Speak French

Today is a wonderful, beautiful day. Not only because it is Jane's birthday (although that, I have to say, is mighty attractive) but because from now on I can just let the funky music do the talking, talking.

After two and a half hours of sitting in room forty with six other French resit-ers, and some annoyingly lucky year twelves/ consortium kids doing the new specification exam, which is half an hour shorter, it is over. The fact that we got little mp3 players for the listening part of the exam back in June kind of implied that we would get them this time, but no, we had loud, clunky individual cassette players. Which is just counter-productive, because you disturb everyone with all the really loud clicking of buttons that you have to press three times to get to work, and our half of the room became a trip hazard of wires.

Meanwhile, the new specification people had their silent mp3 players that are easy to use and disturb no-one. Never mind though, because NEVER AGAIN. I can parler francis for fun, pas pour les examens.

Also drama yesterday was tears and tension cakes, but I reckon if we listen to enough inspirational music we might get through it.