Are The West In The Grip Of The Woke...
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MM Links November 2010 [Week 1]
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Good morning all -- this is Sheila again (aka slaney) for my second reign as the MM Links setter. I’m so surprised to find myself here; foolishly I had thought I was immune as the memories of my last attempt to set the links (not to mention crofter’s corruption) are still fresh in my mind!
I think my last ramblings left me at my convent boarding school, but all good things come to an end, and one warm June day at the age of seventeen I left that school armed with one Irish Leaving Certificate (and perhaps too much youthful optimism). No time was lost in depositing my hated sage green hat, (now surplus to requirement) into the nearby hedgerows. My father stopped me from throwing out my over-sized blazer as well -- my mother being firmly of the opinion that two sizes too large was the only safe option.
Fast forward to that September, when I waited at the Gare du Nord to be picked up by a very elegant grey-haired lady, who took me to her Paris apartment. There I stayed for a few days before going on to the Loire valley, where I was to be an au-pair to her daughter's family. I suppose those first few magical days in Paris turned me into a lifelong Francophile. However, there was one sticky moment, when Madame mistook my pyjamas for some kind of bizarre Irish outerwear and lectured me on what was “not done”.
I think my last ramblings left me at my convent boarding school, but all good things come to an end, and one warm June day at the age of seventeen I left that school armed with one Irish Leaving Certificate (and perhaps too much youthful optimism). No time was lost in depositing my hated sage green hat, (now surplus to requirement) into the nearby hedgerows. My father stopped me from throwing out my over-sized blazer as well -- my mother being firmly of the opinion that two sizes too large was the only safe option.
Fast forward to that September, when I waited at the Gare du Nord to be picked up by a very elegant grey-haired lady, who took me to her Paris apartment. There I stayed for a few days before going on to the Loire valley, where I was to be an au-pair to her daughter's family. I suppose those first few magical days in Paris turned me into a lifelong Francophile. However, there was one sticky moment, when Madame mistook my pyjamas for some kind of bizarre Irish outerwear and lectured me on what was “not done”.
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