Le vent nous portera!

I feel impatient, hopeful, worried, optimistic, excited. Nothing much is happening in my life, nothing I would consider important. I have exams, sure, and I want to do well. But no big deal if I don't. I'll just resit next year.

I go on holiday in a week. Strasbourg in June. Summer holidays. Back to college. My French exchange partner comes over in October, and I'm pretty excited about that.

Then Christmas, New Year, exams again, sort out university stuff, my birthday, Easter, exams again... end of college. Go to university.

Life begins.

And I can't wait for it. I love my family, my parents, my friends, my city, to absolute pieces. I'll miss them so much. But I want to get out. Not in any particularly dramatic way, as though I feel oppressed or long-suffering. It's been a good life so far.

How much better can it get?

I want to see the world, meet all the kinds of people it has to offer, fall in love with different cultures, different towns, different boys. Make a million friends, learn a dozen languages.

It's all a bit idealistic, sure, but what's the point in having realistic dreams?

In terms of a job, I think I know what I want now. It scares me a bit, but also seems custom-made for me. I want to live in France. I love languages. So, I'm thinking about teaching English as a forgein language, in France. I don't know how I would go about it, how the system works in France, if it's something that's needed, that pays reasonably, that is stressful. It's something to aim for, though, to work towards.

It's better than being a solicitor.

Je n'ai pas peur de la route
Faudrait voir, faut qu'on y goûte
Des méandres au creux des reins
Et tout ira bien là
Le vent nous portera

Dis-moi oui, Andy!

Words cannot describe the glory.



Andy - Les Rita Mitsouko

It's the kind of thing that transcends all language barriers. Because in all of our hearts, there is that itty bitty hole that is just crying out for a bit of awesomely shitty 80's French pop.

This fits perfectly.

D.A.N.C.E

"Chin up, bottom down, belly in," she barked to the class, terrifyingly, eyes zooming in on my leg that was turned out as far as the joint would let it go, but, I knew, not nearly enough for her. Impatiently, she adjusted it for me, examining the angle momentarily, before pausing to see how long I could keep it in that position without squealing in pain. It wasn't long. I huffed out a breath, dropped my leg to the ground and stared vulnerably at her.

"From the top," she called to the piano lady, staring back at me steely-eyed. It broke my heart. I couldn't do it again. My legs were shrieking, my nerves fraying. I wanted my mum so I could bury my head on her shoulder and cry.

The first note was struck, a deep, omnious chord. I glanced over my shoulder at the girl behind me on the barre and noted that her cheeks were heavily flushed, her breathing ragged. She looked at me and smiled thinly. I rolled my eyes in return.

At the end of the lesson, I vowed I would quit. Ballet was torture. I hated it. I hated my teacher, hated the music, hated the pain in my legs, the pain in my heart that came from loving it so fucking much.

I knew I didn't have what it takes to be a dancer. I was too weak, too prepared to give in. Real dancers would block out the pain, the annoyance, the tiny voice inside your head that whispers seductively that it would all be so much easier if you just didn't bother.

I gave in to that voice. At fifteen years of age, I quit.

That was before I discovered YouTube, and the endless number of ballet videos available on there. I'm pretty sure that if I were aware of the following, I wouldn't have given it in, even though I'm acutely aware of the fact that no matter how much hours I had put in, I would never hold a candle to these tear-your-soul-wide-open, fucking amazing dancers.



This is Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn dancing the balcony pas de deux from Kenneth MacMillan's Romeo and Juliet. Dame Margot was in her fifties when this was filmed, just in case you needed a reason to feel bad about yourself and another reason to worship her. From two such legendary dancers, it is expected that the dancing is never less than blow-your-socks-off impressive, or that the acting is vibrant, vivid and joyful enough to make you forget about the twenty year age gap, and make you absolutely belief true love exists. (*sigh*)

And who needs words when you have choreography from Kenneth MacMillan that fits so perfectly with Sergei Prokofiev's score, that matches so completely Shakespeare's poetry. There is nothing I have ever seen that is quite like this.



Here, Laurent Hilaire and Elisabeth Maurin dance in Rudolf Nureyev's adaptation of The Nutcracker for the Paris Opera Ballet. Both dancers are the epitome of classical ballet: clean lines, flawless technique, a certain flair, a certain sparkle.

It doesn't hurt that Mr. Hilaire is maybe the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

He's also a wonderful actor:



This is an extract from a contemporary piece choreographed by Angelin Preljocaj, called Le Parc. Out of context, it's simply the coming together of a man and a woman, any man and woman, and even so it's pretty fucking powerful.

I would highly reccommend finding out what it is about in context for yourself. If only to see more of Laurent Hilaire's gorgeous face...



Personal crushes aside, I'll leave it for now with one final clip of one of my favourite female dances, Alina Cojocaru, in one of the most famous moments of classical dance: The Rose Adagio from The Sleeping Beauty, choreographed by Marius Petipa.



It's just lovely.

Let's Start at the Very Beginning

(a very good place to start)

My name is Rachel.

I'm 17 years old and study English Literature, Psychology, Law and French at college.

I'm from Yorkshire. It means I mangle the English (not to mention French) language with my lovely accent.

Are you going to the shop? No, actually, m'off t'shop.

And as much as I love the place, even more so when I'm complaining about how shitty it is, I can't wait to pack up and leave.

Because there's only one thing I want to do in life, and that's travel. I'm never happier than when I'm off somewhere different, seeing new cultures, new landscapes, new faces.

I'm not ambitious. At all. When people ask me what I want to be, my automated response is now, "Solicitor," or, "Barrister," or, "something vaguely related to the law," and I can't tell you why. It's not true. I don't really want to be anything.

I love my friends and family, but I won't miss them when I go away.

I have quite a diverse taste in music ranging from Iron Maiden to Edith Piaf to Shakira. Jamie T and Alex Turner are my gods.

I only turn the TV on to watch period dramas, Friends re-runs, Doctor Who, tennis, and Skins.

My greatest passion in life is ballet...

... and the Eurovision song contest.

I read Dostoevsky, Austen, Tennyson, Baudelaire, along with those silly little teen romance novels. Princess Diaries? Read them all!

I'm pretty into film, especially when it's of the tragic romance variety. Brief Encounter, Atonement, Moulin Rouge... My favourite movie of all time is Amelie...

I've watched Clueless about a million times.

I'm a child of the 90's. It's the best kind of child to be.

I read the newspapers everyday, even if they make me want to spit in somebody's eye. It's like when you watch a movie knowing it makes you cry, and you watch it mostly because it makes you cry. I like knowing that I can feel that kind of anger, and I like having to defend my opinions against theirs.

My family is Catholic, I went to a Catholic school. It was not in any way traumatic. I don't know what I believe in yet, but I know it's something that's important to me.

I don't know what else to tell you.