New Beginnings & Reflections

Where did all the time go?  It's only occurred to me recently that I have but a mere month left of my internship at the International Herald Tribune.  Someone give me a hanky.  As in a handkerchief, not a hanky panky.  It seems like just yesterday that I arrived in Paris, my life packed into two bulging suitcases and my legs trembling.  I'm surprised there were no tears.  And I was off to start a new life somewhere I'd never been before, all by myself.  Cue: Celine Dion.

Anyway, five months down the line and I've come to the conclusion that my French isn't really improving much.  Wait, let me rephrase that, I came to that conclusion a long time ago.  Everyone always told me that after a couple months in France, it would suddenly 'click' and I'd be speaking the lingo like a pro.  Five months later, I'm still waiting for that click.  "When you start dreaming in French, you know you've cracked it!" they say.  The solution?  Speak French 24/7.  What's stopping me? I work with a bunch of expats (albeit lovely ones).  Admittedly some of them speak pretty decent, if not fluent, French.  But equally many of them speak less French than I do.  Then again, my grasp of the American language is certainly coming on leaps and bounds.  For example, I say 'leeezure' instead of 'leisure' now and 'zeeeebra' instead of 'zebra'.  Oh dear, my stiff upper lip is steadily sagging.

Nevertheless, I'm pretty relaxed about this realisation because my next internship starting on 4th March at French online shopping platform Twenga will give me the boost of French that I need.  Well that's the plan anyway.  I will literally refuse to speak English to anyone.  Pretend I don't know the language.  Shrug and point at the ceiling when someone asks if I want a coffee.  That sorta thing.

Yet despite speaking zero French, I will honestly say that I have loved my time here at the IHT, soaking up the newsroom vibe and having a laugh when someone accidentally calls me 'Hannah', so I will be sad to leave.  (NB: I don't think the 'Hannah Montana' joke will ever grow old.)  Though there is a lot less running around, phone ringing, screaming at printers and flapping bits of paper around furiously than you might have expected; everything is very orderly (until perhaps five minutes before deadline and a page still hasn't been sent off.)  It's been such a frugal experience and despite having the same day-to-day routine (which inevitably means I'm now super speedy at my job), I've had the chance to meet some really fascinating people who eat culture and head-lines for breakfast and have shown me and taught me a lot.  It's also interesting how none of them would suggest journalism as a career path; not now at least with the way the printed press is headed.

The view from the top of the Eiffel Tower says a lot about where I work.  Just look towards the eyesore on the skyline and voila.  All the skyscrapers and office blocks have been bunged here and this area is known as 'La Defense', located in the banlieu of Paris which admittedly is a slightly glum place to work compared to the beauty of Paris.  Forget about finding cute little cafes to while away your lunch break.  We're talking Subway, McDonalds and over-priced Japanese take-outs.  (I don't know why, but I have a strong distaste for places which have photographs of their food on the menu.)  But despite its relative dreariness, the La Defense metro stop welcomes chicly dressed businessmen and women from all over Paris and the burbs who waltz off into their shiny office blocks, Starbucks coffee in hand.  And I guess I'm now one of them.  Perhaps minus the 'chicly dressed' part, because the dress-code in the office is pretty casual.

I was talking to a colleague on the way to the metro recently and asked him whether it's the done thing to go out for drinks together in the evening after work.  Apparently ten years ago that was the norm.  Now, it's become a rarity; the collegiate atmosphere has disintegrated.  No-one goes out mid morning to take Starbucks orders and there are certainly no long lunch breaks discussing potential office romances.  The furthest one might venture is going for a ciggy and lending someone a lighter.

Contrary to opinion though, we do know how to have fun: 

Occasionally biscuits (sorry, I should say 'cookies'), chocolate or cake will be brought into the newsroom cafeteria by journalists and editors which is always a welcome treat.  That's often a pretty social occasion as it will bring in hoards of people from all over the newsroom who come to inspect and eat the day's delights.  We also celebrated Thanksgiving in the office in true American style and we popped a few bottles of Champagne for our 125th anniversary.  We were even sent a huge bowl of 125th anniversary special edition M & Ms which were so s'moreish.  I may have scooped my plastic cup into the bowl a few times. Let's just say my tongue was a little yellow afterwards. 

So what I'm trying to say is, while we're not all going down to our local to have a pint or two every night, there is still a sense of community and I've loved being part of it.  These past months at the IHT have given me the opportunity of a life-time.  I'm interning at a global organisation with bureaus in London and Hong Kong as well as the headquarters here in Paris, not to mention its parent paper, The New York Times.  Life couldn't have thrown a better blessing at this point in my career as a young professional and I am grateful for each day I've spent here.  Will I go into journalism?  I don't know yet.  But even if I don't, the experience will have been invaluable and another door's been opened.

Productivity in Paris

If there's one thing doing an internship abroad has taught me, it's time-management.  OK, maybe there's a more fashionable saying than 'time-management'; I'm fully aware the word is thrown around in lecture halls at those dreaded Employability talks (which are actually bloody useful if you think about it).  So what do I really mean by "time-management"?  Well, essentially: learning to get all my sh*t together.

Despite my new 35 hour working week (so about 28 hours more than at uni), I feel like I've achieved much more than I would have if I'd spent the year in Exeter attempting to read Madame Bovary (without dying of boredom) and writing song requests to the DJ at Arena.  Let me elaborate...

1) I've signed up for the Paris half-marathon which is taking place on 3rd March and I'm training four times a week.  At uni I was going to the gym twice a week at a push.  More like twice a month.  If I'd told myself this time last year that I'd be running the half-marathon, I'd have laughed in disbelief.  My new equation: Montana + Gerry = Motivation + Goals.

2) I'm keeping a blog (tad-ah!) which I'm writing religiously and hence pursuing my love of writing!

3) I'm going to church every Sunday evening, the student church group every Tuesday night and helping out at Sunday school.  My life here in Paris wouldn't be the same without the church community and all that it's brought to me, particularly the friends I've made.

4) I'm raising money for charity thanks to my my new-found 'love' of running. 

5) I've taken to babysitting a couple times a month for extra pocket money.  I also get to play fun games and dress up in silly costumes!  #childish

6) I actually read the news and know what's going on in the world.  Ish.

7) I wake up at an acceptable hour every morning.  Weekday lie-ins are something of the past.

8) I've given up drinking for a couple months and in general I'm drinking far less.  When I tried to abstain at uni it didn't quite last a week.

9) I'm being cultured - I've been to plenty of new exhibitions and galleries.

10) I've learnt more about cheese.  (Don't laugh...I'm being serious)

And what hasn't changed?

1) I'm still rarely on time for 'social occasions', although I am getting better. 

2) I still spend far too much time on Facebook.  Hence all the status updates on how adventurous my life in Paris is.

3) I still watch Desperate Housewives at crazy hours of the morning.

4) I still put make-up on in the street/metro because I usually leave the house in a rush.  Although I'm happy to say this has been declining.

In fact, I've been pretty impressed by how fulfilling my life is out here and how much energy I've got.  Doing an internship with proper working hours has given me the reality check I needed and it's been great getting out of the university bubble.  I'm not as naive as I was before and I don't expect everything to be handed to me on a plate.  I've learnt to be fearless, to not take anything for granted and to accept opportunities, even if they weren't part of the 'original dream'.

I'm also relying on my own strengths a lot more and coming to terms with my weaknesses and ways to overcome them.  I'm getting to grips with balancing different parts of my life and I don't feel like I'm doing anything in excess.  I appreciate 'down time' but I still love socialising with friends.  My hard-core clubbing days are fini and have been replaced with dinner parties, open mic nights and cinema trips.

And what's even more exciting is that right now I am 100% in charge of all my funds.  I pay for everything: accommodation, food, travel, phone, general expenses.  It's the most liberating feeling in the world to not rely on your parents.  I haven't taken a student loan out this year either so I'm not building up any debt; my internship salary and Erasmus grant have covered me sufficiently and there's a real sense of joy when I purchase things because I know it's my money in my own right. 

Don't get me wrong - life out here has certainly thrown its fair share of challenges and complications.  You find yourself not wanting to adapt to certain cultural expectations and you'll often crave a slice of home-life.  But in the end, you just have to learn to take advantage of what life throws at you, because you never know what might be around the corner.

In conclusion, taking an internship in Paris was probably one of the best decisions I've made since being at university and it's preparing me for the future in ways I couldn't have possibly imagined.

P.S. Do excuse the excessive use of 'I' in this blog post.  I just read through it and found it quite sickening.  I'm not usually this self-centred, I promise. 

Interning Abroad

5 months into my year abroad and I've decided it's time for a little assessment.

Undertaking a year abroad is a fundamental part of any language degree; a time to improve on and hopefully perfect your superficial "A-level baptised" language skills and return to university still dreaming about your target language.  This is easier said than done.  Learning a language in the host country has many benefits, but when you find yourself in such a multicultural city like Paris, the opportunities to speak the language can be readily distinguished.  Most people in Paris speak English because it's considered a basic necessity, like the ability to read.  Even for the most mundane jobs, English language skills are expected at a minimum level.  In rural France however, the likelihood that the farmer at your local market has a strong grasp of anglais is rather slim.  You're therefore forced to communicate in French, or at least attempt to.  Hence, learning the language becomes a necessity, rather than a convenience.  A concept many English-speaking Westerners struggle with.

For my year abroad I could have chosen to study at a French university (or university in a French-speaking country), work as an English language assistant teacher for the British Council, or find an internship.  I knew I didn't want to teach because I'd undergone a pretty harrowing Au-pair experience in Spain after my first year, so my initial inclination was to go down the university route because it seemed the least risqué option.  It would be easy to make friends, I thought, because of the sheer number of Erasmus students, and the hours wouldn't be very intensive.  Grenoble seemed appealing, what with it's winter skiing and sandy beaches in the summer.  However, after talking face-to-face with a variety of students who'd just completed YAs, I suddenly became quite intrigued by an internship abroad.  One girl had done an internship at L'Oreal and another at Air France.  Many had done internships in translation and they all spoke to me about the benefits of working abroad.  Before long, the idea of going to university had shot out the window and I was well on my way to looking for an internship.  The main questions however were 1) What should I do an internship in? and 2) How was I going to secure it?

Thankfully, Exeter had a list of employers who had taken on their students in the past and we were allowed to send up to five Exeter-linked applications.  Surprise surprise, I waited until the last minute to complete them.  I remember that evening distinctly.  The deadline was 11pm on a Wednesday night in November and I was sitting in bed with my laptop on my knees, tapping furiously on the keyboard.  For each individual application, we needed a French version and I'd been struggling to translate it.  I was on the phone frantically with one of my best friend's who is half French; my eyes were sore, my head ached, and I was losing hope.  After a huge kerfuffle, emails with my applications were sent out at 1am and I could finally breathe.  Little did I know that this wasn't even half of it.  Weeks and months went by and I heard nothing.  Hours were spent at my computer screen, waiting for an email to come through with at least something.  The May deadline for signing off on my internship was creeping up on me but I was still holding out a vague resemblance to hope.  I desperately tried to contact anyone I knew who might have a contact somewhere in France.  I emailed a lady in Brussels who worked for the EU and subsequently introduced me to a man who worked at La Croix Rouge (The Red Cross) in Lyon.  That fell through, but I was still hopeful as he had contacts at France24 and another major French radio station.  However, I was only getting replies from him once a week and time was running out.  I soon had to let go of the rope I'd been getting tangled in for so long, but I wasn't ready to pack it in.

Then came a major break-through.  After speaking to the work-abroad coordinator at Exeter, I decided to spruce up my CV and covering letter and he resent my application to the International Herald Tribune in Paris.  To cut a long story short, I received an email that very night saying I'd got the job.  No interview, no phone conversation.  It was May 4th; the deadline for confirming an internship with Exeter, and I'd done it, just in the nick of time.  I could say goodbye once and for all to the prospect of going to university in France.  In retrospect, going to university wasn't such a heinous idea, it was more the fact that it would have been a humiliating defeat after all those months of agonizing anticipation and hard work.

Yet despite the gruelling application process, the restless nights and the unanswered emails, it all worked out.  The key is to come to terms with the fact that the majority of the covering letters and CVs you write will be either unanswered, thrown in the trash, or have coffee spilt on them.  But when you finally get accepted, the relief and excitement you get is second to none. 

An internship is definitely the toughest route to go down, because while you do receive a certain amount of help from your university, there's no guarantee that you'll get accepted.  Many students working abroad found internships through their own contacts or simply viewing postings online, and my biggest regret was sending off my applications through uni and viewing it as a 'waiting game'.  However good you think your chance might be, there's no use finding yourself in April with no internship secured, having not communicated with anyone since November.  The longer you leave it, the more pressure you're placing yourself under.  Of course there's a lot of risk involved and you end up putting a lot of time and effort into a process where there are no guarantees, but if you're determined and ruthless, that's only going to get you closer and closer to your goals.

I decided to come up with a list of reasons why working abroad is good:

1) You get to work with interesting, clever people, whose conversations don't revolve around how many jagerbombs they downed the night before. 
2) You find out what it's like to work overseas - certain work benefits, company atmosphere, dress code, office parties...

3) You're probably working 7/8 hours a day in your target language which will improve your language skills immensely.

4) You actually get paid for your work (particularly in France where they have great benefits for interns, often including 50% off transport, at least 436 euros a month, and restaurant tickets).
5) You're preparing yourself for the future! No more lie-ins till midday - you're in the real world now and you appreciate the value of weekends to go and explore your new city!

6) Hello CV.  You've only gone and made yourself more employable! Not only have you ticked the big 'internship/work experience' box, but you've done it ABROAD.  Future employers will love your new-found global perspective.
7) New skills.  Like photocopying, making spreadsheets, making coffee...I jest, slightly.  It's all part of the experience!
8) That 'dream job' you always wanted may seem a little far out of reach, but having work experience abroad could come in handy one day, especially if an opportunity arises where you'd need to manage someone overseas.
9) You could go back and work there one day, or even after you graduate!  You're not limited to living in the same shell morning and night.
10) You've just gone and shown you've got courage, determination and that you mean business!

Now what's stopping you?

Interning at the IHT: PART TWO

So today was the first day of rain.  And today was the first day I actually felt like part of the IHT family.  During one of the meetings I was sat in the corner with my little strappy top on as the “important people” discussed the weather and the overly air-conditioned building (which, FYI, I was loving), and then suddenly someone turned to me (the lowly intern) and showed a smudge of pity.  “You must be freezing” he exclaimed, insinuating that I wasn’t wearing much.  “I’m loving it”, I replied, “I’m from England”.  They all laughed.  There’s something about England and the weather together in one sentence which just makes people crack up.  I smirked slightly.  I’d proven to a bunch of Americans that the English actually have a sense of humour.  Even if it is self-depreciating, and about the weather.

So what is it exactly that I do each day?  Well, I’m not writing articles if that’s what you were thinking.  No, they leave that to the pros.  I’m the email-sender, the post-sorter, the pro-printer and the pro-photocopier.  In fact, I’m pretty much a walking beacon of knowledge when it comes to printers.  Well, that’s the idea anyway.  If you knew me, you’d realise that me + printers is a slightly risqué combo.  You know those movies where you see the dumb blondes sitting on the photocopier or trying to scan their faces?  Yep, that’s pretty much me in a nutshell.  Today I was actually approached by the editor of the IHT in Paris to “turn on the television” in her office.  It was expected that I, being young, would know these things.  But if the “on” button doesn’t work, I’m pretty hopeless after that.  I’ve got just as much experience in fixing televisions as an unborn slug.

So apart from all the printing and email sending, I also have to attach URLs to articles for iphone users, send playbacks to the journalists (finished and edited copies of their articles for them to check over) and answer the telephone and attempt to give the person on the other line a satisfactory answer…(this, by the way, is very infrequent.)  Hence why the calls have un(coincidentally) been diminishing.  I think this may have something to do with the fact that they’ve realised how hopeless I am at sorting out their queries so they’ve simply stopped phoning altogether.  You don’t see me complaining.

It’s actually quite funny that I should compare myself to an unborn slug because slugs are very much part of my day-to-day lingo at the IHT.  A “slug” is basically the name journalists use to refer to an article.  For example:  Joe Bloggs has written an article about the beautiful flowers growing in his next-door neighbour’s garden (thrilling, I know).  Joe therefore decides that the slug for his article is going to be “flowers” so that when he’s discussing his article over the phone to a conference room in Dubai, the journalists over there immediately know which article he is referring to from their list of many slugs.  It basically saves confusion and time.

As far as location is concerned, we're right in the business district of Paris.  Sky-scrapers galore; random eye-sores.  Last night on my way back from work I even bumped into a good hundred people salsa dancing in one of the squares.  Talk about random.  Oh, I do love this city.  Nothing beats Paris by night.

Watch this space.

Montana

Interning at the IHT: PART ONE

So I realised today I haven’t said much about my placement at the International Herald Tribune.  I’m not sure if this is “insiders” information, but I’m hardly going to say anything which could demean anyone I work with.  At least, I will of course use pseudonyms so that you’re unable to facebook stalk them and they’re unable to sue me. 

I’m basically working in the IHT News Room (not sure if that deserves caps but I’m going with it) in the western suburbs of Paris (but given the fact that it’s in the “banlieu” of Paris, it really isn’t that far to get to!)  Paris is much, much smaller than London as I mentioned previously so I wouldn’t sweat too much about finding accommodation which is next-door to where you work/go to university because it’s unlikely that it’ll take you much more than 45 minutes to scoot around.  Unless of course you’re super lazy and like to roll out of bed into an office/lecture.  But part of the fun is hitting the metro every morning and getting a little taste of French people busying themselves with their day to day lives.  People watching never got so interesting!  You’ll soon learn to get over the sweaty crowdedness which hits you in the face every morning before you’ve even had your morning shot of espresso.

The IHT actually just moved offices so thankfully I missed out on carrying boxes, lifting heavy loads, living off stolen vending machine supplies and bearing the brunt of a few decades’ worth of clutter which any newspaper would amass in that space of time.  Thankfully the archives were taken to another building (down under) so they could be stored in prime conditions.  I’m sure that took a little off the burden, but I was warned by the interns that it was pretty stressful.  They got a bottle of Champagne each and an IHT t-shirt though…pretty good compensation.  Guiltily, I arrived the day after moving (perfect timing), but no-one actually knew where anything in the building was located which had its pros and cons.  Pro:  I was pretty much in the same boat as everyone else which meant “fitting in” would be a lot easier.  Con:  No-one was really able to “teach me the ropes” because they were just as confused as I was.  The extra supplies of printer paper were not in their usual place; the sacred stack of elastic bands was no longer easily accessible (the interns did of course steal the whole stash of office goodies and occulted them under our rather large desk, but the issue has since been resurrected); the vending machine no longer functioned in the same way.  The list goes on.  I actually had someone coming up to me recently to ask where the printer was.  This may sound like a fair question, if you weren’t sitting in my shoes.  Firstly, there are about 10 printers on this floor.  Secondly, there is a printer in the centre of the room right opposite my desk and it is an absolute beast, I mean absolute.  And it was also mid-printing.  Slight clue.  Talk about asking where the Elephant in the room is!    

The building itself is pretty luxurious.  I haven’t been to the old offices so I obviously can’t compare but apparently this is a huge upgrade.  Only the best for little Miss Monty.  I was even told the back story behind the new office chairs which are known simply as “Space Chairs”.  I’m not sure if that’s a name the IHT have informally given them, or if it is indeed the official name, but they are pretty cool, and very comfy.  Apparently 6 months ago in the old offices they had a day of chair sampling where everyone got to test out a couple chairs and then voted on which one they preferred.  The Space Chair apparently won which is why, on this very day, I shall be seating myself on the famous Space Chair as go about my daily routine in the office.  We even had experts in the field giving one-on-one tutorials in the first week.  I can’t think of anything more exciting!

Watch this space.

Montana

Withdrawal Symptoms

Getting a little reminder of Britain is very important in my weekly routine here in Paris.  Today I lunched on an M&S BLT.  They actually have M&S in Paris.  My life just got exciting.  While my long-lost love of Boots the Chemist will remain at the pinnacle of my mourning, combined with the apparent lack of Marmite in the cupboard, this past week I have learnt to accept that some things are just not meant to be.  In all honesty, my heart melted just a little bit as I stood in the familiar looking M&S food hall.  My mouth was watering and I wanted more than anything else to repeat the words “Honey, I’m home”.  I then went to dine on my picnic in the Parc Monceau near the Champs Elysées as I reminisced about Mummy’s Spag Bol and gooey chocolate brownies under a tree.  That’s another thing: too much sun.  I can’t believe I’m complaining but being in a city when it’s too sunny is a nightmare.  I’m rather too fond of my shade.   

Most of the friends I’ve made thus far have been Brits.  I lie.  They’ve spoken English.  Everyone in my office at the IHT is American, British, or a random melange which still ends up with them speaking English.  The few frenchies are definitely outnumbered.  The phone rings at my desk and I respond in an overtly British drawl: “Communications Centre”.  French people call and I virtually refuse to speak French back to them.  By which I mean; I never understand a word they’re saying so I simply have no choice but to say “Je ne parle pas le français”.  They usually hang up, or mumble something inaudible.  *FYI:  understanding French people on the phone is 10 times harder than in person.*  Apart from my poor grasp of French phone lingo, the only other upsetting thing about my internship is that I’m currently doing 6 day weeks.  Plus, if the printer breaks down it’s my job to fix it.  That’s got my name written ALL over it.

Tomorrow I’m going to check out an English church near the Champs Elysées called St. Michael’s.  I was recommended it by a friend and I’m going along to the 7pm service which I’ve been told will be filled with young professionals such as myself.  If I can even refer to myself as a young professional.  Oh, I do sound important.

Watch this space.

Montana

My BBC failure

I couldn’t help but feel like an absolute arse when the BBC in Paris rang me up a couple days ago.  After taking nine months to get back to me, I got an email asking if I was still interested in the BBC Erasmus internship and if so, whether I’d be free for a telephone interview on the 17 July.  I replied saying I would be and on the 16 July I was informed not only that half the interview would be in French (parlez-vous francais?) but also that it would be a conference call.  Yes, I’d be speaking to 4 people from Paris, London and Brussels all at the same time.  Talk about intimidating.

My initial issue was that I was unaware that the internship was news-based.  There was me hoping somehow that I’d be on some fancy French reality TV show, when they actually expected an in-depth knowledge and passion for front-page headlines.  Who would have thought?

They started by asking “why the BBC?”  I always hate this question.  “Why me?” “Why us?”  Well truth be told, I want a career in the media.  And at 20 years old, I don’t really have the qualifications to pick and choose.  So having made dozens of relatively similar applications, it just happened to be that the BBC was one of them that replied.  “But it’s the BBC!” I hear you say.  Granted, it sounds good.  I’ll rephrase: it sounds great.  But right now, whether it’s the BBC or some middle-of-the-street TV broadcaster with only 5 employees, I’ll take what I’m given.  

Questions become more in depth, my point of conversation veers towards fashion, and then I’m suddenly cut short by a man in Brussels who is basically saying “that’s all very well and good, but we don’t give a s*it about fashion”.  Well that’s awkward.  I’m then asked who my favourite BBC journalist is and why.  Truth be told, I don’t read, watch or listen to BBC news.  Not often anyway.  So instead I go on about how much I love celebrity writer (for The Times) Caitlin Moran because I like her sense of humour.  I suppose a sense of humour wouldn’t be fitting for a murder enquiry, but he asked for my opinion and that’s what he got!

Then, I got to practise some French.  The first thing I was told to do was speak about something I’d read in a French newspaper this past week.  Let me get this straight: you actually think I read French newspapers?  I struggled.  “Well maybe something that happened in France that you read in an English newspaper?”  Still, no clue.  This is when they tell me that France was bombed and there’s nothing left but a few frogs who managed to swim the channel.  I then made vague assertions about the euro and the new president whose name I’d momentarily forgotten.  And then a passing comment about Sarkozy.  I was on my laptop, furiously typing into Google incongruous words and phrases in an attempt to string together a few lines about recent French escapades.  Coming to think of it, I probably should have made up a story about a Frenchman named Pierre who abducted an Englishwoman in the Alps and fed her to his pet goat.  Bet they’d like that.

The lady in Paris had picked up on my interest in fashion so started asking me about French fashion (because obviously she felt this was a kind thing to do given my non-existent knowledge of anything else happening in France).  In short of listing Yves Saint Laurent and Prada of which I know little if anything about, I thought it fitting to talk for 5 minutes about my love of Italian brand Gucci and their India-exclusive handbags made using bamboo.  It’s times likes this more than ever that you appreciate the English-French online Collins dictionary.  I then went on about how much I loved British designer Stella McCartney’s creations for the GB Olympic team.  I swear I wasn’t trying to avoid talking about France on purpose; I just didn’t have anything meaningful to say.  The woman was encouraging me, noting how it’s difficult to go from one language to another so quickly.  Trust me lady; that was not the problem.  The problem is that I know nowt at all about France.  It was like an English graduate applying for a job in Medicine.  Some things are just never meant to be. 

The man from Brussels then refers to a comment I made on my covering letter about how I’d love to be working in the centre of Paris during this fascinating period of European politics.  He asked what exactly it was that I found so fascinating.  Come on!!  I was just trying to make myself sound intelligent - give me a break!  For those of you who know me, you’ll know that politics isn’t exactly my forte.  In fact, I find it horrendously boring (yea yea, naïve, whatever).  So I went on about how fascinating the current unemployment rates are and how it was fascinating to see how the government would deal with it.  Yep, I pretty much said that I want to go all the way to France just to get a glimpse of unemployment.  It’s like planning a day out to sit and stare at the homeless.  Ironic too, since I’m planning on going to France to steal an internship off a hard-working French student.  

I think it’s safe to say, I didn’t get the job.  Let’s just hope they don’t validate their decision with any particularly harsh reasons.  One always hopes that they're their worse critic.  But on the bright side, I already have the International Herald Tribune internship to look forward to, so I really shouldn't complain.

What have I learnt from this experience?  To do some bloody research beforehand otherwise you’ll embarrass the hell out of yourself.

Watch this space.

Montana