My name is Emily, and I am lost. It all started back in December 2013, when our sensible estate car swerved off towards the sign marked “to France” at the Eurotunnel terminal. Since then, my husband, two girls and I have been groping blindly around a small village on the outskirts of Lyon, at our most conspicuous at the moments when we thought we were most likely to blend in.
This blog is about the many moments of cultural perplexity we have experienced since living in France. It is also an attempt to make sense of the drastic changes in my personal life. Back in London, I had a busy job at the House of Commons, and we lived in a shoe box. I also did a lot of chatting over cups of tea. Here I manage far less chatting (and even that is conducted over thimbles of café), we inhabit a virtual château, and I juggle the resulting sudden excess of domestic bliss with a little bit of teaching, some ‘cello playing, and work as a freelance writer. I am part of the way through a grimly comic novel (writing, not reading it), and seek light relief (procrastination) in my blog posts about our new life.
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