Gardening Leave

G

ardening leave. It’s a funny concept. And one that asks a simple question.

What do you want to do?

And it asks you that question without the usual impediments. Not in the way that your friendly, neighbourhood motivational speaker tells you to go through life. Just follow your dreams and do what you want they say. But what about reality? Yeah sure buddy.

No, gardening leave is different. You go from today I am beholden to reality. To that beast that grows and grows. Bills. Career. Mowing. Just life. Not necessarily bad. But all powerful.

And then here it is. Nothing. Nada. Absolutely zero. For three whole months.

What do you do with that kind of time to yourself? I can’t remember the last time I had that kind of time. It’s silly. It doesn’t feel real. But it is. And it’s here for me. Ready to eat me alive.

A whole new type of beast. The beast of a wasted opportunity.

So what to do? How can I slay that before it’s shaken off the afterbirth? Before it’s even been conceived.

Okay. Whiteboard time. What have I always wanted to do? I love cooking. I could do that! Three months in a culinary school. Wait. I could do it in France. I’m learning French. Maybe a little two birds and one stone manoeuvre.

Well it turns out that culinary school ain’t for the faint of bank account. But ChatGPT is telling me that French language school is not only possible it’s reasonable. And I can start in 2 weeks!

Well that was two weeks ago. Three connecting flights, a train and voila. Gerry is in the south of France. Montpellier to be precise. And it’s gorgeous.

I am staying in the historic village in an 18th century building. My patron is a lovely French woman who loves wine, cigarettes and to talk. And talk, and talk.

But only in French. Which is good for me because that’s why I’m here. To learn conversational French. And I think I’ve figured something out about that.

Conversations in Australia are generally very pleasant. We swear a lot but generally the conversation is cordial.

How are ya mate?

Yeah good man.

Fuck yeah, keeping busy?

Yeah trying to….

Generally the conversation steers towards agreement. In France, not quite the case. Every dinner is a war. Each topic a battlefield. You pick a side and you get ready to fight.

But it’s not angry, it just looks that way. Particularly to Aussies (insert Brits, Americans). They are just going about a robust discussion. Which I like.

It’s quite entertaining to watch these encounters (and try to participate). Everything is on the table. Food, culture, politics. You must take a view. And be prepared to defend it.

It’s also doing wonders for my French ear (I think). I’ve spoken and heard more French in the last two weeks than the last year of French podcasts/courses/classes.

So this 2 month sojourn is looking positive so far. The food has been fantastic and the wine superb.

I hope to consume a lot more of both. As well as the language.

Of which I will write more of in future.

Merci et à bientôt.

Gerry