I was, in a twist of supreme irony, elected la présidente down the school three weeks ago which is still making me giggle and panic in equal measures.  I think I was just elected so that the meetings are a whole lot jollier on account that everyone else will be rolling around with laughter as I clammily conjugate my sentences.  Pascal, the current and re-elected tresorier and mastermind behind the last fundraiser - la country soirée (picture Star Wars bar meets Brokeback Mountain and then go for a lie down because that image is just too much to keep in your head) - is livid.  He was clearly one of the four votes that I didn't get and was keen to make that perfectly clear to me.

I, however, am made of spit and stones and he would do well to bear that in the back of his tiny mind, just next to the huge void between his ears.  E is so over-excited about it all.  Keen to play the role of Carla to my Sarko, recently caught him thumbing through my copy of Grazia, no doubt trying to work out which shoes work best with his dishing-out-merguez-and-couscous-Dior wardrobe.  Or possibly not.