WARNING: Anyone out there with a weak constitution should not read this email. It contains graphic scenes of emotional outpouring from an intermittently homesick Aussie grappling with the London mid-winter blues. It is recommended that anybody who may be offended by any such self-indulgent behaviour cease reading and delete this email now.

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I had the pleasure of spending last weekend in Paris. It was the first time I’d had the delight of being in France. I can happily say that I had a great time. After spending years looking forward to having the chance to experience French culture and cuisine my first taste didn’t let me down. I can say that one weekend is nowhere near enough. I’m looking forward to having the chance to go back there for longer and even live there for a while if I can make it happen.

Once thing I did realise while I was there was how much of a romance I’ve always had in my own mind with France. For years I’ve always had a great interest in going there and experiencing the culture for myself. And, as I said, even after all these years of building it up the country didn’t disappoint.

At one point while I was sitting by the Seine in St Germain savouring a coffee (I’ve been living on English coffee for the last 6 months so it was exciting for me to drink decent coffee again) it occurred to me where this romance came from. I had a sudden flash back to a Wodonga High School French classroom with Mrs Morgan up the front struggling to control a bunch of petulant 13-14 year-old kids while trying to instil in them an understanding of the world outside their small country town. By trying to teach them how to count from 1-10 in a foreign language she was trying to broaden their horizons and let them know that there is a whole world out there to be explored. By starting a French Club and organising lunch time activities like playing Bocce or cooking crepes she was encouraging them to escape their local confines and go out there and see the world for themselves.

I can gratefully say now that I’m one of the ones who she managed to reach and make a difference to. I might not have appreciated it at the time when I was being sent to time-out for acting the fool (I can unfortunately say that Mrs Morgan was the only teacher who ever had the misfortune of having to kick me out of a classroom), but when I look back now I realise that she successfully managed to plant the seeds of thought in my adolescent mind. Although nowadays about the only French I can speak is 1-10 or ‘Do you speak English?’, I went to France wanting nothing more then to see for myself this exotic culture I had always heard so much about.

Nowadays it seems like a world away when I look back with fondness on those days when I wondered why the hell would I ever need to speak French. I look back and wish if only I had paid more attention and let a little bit more sink in I could have been conversing with these strangers in their own language, rather then having them look down on me because I kept asking them to speak in English.

I look back now from London to a time and place that is not only an age but also half a world away and wish that I had the chance to go back and say thank you to Mrs Morgan for the effort she made. It may have taken years to come about but now that I’m out experiencing it for myself I realise that I do have an appreciation for the world outside the small country town of Wodonga and how lucky I am to have it.

The other thing I’m only starting to appreciate now is the small country town I will always think of as home. The more of the world I see the more I realise just what I left behind and how lucky I am for having such humble beginnings. My appreciation for the world may have started in a small town, but I’m starting to gain my appreciation of my small town from the world.