Though you may be forgiven for not being aware of the fact, I am a technological genius. There was a computer problem and I fixed it. Me. All by myself. Without the help of any male. Not even Thomas.

I didn't talk about Thursday's magic interview, cos I didn't want to jinx things, but despite the presence of Strange, I somehow managed to get the job! Which pleased me greatly, as you can imagine. The interview was very weird though. Usually, interviews start with them telling you all about the job, which you listen to with your 'that would be challenging yet rewarding' face on, then they ask you what you think, and you're so flummoxed by the new information you just mumble something stupid about challenges and rewards, and then they tend to grill you about why you should dare think yourself worthy to be part of so prestigious an organisation, and then they tell you they want someone older/more experienced/who can start immediately/more qualified/less qualified, and you go away and eat chocolate. However, the crucial grilling stage was missing, which meant we went straight to 'well, can you come back tomorrow to sort out the contract' without me getting a chance to clarify that I was only around for a short time. However, I explained this all (with the help of a small white lie) and am now spending 8 hours every Tuesday teaching people in a pharmaceutical firm how to use the telephone until the end of July.

Further potential telephonic excitement may await, with some roadside assistance firm, but this will have to be cleared with the language school, and will also depend on me getting the job. They demanded a social security number which I don't have yet. Bah. And it would be 35 hrs a week, which on top of teaching and planning may send me mad. And would definitely kibosh the Oxford teaching job, which I was perfectly qualified for. Buses. Wendy Cope. Buses.

So, I came home happy but rather confused (as befits someone trying to board three buses at once) and made a wonderfully studenty meal, of pasta and things in tins and jars, and then retreated to a 24-fest, as my housemates had gone out for dinner. Except it wasn't much of a fest. I think I'm getting old. I once watched about 18 episodes of 24 in one go (with brief toilet and food breaks, unlike the hapless characters) but now my nerves can't take it, and I have to limit myself to 2. That, or in my wisdom I have developed a sense of restraint and self-discipline and can wait a decent amount of time for the next episode. (I don't even fast forward the 'Previously on 24' bits any more!)

But this is unlikely, when you consider that I eat Nutella from the jar.

This week has largely been characterised by Strange. (Not least because I've just realised I posted the thing about medical trials twice. Not that it wasn't distressing, but it didn't deserve to be immortalised more than once, if at all.) "Strange" has, incidentally, become an entity in itself (try saying that out loud!) which has been tormenting me pretty much since my arrival.

My housemates all disappeared over the weekend, leaving me to wallow in self-pity, watch countless episodes of 24 and lose myself in Syntax and Human Experience, which is definitively not better than sex, but in the absence thereof has at least provided many delightful hours spent contemplating weather expressions and idioms. This all resulted in me starting the week in the throes of pessimism, leading to insane moodswings and many stressy emails and MSN conversations about how upsetting it was not knowing what country I would be spending the next few months in, whether I was going to find a job here or come back and look in Oxford, why I was happier reading syntax books than earning money, and various other existential issues such as What To Do With The Rest Of My Life and Whether I Am Ever Going To Pay Off My Overdraft. I apologise to everyone on the receiving end of one of these. (The pessimism also led to me being mean to people who didn't deserve it. I'm sorry for that too.)

I spent two days bemoaning the general rubbishness of life (conclusion of existential meanderings: I want to come and work in Oxford, but I really ought to stay here) then yesterday went to the interview I was pinning all my hopes on, was told after 10 minutes that they needed someone to start in September who had lots of professional experience, went home, cried, called my mother, got pissed off with my mother for not being there when I was so clearly in distress, decided to do something productive, called people and magically got another interview. I think there may be a lesson in here somewhere.

So, true to my mental pattern, I went immediately from the slough of despond to... some happy literary allusion, and bounced around the house in a frenzy of omelette-making. However, just as I was working out how to open the eggbox (yes, it was complicated, the hinge was on the short end, I was very distressed) the phone rang. Thinking it was another magic interview, I picked up immediately, to speak to some guy wanting to ask me questions about young people's [something I didn't hear], so, being bored, I thought I'd indulge the market research guy who was probably also bored out of his skull. Unfortunately, it transpired that the crucial yet unheard Noun Phrase of the sentence was in fact "sexualité", and I found myself mumbling confusedly about contraception, while trying to think of the French for, "I'm not comfortable anwsering these sorts of questions." Doubtless I should have hung up before, "When did you last have sex? Do you miss it? Do you masturbate?" but it took too long to think of an appropriate get-out line.

Which leads me to the observation that you can't really slam down mobiles in an effective way. (Particularly if you can't work the buttons and it's a particularly knackered phone, but that's a different story.)

So, having disposed of the creepy man, I got back to the omelette, and then had a lovely MSN conversation with Livvy, who was having a similar direction crisis, and we had a good old moan, and then started comparing various people's attitudes to relationships to the foreign policy of Middle Eastern states, which cheered us both up no end, but does leave me wondering if we are, in fact, mad, and if this may be related to the unemployability in any way.

I then took 3 metros and a tram (Lyon's metro system is very pleasant, efficient and clean, but unnecessarily complex for actually getting anywhere, particularly from La Croix-Rousse) to meet Literature Man, who does have a name, but I wasn't sure what it was, and as everyone now knows him as Literature Man, it would seem silly to switch now. Literature Man is doing a doctorate in comparative literature, and very kindly offered to teach me French literature in exchange for English conversation. Well, he briefly asked if I could perhaps teach him some Henry James instead, but as I've never read anything of his, the "instinctive understanding" that comes from reading in your mother tongue may not be enough of an asset to overcome the gaping vortex that is my knowledge of "les auteurs un peu modernistes", so we're going to be discussing articles on BBC news. And I have homework, which involves reading Le rouge et le noir, which fills me with fear, as I haven't read anything written before 1900 for quite some time, and Literature Man is clearly quite intelligent; but hopefully some discussion of Stendhal and Mallarmé will give me a heads-up next year for my tutorials which I unwittingly (or 2/3 unwittingly) chose on my (also quite intelligent) tutor's three specialities.

In the evening I got a phone call from my mother, who had just learnt how to use voicemail, and then called the boy, who is now on first name terms with comedians. At least when their surnames aren't on predictive text. I then went out for dinner with my housemates and drank lots of an odd concoction involving wine and cassis, (far more palatable than Sarah's and my experiment with vodka and Ribena in Edinburgh) which I thought was about half and half, but, I discovered four glasses later, clearly wasn't. So, yes, I gave another drunken exposition on French phonetics.

And this is too long and wordy for anyone to still be reading, particularly as you've all noticed I have some odd subconscious connection between syntax and sex and have resolved to treat me with the extreme caution I deserve in the future.

I am still in Lyon, not finding a job or opening a bank accout, because it looks like there's about to be a horrendous storm outside. Also, employment optimism is fading fast, so I might just e mysee what happens at the interview on Wednesday and then maybe try my luck in Oxford instead. Bit wimpy, but prob the most financially sensible option, and can panic about my project as well.

But in the process of looking if there was anything on offer in Oxford, I did realise I had sunk to the depths of unemployability......

I am even ineligible for medical trials.

You know that malaria vaccine who seem to pay quite well and are always advertising for people? Well, they don't want me any more!

Hello,

Am now in Lyon, using my housemate's computer, as mine won't connect to the internet, which, as well as all the usual a/q, z/w confusion, has a particularly sensitive mouse, that I keep accidentally touching, that then sends whatever I'm typing to a completely different place on the screen. Grr.

Still, technical difficulties notwithstanding, Lyon is lovely. I've been here three days, and they've all been gorgeously sunny, and my housemates are lovely (though they know each other very well, which is slightly intimidating, and also the toilet is full of pictures of half naked people - men on one side, for those sitting down, and women on the other, for those standing up). Yesterday, they invited me to a barbecue at their university, which was great fun - everyone there was an engineer, so there was much excitement about building the wee toys in Kinder eggs.

Aside from that, I've just been looking for a job, which, once it became clear none of the language schools were particularly interested, has involved wandering around posting notices in any supermarket that will let me. I also signed up to various tutoring agencies online, so hopefully this will be more fruitful.

And soon I have to open a bank account, which quite frankly terrifies me.

I can also have people to stay whenever I want, so anyone who fancies a jaunt down to Lyon is very welcome.

Ow. My throat hurts. And my mother dragged me off my sickbed yesterday to take me to the emergency Saturday surgery... which has been closed since Autumn 2004... So then I got a lecture on what the modern world is coming to all the way to, erm, Morrison's. Because supermarkets are not one of the scourges of our age.

And, I really need a job (though the boy did cheer me up immensely by reminding me that I would get a student loan this term... I'm not sure why that particular piece of information had escaped me...) and I think my French phone may be trying to tell me I have messages, which may be from some of the 400 language schools in Lyon who I sent my CV to last week, but when I called the voicemail number, it wouldn't let me listen.

And Ryanair have draconian baggage policies, which mings.

That is all. Thankyou and Happy Easter.

Job search progress:
Several bookmarks of Lyon language school websites, 2 open MSN windows, reading of 1 extremely long email, singing along to the CD of Wednesday's concert (yes, I'm that sad), hunger.

To be fair (have spent so much time with Oxford students lately I've started opening sentences with all the old cliches), I am waiting for a reply telling me whether my French CV and application letter are correct enough to be unleashed on the world, and to send them off before that would, obviously, be foolhardy, nay foolish.

Anyway, due to the course actually being rather hard work, and internet access being limited, I haven't had the chance to update much, so you will now be subjected to a long account of everything I have done in the last six weeks.

I shall place this under sub-headings to show off about the fact that I have been in two different continents.

Paris.

Hurrah. I now have an actual skill that will hopefully make me employable.

And I had fun in France. The course itself was rather intense, lessons every morning, where I learnt all sorts of exciting things, like how to use the phonetic alphabet in an actual, practical situation, and why 'have to' is considered a defective modal, and that is possible to die twice in one morning (at least within the framework of a drama workshop). We had teaching practice in the evenings, which was slightly more stressful, but I discovered the trick with children is just to spend three days colouring things for them beforehand - this has the double benefit of preparing exciting visuals to keep them pacified and also stopping you panicking about them devouring you (children can smell fear).

I also went to Zara and bought two V-neck jumpers, but neither of them were black, and it was money my dad had given me, so that was free money, so it doesn't count. (See below for another example from Warped Economy for Hamsters.) And goats' cheese and wine were very cheap, which helped counteract the stress. And I took my friend to hospital in the middle of the night, which gave my French an unexpected work-out.

We had a lovely dinner at the end of the course (we all passed).... and then the boy appeared at such an ungodly hour of the following morning that the Metro station wasn't open yet and I sailed right past it and walked for 15 mins in the wrong direction and pouring rain. But he brought me a Creme Egg, so I forgave him. The next day was sunny, so we did lots of sightseeing and actually got to sit and drink in a pavement cafe (which I couldn't do last time I was in Paris as I had no friends), and the next day was a general strike, so I had to catch a stupidly early train and then sit at the airport for many hours. The airport has no seats. This complicated the whole sitting thing somewhat.

USA

Didn't that blend smoothly into the next sub-heading? (For I was in the airport in order to go to Boston to find the choir.)

I arrived extremely late after a long day's travelling and managed to pick the only taxi driver in the world who needed directions to, like, a whole area of a city. However, instructions were acquired, and I was greeted by Chinese food and lots of people I didn't recognise. The first year intake has significantly boosted the average attractiveness of the choir.

We spent 3 nights in Boston (they all had an extra one), which was very pretty and fun. We did a bit of wandering, the odd concert and the mad Irish one even managed to wangle us a free tour of the Harvard men's boathouse - it was boatie heaven. Everyone in Harvard is also startlingly attractive, including the guy who works in the second hand bookshop where I bought 3 books, which I probably didn't actually need and then had to fit in my case. Ah well.

We left Boston before it snowed, which was cunning, and went to New York, which was fantastic. I think I'd like to live there for a year, but no more. We sang at two private functions, one of which Stephen Fry was apparently at, though no-one told me till afterwards, so I couldn't look out for him, and one of which involved chumming with Queen's Old Members so the Provost could eventually extract money for them, and I unconsciously put on my posh voice which took several days to disappear and used lots of sentences like 'well, of course, if I wanted to go into business or law, languages would be a great asset', somewhat shying away from admitting that my plans for my life, embryonic as they are, do not in any way involve earning money or having the sort of job with a name your parents can easily tell their friends you're doing. After one of these events, Liv and I snuck off and had dinner for two and shared a bottle of wine, and then decided vodka mixers were a good idea, though the citrus fruits were present in name only, and hence we returned to our room rather giggly....

We also did all the touristy stuff, and the Statue of Liberty has the scariest security ever, including scanny airport machine things with air puffers (reason undisclosed), to the dismay of those wearing floaty skirts. And we went shopping. But I only bought a skirt and three tops. And a scarf. Which didn't match anything I own, so I had to buy another top later on. (But even though the second top was an unnecessary expense, it prevented me from having wasted money on the scarf, so is therefore justified.) And then we went up the Empire State Building in a torrential rainstorm and force 10 gale, which limited visibility slightly, though it was a memorable experience. We also went to a classy jazz club, which had live music and expensive drinks, and there was a comic incident involving a shoe and a nose-bleed, but it would be unfair to embarrass the individual involved by mentioning that here.

Luckily, the Virginia part of the tour resembled a hard-core singathon (nicely punctuated by sipping wine in the hot tub) so I was prevented from spending any more money, except for a traveller's cheque left over from Togo, which was already money out of my account, so didn't really count either. We did lots of concerts in lots of churches and they recorded them all for us. It was a bit small-town and creepy, but very pretty, and our host was so generous she baked muffins every morning, gave us all pedicures and hair masks and presented us with huge bags full of chocolate to take home.

And now I really am going to get back to the job search. Or change my flight. Or do something that won't involve the laptop burning my legs.