PoWWow, the host

The intense training continues, and my efforts to visually record the day suffer magnificently, and then at ten-to-midnight I exclaim "s h e i s s e ?! [haven't progressed to swearing in French yet] my daily photo!". So it's a shame I've had to resort to taking a pap of the depressingly underused vocab book to capture today, when surrounded by such an irrational abundance of adoring surroundings, but alas, we are in France and perhaps it does collate my bullish overworked desire to try and speak French with my new colleagues, to be repeatedly responded to with a curtain of bemused bewilderment as if I can almost see a thought bubble above their heads reading ;who on earth is this bizarre women we're stuck up the mountain with? Well, the lady in the bakery who I exchange my sleep infused conversions with at 7am seems to appreciate my local efforts, which is reason enough for me to continue..

The training day culminated in Anna PoWWow playing host for the evening; trying my best not to fumble + flutter + fidget my way around the guests with hot plates full of immaculately placed + impeccably cooked food- all under the watchful eye of my new bosses. I wonder if they noticed my greasy hair?