One of the many joys of life as a university student living away from home is getting visits from parents and friends from your hometown. Seeing a familiar face, catching up on the gossip from back home, or just the prospect of getting taken out for a fancy meal instead having yet another dinner of beans on toast because you can't be bothered to cook, means that every student looks forward to the occasional visit from their family or their school mates. Living abroad for a year means that such visits are particularly welcome, especially from parents when you can't afford a flight home.
In my past two years at York, I have enjoyed several visits from my family and various mates who are now spread out across Britain doing their own degrees. I have even been known to splash out on the train fare to take part in the odd trip to another uni myself.
However, these visits probably average out at say, four a year from mates, and about the same from family. Since moving to Paris, these figures have been on a steep incline and show no signs of levelling off any time soon. It's not that I don't appreciate seeing these people, its just that I can't help but suspect that everyone's sudden willingness to come see me might have slightly less to do with me and slightly more to do with a certain 324 metre-high metal tower and various other tourist attractions. I've only been here two months and already I've had six guests, not to mention my flatmate's friends who have all been pulling the same scam.
Of course, anyone who has been to York in the past 15 years will know that it too is a tourist town full of attractions and sights, but even a fool can see that the thought of sipping a coffee on the Champs Elysées is more likely to get old friends crawling out of the woodwork than the promise of a stroll up and down the Shambles followed by a cup of tea in Betty's.
So what is a girl to do when faced with such a situation? Should I ask people not to come? No, not when it's much more fun to instead ask them to bring ridiculous amounts of British foodstuffs and magazines until suddenly no one has the time or money to stretch to a visit. After having to explain to French customs officials why your suitcase is full of unmarked videotapes of 'This Morning', half a dozen issues of some celebrity gossip magazine and several jars of Marmite, that trip across the Channel starts to seem slightly less appealing.
Could you be a student diarist?
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