My third form French teacher was a striking woman. Mrs Anderson dyed her hair jet black, wore huge chunky jade jewellery, smoked cigarettes and had lived in France. This was 1960s Christchurch and her persona was so exotic to my eyes, as was anything remotely foreign.
One day she brought a camembert cheese to class. She cut it into slivers and handed it around for us to taste. I put in in my pencil case, uncertain of texture: this cheese was not from "the bigger block". Several days later I threw the rubbery morsel away - it was too foreign for me at the time.
I did not get to learn much French. My high school mate, Bob Parker and I were frequently sent to stand in the corridor for talking too much in class.
The following year I took German.
