While rifling through my stuff the other day, I came across my old French Exchange diary.

For those of you not already in the know, when I was 13, I took part in a French Exchange programme my school set up. Me, a few of my classmates and a few other teens from the other schools in the town went over to Paris for just over a week to live like a French teenager. We each had our own host families, including a teenager our age who we’d accompany to school every day and take trips with around the city. Six months later, the French teenager would come over to Wales and do the same, living with us and our families, going to school and learning to be Welsh.

Just before we left, our French teacher, Madame O’Neil, gave us travel journals which we were to fill in with as much detail as possible … in French.