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Fridays at work are never likely to see an outpour of work. Especially when there’s been a team bbq during the first half of the day and the broken a/c means everyone is a little warm and tired so the main priority becomes fighting of the sheep, and looking for a U-Command Wall.E.
Coffee, that’s what’s required. Thankfully my cup at work is more akin to a bucket and I’ve managed to find the right mix to put in it. Not so long ago a maintenance man came out to fix our coffee machines and ended up adjusting the contents/rations of them so that the ‘coffee’ is actually really watery and the ‘espresso’ extremely bitter sludge. Combine the two, however, and you fill my mug with something resembling wake-up juice.
Still, the weekend is upon us. My gym membership is now un-frozen after my month off and I can get back to working out on a regular basis. Though with a moustache. Hmm.
Unfortunately, my normal weekend blogging lengthy installments of nonsense is still on a hiatus thanks to the as-yet unreturned computer. Thought this should be amended on Monday. My plans are minimal but I need to find something to do…
though apparently here in England we typify the sense of people as islands.
It’s strange then that lately I feel so afloat around those I know, like I’ve lost my tether. As predicted, I’m feeling more homesick here. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I have no actual, literal, home. I’m couch surfing and my Dad moved while I was away so the new place is still just that, new. That and I feel more at home… there.
Good thing I’m going back and intend to do so permanently soon.
What else… I shouldn’t have found out that I’m doing bloody well financially again. I actually found myself looking for something to spend money on. Thankfully I’ve stopped all that. The point of my current frugal state is to speed up and ease my departure to shores foreign. Not accumulate stuff while I’m here.
I’m tired, too tired to think of anything coherent and entertaining to blog about but then the idea of a blog is open honesty so I won’t spice things up. I’m a bit too tired to do an entry for my Essential Albums blog too which is stupid as music is one of the things that I’m supposed to be passionate about at all times. I think it’s more a case of time pressures. I can’t write on it anywhere other than work and there’s not enough time to fit everything in now.
Argh, time to earn.
So, there’s an award for the funniest joke at the Edinburgh Fringe and this, from comedian Zoe Lyons, is the winner:
“I can’t believe Amy Winehouse self-harms. She’s so irritating she must be able to find someone to do it for her.”
Given my hatred of the mutant singer that just won’t leave the public eye it’s safe to see I laughed so hard my I-Mac needed coffee wiping off it.
Ha ha ha ha, caption suggestions please.
Get Some
I like “Not Only I Win But You No Anal Virgin Now”
Well, satisfaction with the shower at my Dad’s new house. So far I’ve managed to work out how to change the temperature from “ARRRGGHH HOT” to “ARRRRGGGHH HOT!!!!!” As some will know, I don’t like to be a lobster in the mornings, I don’t want to feel like I’m being boiled in my own skin. I like a shot of cold in there as it wakes me up. I’m not talking about a freezing blast as used by the psychotics, just something cooling. It doesn’t make for a good start to the day.
Another thing I forgot to mention in my round up of my holiday; driving on the continent. Not for the those with a weak heart. Not only was I getting used to driving on the other side of the road, but also getting used to driving from the left hand side of the car. Having to learn how to adjust for the size of your car from the other side of it and trying to stay on the correct side is interesting enough then when you go to change gear only to hit the window winder as the gears are now on your right is pretty damn weird and that’s without mentioning that the peddles seem to be different somehow too. Oh, and in France you’re still expected to go around roundabouts. Not over them in the wrong direction.
I’m still struggling to get back into the routine. Sitting in the same place all day is tough as is having to work. Then again, anyone who’s been away for two weeks will know this.
Ah well, time to get to the grindstone.
Firstly, some films:
Thank You For Smoking – Excellent, excellent film. Watch it.
Little Miss Sunshine – Excellent but I’m sure everybody knows that by know and I’m the last person to have watched it.
Secondly, I went…
all the way to Normandy, strolled into a shop on the beach for some waffles and found a My Morning Jacket fan as the guy behind the counter began excitedly questioning me on my favourite album and went on to find some and played me the great At Dawn. He seemed delighted at it so I wanted to mention it again. It’s also very strange to hear someone say “My Morning Jacket” with a heavy French accent.
This one is growing on me as I thought it would:
Also, thirdly, there’s a new post on my Essential Albums blog. Go on, you know you’re curious… 10 down, 90 to go.
Well after almost making a month of clean shaveness, I have decided to donate my upper lip to a good cause. Tacheback. In order to raise money for the charity Everyman, I will be joining the moustache brigade. I hope to raise a fair bit of cash for the cause so will be looking for sponsors. Now all I have to do is decide upon a style..
I’m thinking either Undercover Brother or Jihad Jack, only for the names really.
I have returned, as previously suggested. Am I happy to be back? In some ways, of course – there are people I missed. In others, no. I feel homesick here instead and it’s a rotten thing having to sit at a computer all day after two weeks of not staying in the same place for so long.
As mentioned before, I went back to France, plenty of time in Paris and a brilliant jaunt up the country to Normandy. What follows is likely to flow out as a stream of consciousness rather than structured according to time as I’ll write in the order I remember.
I’m not sure what to write about Paris. Many a person and blog, I’m sure, will harp on about the architecture and the romance of it all. I’m sure I did earlier in the year too. For me, however, I didn’t feel like too much of a tourist this time round and didn’t really do the tourist thing too much. I only saw the Tower in passing as we headed out of the city and a slightly retarded GPS lead us onto the peripheric road. I feel more at home in the city than I did before and for me the lasting impression is of waking up to a set of beautiful pair of brown eyes and knowing that they day was mine to spend with them.
That’s not to say I didn’t see some wonderful things. The Natural History museum is a wonderful place, complete with vertigo-inducing mezzanines and there was a great exhibit on the history of Whales (not the country with the sheep shaggers) and Dolphins that was both fascinating and inspiring though with a touch of sadness at the end – I thoroughly condemn all those that continue to hunt whales. I’m talking to you Norway you murdering bastards.
Walking arm in arm along the banks of the Seine in the evenings is also an experience I will forever remember and return to. Evenings create a completely different atmosphere in the city and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many happy people walking, sitting, eating, dancing and generally exuding delight next to a river in any over city, and this was some way away from Paris Plage.
While I’m on the subject of walking through Paris I will point out that you gotta be careful and pay attention to the steps near the Notre Dame… no matter what other people are holding in their hands.
I’ve seen storms. I’ve seen big storms but for some reason waking up to one in the middle of a Parisian night seemed like an alien thing, as if, somehow, the area was safe from the elements in my mind. Walking in Paris then getting caught in a storm is a different thing altogether and strangely fun, it’s almost comical as EVERYBODY dashes for the cover from a building and waits for the rain to slow before darting for another spot of cover as the wind turns the umbrella inside out. Still, a bottle of Magners in a Frog pub while waiting for it to pass is a great cure.
Watching films in a French cinema is a strange thing. There’s none of the crap that comes with cinema going here. No noisy kids, no kissing during the film (shame) but its strange to watch a film in English while the trailers are all in French. Which brings me too…
Wall-E. A truly beautiful film in ways both aesthetic and emotional. How do Pixar manage to evoke so much empathy and sympathy for a character that speaks less than half a dozen words? The animation is the best I’ve seen them create, ever, and I’m now desperate to get my hands on a Wall-E of my own. I have to say I’m extremely jealous of that owned by my friend Dan. Kung-Fu Panda, while also animated, is great in different ways and well worth a watch though, for me, my heart was stole by Wall-E and I’m not too manly to admit it.
On the subject of manly, French pool lifeguards are homos. So desperate are they to see male bodies that you’re NOT allowed to swim in loose fitting swim shorts you HAVE to wear those that charming tight “here’s my cock” trunkettes so they can fully appreciate your figure. That’s my only explanation as to why they wouldn’t let me swim in my normal swimming shorts. Gay costume preferences asides, it felt great to swim again. It must have been years since I last submerged myself into a pool and it was instantly liberating. Though it did make me thirsty.
Swimming in pools is good but swimming in the sea is, unfortunately, something that wasn’t experienced this summer as the weather in Normandy didn’t quite lend itself to warm waters. Ah, yes; Normandy. After a frustrating drive – frustrating only because of a GPS that was so desperate to keep us off the highways it took us off of everyone and through every town until it got itself lost. I lost count of the times I heard “prenez la deuxieme sortie” and I’m sure that if I hear it uttered in that sat-nav voice once more I may have an emotional breakdown.
Normandy, travel annoyance aside, was wonderful. The sun wasn’t blisteringly hot but it was teeshirt weather throughout and there were so many things to remember I’m worried that I may miss some out here. Bayeux – the town itself, the Cathedral and the historic Tapestry were all amazing to behold.
See:
To see the tapestry, so much history, right in front of me like that was a great experience.
We stayed in Coleville-sur-Mer which was a coincidence in itself given my recent fascination with Saving Private Ryan. A 1500m walk and we were on “Omaha Beach.” There’s a couple of strange things for my mind with regard to the American Cemetery atop the hill; firstly the fact that it has become such a tourist attraction – I’m not sure there’s many cemeteries that grace postcards – and, secondly, the American-ness of it all. In the middle of Normandy it’s like they flew in a chunk of Pennsylvania complete with conifer trees and foliage, it’s like being at the Washington Monument with a brief break in the surrounding trees revealing a view of Normandy countryside. The other thing is this: I’ve been to a lot of religious places here and over there including the Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur, and I’m always humbled by them. Not because of the God thing but because of the scale of man’s devotion. Huge monuments built to the glory of this God fella meanwhile at the American Cemetery at Coleville-sur-Mer it’s more a case of “America how great thou art” with God almost as an afterthought. Not that I’m saying religion should be everywhere – those of you who know me know my thoughts on the matter – but I would’ve thought a cemetery was as an appropriate place as any, no?
It’s a strange thing but history seems a lot less boring as an adult and when it’s taken place in such beautiful locations.
Oh, in Coleville-sur-Mer, if you ever get a chance to go, you must visit one place. It’s not on the maps. It’s not a historical land mark. It’s a restaurant called Bar and Snacks on the road through the village. Never have I eaten at such a welcoming place run by such a brilliant character as Mr Faim. Not his real name, mind. This guy is one of those characters that will be remembered by me for years to come as he spoke English to me in only the way a very French man can, warm of character and manors and serves a great galette (unlike the people on Mont St Michel) even if he was about to close when we arrived. When we visited him and he was closed he found us walking back to our hotel, picked us up in his van and drove us in search of an open restaurant instead. How nice is that??!!
Then again, everybody seemed nice and friendly there. Especially the farmer who gave us better directions in five minutes than the poxy GPS had in six hours.
Our hotel was a nice little place and not, in the literal sense of the word, a hotel. A farm that offered B&B but I call it a hotel as it’s easier. Though ruled over by a bit of a matriach, it was wonderful going to sleep and waking up without the noise of a town or city, not to mention the joy of seeing those deep brown eyes looking back at me, and strolling down for breakfast. When I say ’strolling down for breakfast’ it’s only fair to point out how much of a pain I was to wake up, get in the shower and then get ready in time to make breakfast.
Oh, and Mr Faim served some gorgeous cider as did our ‘hotel’ as we found ourselves staying in the heart of Cider Country. Not that either of us got drunk…
I know I’m banging on a lot but it’d be remiss of me not to mention Mont St Michel. It’s a staggering place and, as Linda pointed out to me, you can’t imagine the thing without the abbey on it now. Whoever looked at the rocky island and decided it was to be built there had an amazing sense of vision.
A delightful place which would’ve been perfect if not for the tourists. That’s not me being snobbish merely honest. It was PACKED!
See:
It was like that all the way to the top, but the view was worth it…
It felt like I could see all the way across Normandy and France, I won’t lie, I did try and look for a Tower. I suppose I should also mention that Linda was sensible enough to stop me going out on the sands and writing “You’re All A Cunt.” I thought it’d be funny. Not as an insult but to see peoples reactions having climbed all the way to the top only to be insulted in such a harsh way. Not to mention those translating it for non-English speakers.
And now… now I’m back here in rainy old England and I know I’ve missed a lot out of this blog but I’m at work so have a few distractions so will no doubt add more memories as they bounce into my mind.
So, for now.. see ya
…has returned! Though he will soon be heading back. You know you missed me!
When I can make sense of the thoughts in my mind (or at least those pertinent to this blog) I shall bring them to the keyboard. Unfortunately the actions of some clumsy removals men have meant that my internet access has been minimalised to that which I can get at work.
I will also resume my Essential Albums blog at the soonest opportunity, if you haven’t been paying attention I urge you to, it’s gonna get really busy and there’s plenty of free music there. Just don’t tell those of a legal disposition…
For now, bon soir.
I am in Paris having fun, service will be resumed shortly
