Le Grand Lustukru

J'ai déjà parlé de Lustukru dans ce blogue. J'ai retrouvé les albums de La bonne chanson de ma mère et ai donc pu retrouver la version de Lustukru (Le Grand Lustukru), ainsi que l'illustration délicieusement sinistre qui va avec. J'ai décidé de faire scanner l'image par petit frère et de la mettre ici. Lustukru ressemble à un gnome maléfique ou un diablotin, malingre à cause du manque de nourriture, dans des vêtements trop grands pour lui. Ses ongles crochus semblent faits pour déchirer la viande. Les enfants dans sa besace et l'attitude effrayée de la mère (elle est protectrice, mais laisserait-elle ses enfants à Lustukru s'ils étaient éveillés? Peut-être les prendrait-il alors de force.) nous rappellent que la menace qu'il représente est bien réelle. Je n'ai jamais beaucoup aimé les odeurs d'eau bénite de La bonne chanson et son imbuvable catholicisme un peu trop bigot (difficile de croire que ce n'était pas rétrograde même à cette époque), mais cette image est un petit chef-d'oeuvre d'épouvante enfantine. Je suis content de pouvoir l'immortaliser ici.

Yule log

I talked about gluttony recently. I thought I would put in images what it really means. In other words, I wanted to show instead of telling. This is a Yule log or, to be more precise, a Bûche de Noël. It is one of the many traditions my family usually follows. We have two Yule log recipes: one is made of rolled white cake with strawberry jam inside and covered with thick icing (sometimes said icing is flavoured with maple syrup). It is simple and very sugary. Then we have this one, which is made of chocolate cake, rolled around vanilla ice cream, iced with sugar and topped with hot chocolate sauce. For people with a sweet tooth, this is the ideal Christmas dessert. Sadly, both logs are finished now, so I will have to wait until we celebrate Christmas here again to eat one, or I make one myself if we visit the in-laws. I am afraid it is above my skills as a baker.

La vie animale à la fenêtre

Je sais maintenant de mon père que ce sont des étourneaux que j'ai pris en photo il y a trois jours. Je suis en général mauvais pour me rappeler des noms d'arbres et des noms d'oiseaux. Quand même, l'observation d'une mangeoire à la fenêtre a quelque chose de fascinant. En plus des étopurneaux, on y voit des mésanges (trop rapides pour que j'arrive à les photographier) et aujourd'hui un écureuil. Il y a une dizaine d'années, certains oiseaux de proie (des éperviers, des faucons) venaient aussi se nourrir dans la cour arrière, mais pas de ce qu'on laissait dans les mangeoires.

Christmas and the sin of gluttony

As it is probably the case for everyone, this Christmas has been for me the time for eating excesses. It has been so far anyway. I have been overindulgent from my first day back in Québec. The word I used in that entry is gluttonous. It is appropriate. The sin of gluttony is called in French gourmandise, which is not exact, as it can also describe the pleasure taken eating. Gluttony, or the French equivalent gloutonnerie is more proper, as it implies eating excessively. People might think only puritans and overzealous Christians would consider that wrong, but this is, I think, a false perception. Gluttony is still harshly condemned, but it is now devoid of religious connotation: diet books get sold fighting the sin gluttony every day. A sin is an action you take that hurts you or the others, and overindulgence is certainly sinful by this definition.

So I revel in my own little bit of gastronomical debauchery these days. Christmas is the time of turkey, stuffing, meat pies, cranberry sauce, donuts, yule logs, beers, wines and, in my particular case, peanut butter toasts. Because of this, I go to bed, wake up and spend the day slightly nauseous and tired, sometimes with a headache to boot. Yet I always end up hungry for more. I guess the Pagan spirit of Christmas was never totally erased from our minds: it is not as much a time of prayers as a time of indulgence. Still, it hurts.

Noël des petits oiseaux

Je déteste cette chanson, mais je cherchais une excuse pour mettre cette photo et le titre de ladite chanson collait bien au sujet de ce billet. Il a fait froid aujourd'hui (mais comme tous les journées hivernales froides il fait un soleil splendide), et après le réveillon d'hier, on fonctionnait tous au ralenti. Je me suis installé près du sapin à lire et j'ai pu apprécier les oiseaux qui venaient se nourrir dans les mangeoires du jardin, ce qui m'a fait penser à la chanson en question. Regarder les oiseaux se nourrir aux mangeoires l'hiver faisait parties de mes petits bonheurs d'enfance, alors j'ai renoué avec joie. J'ai tenté de les photographier, mais hélas ils sont assez farouches et un rien les effraie, alors au moindre mouvement ils s'envolaient et ne revenaient que bien plus tard. Cette photo est la moins pire que j'ai pu prendre et avec l'éclairage elle est un brin sinistre, mais je l'aime bien malgré tout.

Nativity Scene

I think it would be appropriate to have a post with a (somewhat) religious topic, as it is Christmas Eve. In my family, we are not religious people and I am leaning on atheism more often than none, but since our culture is still deeply rooted in Catholicism (for better or for worse, we cannot realy divorce from it), we put up a Nativity Scene every Christmas. It is a beautiful thing, a work of art really, with the Holy Family, shepperds, sheep, the three Wise Men who came at Epiphany, an angel, all with expressive faces, showing deep emotions for such a solemn event. This is what makes it special: the characters are iconic, but they take dramatic stances and show genuine emotions. Even the animals seem to feel the Nativity and its importance, seem to be penetrated by the event. It made me believe for years in the story that was told. My father bought the Nativity Scene years ago through a priest friend (yes, we had some at the time, this one baptised me), who imported it from Italy. That was a lot of trouble at the time, but it was worth it as we wouldn't have plastic models made in Taiwan or wherever. What we got was much better. Over the years, we have completed the Nativity Scene with various sheep figures bought all around the world (but many are santons de Charlevoix), so we have many, many sheep (and a few goats and other farm animals), in fact a complete menagerie. As it was very fragile, my father placed the scene on the mantelpiece far from the reach of his children. It is now its place and we put it there every Christmas. On Christmas night, when the fire is burning and the Nativity Scene is lit by small candles, it still has all the dramatic and emotional impact I felt years ago. The birth of Jesus is being lived, literally, over the mantelpiece.

Le train électrique

Voici pour votre plus grand plaisir et le mien des photos du train électrique sous l'arbre de Noël, certaines datent d'aujourd'hui, d'autres de l'année dernière. Ne me demandez pas d'où je tiens ma fascination toute enfantine pour les trains électriques et pourquoi je conserve mon enthousiasme pour la chose bien des années après avoir passé l'âge de l'innocence et de la fascination pour les gros machins métalliques qui font du bruit. Je me rappelle encore qu'à cinq ou six ans, le train électrique était le cadeau à avoir. J'en suis encore persuadé et le train électrique est une des rares choses dont je n'arrive pas à me blaser. Mes frères et mon père ont les mêmes sentiments (en nous achetant le train électrique, mon père se faisait un cadeau aussi). Je soupçonne que beaucoup de mâles adultes de l'espèce humaine ont une affection toute enfantine et immature pour les trains électriques. Le nôtre est un LGB, donc la Cadillac des trains miniatures électriques. Pas vraiment des miniatures en fait, car les LGBs sont très gros. La ressemblance avec les modèles originaux est frappante. Étrange, quand on y pense, qu'une forme de transport qui est maintenant banale reprend son côté exotique et mystérieux une fois qu'on la transforme en jouet. Enfin, faire fonctionner le train électrique est une des joies de mon Noël, il me fallait par conséquent le souligner ici.

Christmas tree

I am now at my parent's place and we started decorating the Christmas tree. It is a natural one and it smells lovely in the house. So I decided to put here a picture of... well, okay, this is not this year's Christmas tree, as it is not completely finished yet. It is the one we made last year. I don't have pictures of this years's tree and it is not quite finished yet, but I am impatient to blog about it. In my family, we always have a real one. We can have it big as there is plenty of room in the conservatory. My mum thinks we are a bit extravagant with the decorations, but I just think we are in the right state of mind. Why not be extravagant, especially at Christmas? There are some decorations from everywhere we (or my parents) have been in the world. We put "glaçons" (fake ice), which disseminates the light. At the base of the tree, we do not put a Nativity Scene, as ours is easily breakable (we put it on top of the fireplace instead). In its place, we have an electric train (LGB), which goes around the tree, a train station, many sheep and other animals (also from the different places we have been around the world), various decorations and lots of fluffy fabric that serves as snow. We really do create a winter wonderland.

Stay tuned for the Nativity Scene, unless you are afraid of the Christmas overdose.

23 décembre

Tiens, je viens de me rendre compte que le temps de l'horloge de ce blogue est celui de l'Angleterre. Enfin, pas grave. On est le 23 décembre, je me devais donc de souligner ce jour avec cette célèbre chanson de Beau Dommage:

Chicoutimi

Billet un brin télégraphique, je n'ai guère le temps d'en faire un vrai et je suis fatigué. Espère en faire un vrai avec des photos et des commentaires profonds bientôt, demain sans doute. Nous sommes donc arrivés à Chicoutimi aujourd'hui. Nous avons décoré le sapin et je compte en mettre les photos sur ce blogue dès que possible. Stay tuned, comme disent les anglophones.

Home at last

As I said in my previous entry, I am home at last. I arrived at Montreal yesterday, the journey was quite long and felt longer because of my impatience. It is beautiful here, there is a good deal of snow (not like last year, but still) and it is cold, this Quebec cold that you feel in your skin and bones. It is painful like nothing else, but it makes you feel alive. One can find happiness with minor pain if brings a reassuring feeling of familiarity.

I have been gluttonous since I got back and probably will be until I leave. I guess I can be as it is, after all the holidays. I ate at L'Anecdote last night for my first meal in Montreal (I stuffed myself with a decadent deer burger topped with smoked boar instead of bacon), I had a delicious breakfast with real bread from Première Moisson, peanut butter and some croissants chocolatines afterwards. At lunchtime, I had the classic bagels and smoked salmon, with the bagels from St-Viateur. I have been missing those for two years now, so that was another welcome moment. Well, what can I say, I am home all right.

Le retour de l'expatrié

Je suis de retour à Montréal depuis hier soir et je suis un homme heureux. Difficile de croire que je n'avais pas vraiment vu la ville depuis presque deux ans. Il fait -14, c'est parfois douloureux parce que j'avais perdu l'habitude, mais je m'en moque. On ne se sent vraiment vivant que lorsqu'on a connu le pire de l'hiver québécois, cet hiver qui pince la peau comme peu d'autres. Je ne suis pas masochiste, mais le bonheur peut venir aussi d'une certaine douleur quand celle-ci est familière et rassurante. Et puis il y a la neige...

Depuis que je suis ici, je suis particulièrement goinfre. On a mangé notre premier repas à Montréal à l'Anecdote hier, puis aujourd'hui j'ai enfin pu profiter d'un déjeuner montréalais: beurre d'arachide, sur des toasts de vrai pain de chez Première Moisson, croissants et jus d'orange additionné de jus d'atocas. Le bonheur. Pour le dîner du midi, ce sera bagels et saumon fumé. Je me sens vraiment chez moi.

The day before departure

As you probably know from my previous entry, tomorrow my wife and I are going to Montreal. I can't wait. I don't know how much I will blog there, or what exactly I will blog about, but I am fairly sure it will be of some interest, probably more than the last few weeks anyway, where I felt slightly lethargic. The expat coming home, and so on.

Montréal demain

Demain, je pars pour Montréal. Je n'ai pas vu le Québec depuis un an. Ce qui veut dire que bientôt je pourrai me goinfrer d'un vrai déjeuner avec du vrai beurre d'arachide. Et je pourrai marcher dans de la vraie neige au cours d'un vrai hiver. Ca m'a beaucoup manqué. Aujourd'hui, j'ai fonctionné au ralenti. L'impatience amène sa propre léthargie.

Hallelujah

Anybody care for a religious song, since it's that time of the year? I am not refering to the Handel song from his oratorio (you know which one), but the immortal song from the immortal Leonard Cohen. There are at least two versions written by Cohen, but the original one is my favourite. The way Cohen mixes Biblical references with shall we say carnal themes is a stroke of genius. Many artists interpreted it, but none have the coarse voice of Cohen, which is perfect to simply state the words. This is poetry, it does not need an interpretation, just the words as they are, which have their own musicality. I got outraged when those wannabe stars at the X Factor sang Hallelujah. That was nothing short of blasphemy (Simon Cowell you filthy, worthless douchebag). As a mean of exorcism and hopefully a bit of epiphany in the meantime, I give you the original. This is pure, simple, bare beauty:

Waiting for the day of the journey home

Right now, as I said in my last post in English, I am both excited and bored. It might seem paradoxical, but it is actually very logical. I am getting very impatient to go back to Québec, therefore my current situation is boring. So I lack inspiration to do anything but prepare for Christmas, which just emphasises my feeling of pre-Christmas melancholy. And since it seems that snow has dropped everywhere in England but here, looking outside is slightly depressing. A life is always more boring when you know it will be exciting soon. Which I guess makes you appreciate the exciting moments even more so, but it does not arrange anything at the moment. I know there are ways to enjoy boredom and inaction, but still. My life has often been more about getting there than being there, more about the journey than the arrival. That said, even the journey, the non-figuratively speaking one anyway, now seems far away from me. And I know it's not rational, as it is less than a week away, but I am still feeling the blues. As I don't feel that I have much to say and yet I still want to blog to avoid schizophrenia, I am blogging. Again. I have also decided to put some pictures of my parents's back garden from last year's Christmas. It might calm a bit of the melancholy, and it might make you envious. Hopefully you will be envious soon. Or I will bore you to sleep with Christmas anecdotes. Until then, you and I have those images.

Anticipation...

Bon, j'ai déjà utilisé cette photo, ou une photo semblable, mais elle est appropriée et on n'a pas de bonne photo de l'arbre de Noël. Mon père m'a appris aujourd'hui qu'il a fait l'acquisition du sapin que l'on décorera à Chicoutimi J'ai très hâte. Les sapins naturels embaument la maison, ce qui est bien sûr impossible avec ceux artificiels. Pour moi, Noël sent la neige, le sapin, la dinde et la bûche qui brûle dans le foyer. Alors, voilà j'ai hâte.

Wrapping things up

I don't have much to write about these days, as my life is pretty uneventful. I am just longing for snow, for a real winter, even though I know my people is complaining at the moment because it is falling down heavily there. Today I have been wrapping Christmas presents. Then I got a haircut, so that is one less thing to worry about. Then I bought tonight's meal at M&S. Then I had a drink of real ale at my local pub. Nothing too exciting, maybe nothing worthy to blog about, I know, but at least I am literally getting things done before we go. I still have some presents to buy, but not so many, so I think I can avoid a panic phase this year. I don't know if I am excited or bored at the moment. I am wrapping things up and I am really longing forward to spend Christmas in my wintery country ("mon pays, ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'hiver", as we say), but in the meantime I find the waiting extremely tedious. Waiting for Christmas is in itself exciting, but these days I often find the food I eat bland, find the weather grey, the books I read and the movies/tv I watch uninteresting and overall I seem unable to focus on anything.

On se croit original...

...et puis on se rend compte qu'on débite des clichés. La constatation est cruelle et m'a frappée aujourd'hui alors que je ne m'y attendais pas. Mali Ilse Paquin a écrit un billet dans son blogue qui est d'une ressemblance troublante avec ce billet qui est de moi. Je suis un peu jaloux d'elle: elle a un lectorat beaucoup plus important que le mien, elle est payée pour bloguer et en plus elle revient à Montréal plus tôt que moi. Mais bon, ce qui m'agace le plus, c'est qu'elle m'a peut-être volé mon cinq minutes de gloire.

Enfin, la prochaine fois, promis, juré, j'écris un truc un peu plus inusité.

Je reviendrai à Montréal

Puisqu'il neige à Montréal une de ces tempêtes comme on en faisait dans le temps et que je m'en ennuie, j'ai pensé mettre ici ce classique de Robert Charlebois. Je reviendrai moi-même à Montréal très bientôt.

Seven things you might already know about me

Okay, so I have been tagged with a meme. So I will try to reveal seven weird things about myself. There are plenty of weird things I can find about myself, just not that many I haven't blog about already. But here it goes:

1)I hate ham. I find it disgusting since I was a child. Even the name makes me feel nauseous. It is simply a vile meat. Or vile plastic. It tastes that bad.
2)As a child, I wanted to become a priest. A cardinal to be more precise, because I liked the uniform and because after watching The Thorn Birds with my mum, I thought cardinals had a really, really nice life. So that's how superficial I was. It took me a while to loose faith, but since it was based on such flimsy premises, it's no wonder. Oh, and for the record, now I find The Thorn Birds ridiculous and nauseating.
3)One of my ex-girlfriend has the name of my mother-in-law, and another one has the name of my mum. About the latter, my brother thought it was a proof of a profound Oedipus Complex.
4)Before I got married, I used to be a night owl, reading all night, watching TV, browsing the Internet. I still do it when my wife is away and I don't have to wake up early in the morning (like last night for instance). It is something I got from my years as a university student.
5)In 2006, I lost a lot of weight and I still can't figure how I managed to do it. I wanted to, as I was getting a bit (just a bit) chubby then, but I barely sacrifice the junk food, treats and beer I still eat/drink. My metabolism is a mystery to me.
6)I got a work published. My thesis, really, and it is still too small to hope for an academic career any time soon. I would rather publish novels. I got some ideas, but one does not write with ideas but with words, as Mallarmé said.
7)I am terribly vain. I like being called "doctor", in a way it ended up being my main motivation to do a PhD, and I feel such a pride when someone tells me I'm good at something, might it be acting, teaching, singing or whatever. And I don't take criticism very well.

And I am not going to tag anyone. It is difficult enough to get seven original things to say about yourself, then finding bloggers who will get tagged...

Enfin du vrai pain

Bon, j'ai acheté à Sainsbury's cette miche de pain en réduction (de cette qualité-là c'est en temps normal hors de prix) qui m'a servi pour mon déjeuner ce matin. Je me suis rendu compte que le beurre d'arachide de Waitrose est assez mangeable et le goût se rapproche de celui de Kraft, même si celui de Waitrose est, comme on peut le deviner pour ceux qui ont acheté quoi que ce soit à Waitrose, hors de prix. Et on ne peut l'acheter qu'en petites quantités. Au Québec, j'achète mon beurre d'arachide par galons, ou presque. Enfin, le pain est extrêmement difficile à couper (d'autant plus que j'ai toujours été très mauvais pour ce genre de chose) et les tranches étaient trop épaisses pour faire des toasts, mais beurrées de beaucoup de beurre d'arachide 9de beaucoup de beurre d'arachide, que l'on fait descendre avec du jus d'orange (enfin, jus de fruits tropicaux ces temps-ci), hélas sans jus d'atocas, c'est quand même délicieux et ça commence bien une journée déjà longue à faire de la traduction. Ca me fait également patienter d'ici à ce que je mange un déjeuner montréalais. Que j'ai hâte d'être de retour au pays. Ca me permettra également de diversifier le contenu de ce blogue.

One year of home sweet home already

It has been a year since we got in our apartment. Home sweet home, and all that. At some point, we thought about moving, but finally we decided to stay here for another year. I never felt quite right about the many places I visited when I started lookking. And, more importantly, we love this flat, we always felt comfortable in it and it is the cloest thing we ever had to a home since we got married. So it was only logical to me that we celebrate us moving in. Any reason is good enough excuse to celebrate for me. I am, after all, a man of rituals and habits.

Same time last year, I was working (yes, that feels like a long time ago, doesn't it?) for big money (even longer after typing that) and we had spent almost a month in bed and breakfasts. It took us ages to find our "home", we had seen a lot of flats and this one was the last of the bunch. It was love at first sight, we wanted it right away, even though we found it at the end of November and it was only available two weeks later. Anyway, it was nice, it was clean, it was in a quiet place, it looked and felt liveable, we wanted it, we decided to go for it. But it ended up quite difficult to get. Some documents got lost in the mail, the estate agents sent it to our previous address in another town, we had to send and receive papers twice, it took me ages to get references from my employers, those two weeks were a nightmare. That's another reason why we decided not to move: we did not want to go through the whole ordeal again. Not any time soon anyway. We felt we had suffered enough. In the end, however, we got the flat. I appreciated dearly the first night I slept here, especially since it was after a long day at work and an even longer time bleeding money for greedy bed and breakfast owners. The first night here, we ate wine and cheese, something simple that did not require any cooking and was easy to find. My provided the cheese and baguette, I provided the wine. I bought then one white wine, as she prefers it to red wine, and some mousseux (sparkling wine) in a small bottle, just for the kick. In the end, we only drank a bit of the mousseux and kept the other wine for another occasion. It was a very modest but very appreciated housewarming party. In French, we say pendre la crémaillère, which I always found appropriate.

This year, my wife was recovering from a hangover, the first in a few years (that is so not like her to have one drink too many), so I did not buy as much wine, as I knew I would have to drink it all by myself. I bought a bottle of Beaujolais nouveau, which I greatly appreciated. Especially since we bought Asda cheeses that were mostly disgusting (and, as you can see on the picture, of a sickly orange colour). We bought the cheeses for the chopping board and knife that were coming with them, but still, I had to drown the taste with wine. I also had some pâté, which was quite good, even though my vegetarian wife tried to make me feel guilty about it. But it was so much better than the cheese. So the celebration was not as solemn as I thought it would be, probably because tonight was just another Sunday, the pain and ordeal we went through to get here is now just a souvenir. Still, it was worth this modest remembrance dinner.

A gruesome Santa Claus story

This post is an English version of this one in French. So, in case you don't know, it is Saint Nicholas's Day today. He is now better known as Santa Claus, but once upon a time he was a Catholic bishop who became saint, and like any good saint he performed miracles. One of them has been transformed into the Légende de Saint Nicolas, which you can find here with an English translation below. I always loved that story, because it was such a scary one, but also because in the end, Good overcomes even the most malevolent forces. One day my (then) future niece was visiting my parents-in-law, she asked me to tell her scary stories. I told her this one, which she claimed did not scare her one bit, but the next morning she admitted to my then fiancée now wife that she had nightmares about "that butcher story". She still asked me for more scary stories as soon as I got up, which confirmed my belief that children love to be scared.

On a side note, the story was also used by Anthony Burgess in Earthly Powers.

La légende de Saint Nicolas

"Ils étaient trois petits enfants
Qui s'en allaient glaner aux champs."

C'est aujourd'hui la Saint-Nicolas. C'est bien sûr le nom qu'on donnait au Père Noël à une autre époque. Avant de devenir le Père Noël, Saint Nicolas était le patron des enfants. Il est le héros de plusieurs légendes, dont une où il ramène à la vie trois enfants tués par un boucher fou, ce qui a inspiré cette chanson terrifiante. Il y en a plusieurs variantes, mais le fond de l'histoireNous l'avions entendue une fois sur Radio-Canada, avec animation. Elle m'at fasciné depuis ce jour. Noël et le temps des Fêtes a une dimension angoissante qu'on a tendance à oublier de nos jours: le temps est froid et il fait sombre. Il est normal que certaines légendes aient illustré que l'on vit dans un monde dangereux où le mal peut prendre des apparences affables (ici, un boucher). Cela dit, la légende a une fin heureuse, preuve que s'il y a des forces du Mal qui oeuvrent dans notre monde, le Bien existe également. le boucher serait devenu le Père Fouettard par la suite. Aujourd'hui, il serait considéré comme un serial killer. Mais je préfère une époque où le mal existait sans excuse médicale (et donc sans être aseptisé). J'ai raconté cette histoire à ma nièce (qui ne l'était pas encore), un soir d'hiver où elle m'avait demandé de lui raconter des histoires terrifiantes. Je lui ai aussi raconté la légende de Rose Latulippe. Elle protesta de façon très convaincante qu'elle n'avait pas eu peur du tout et que je ne racontais pas d'histoire effrayantes. Le lendemain, elle admit à ma fiancée que la légende de Saint Nicolas lui avait fait faire des cauchemars. ce qui ne l'empêcha pas de me demander avec insistance d'autres histoires dès que je fus debout. Ce qui confirme mon idée que les enfants adorent avoir peur. Je laisse la chanson ici, en espérant qu'elle vous fascinera aussi.

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La cuvée 2008 de Ciné-Cadeau

J'ai écrit aujourd'hui ce billet en anglais sur les films que j'essaie de regarder pendant les Fêtes. Ce qui me fait penser qu'il y a une tradition très québécoise que nous suivions religieusement, mes frères et moi (ainsi que sans doute tous les enfants de notre génération), c'est à dire regarder Ciné-Cadeau, dont voici la cuvée 2008. Je me demande quoi en penser. Il y a beaucoup de classiques que je me promets de redécouvrir avec plaisir, mais aussi quelques films assez peu fantaisistes. Or, l'intérêt de Ciné-Cadeau, outre de faire découvrir des oeuvres obscures d'animateurs d'Europe de l'Est ou de la Chine communiste (bon j'exagère, mais pas tant que ça), c'est de divertir avec des oeuvres en général fantaisistes. Je n'essaie pas d'être nostalgique à outrance, la qualité n'était pas toujours là dans ma jeunesse. Il y avait beaucoup de trucs franchement mauvais, mais on essayait d'habitude de montrer des films (surtout des dessins animés) d'évasion, pas des comédies dramatiques. Enfin, c'est toujours supérieur au très médiocre Ciné-Famille de Radio-Canada, qui lui présente des films que l'on peut voir à l'année longue et que l'on retrouve partout.

My movies for the Christmas season

My wife says I am a man of habits and rituals. She is absolutely right. As you probably know (you, my modest readership), I try to read and watch movies that in a way follow the seasons. It is a way like another to prioritise books and films when you have many on your shelf. It is also a good way to get into the seasonal spirit. During Halloween, this is easy enough: I read horror stories and watch horror movies. When Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat (although I eat turkey), it is trickier for me, because I don't like the marshmallow Christmas movies we are saturated with, with the silly two-bit moral and obvious consumerism. Maybe it has something to do with my Catholic past, maybe I think there is solemnity in the season that we lost, or whatever, but I prefer things that are not necessarily religious but more atmospheric. Jesus of Nazareth I consider it to be more of an Easter movie, so I watch it around that time. But here are some of the movies I watch around Christmastime:

-A Charlie Brown Christmas. Do I need to explain why? For me, it's the ultimate Christmas movie. Sweet, soft, simple, genuinely heart warming (without ever being preachy) and with great characters. The music is simply gorgeous and who can forget the classic speech of Linus about the meaning of Christmas?
-On Her Majesty's Secret Service. I mentioned it before, over and over again. Yes, it's a James Bond, but it is mainly set around Christmas and the scenes in the snow are beautiful. Whatever the time, a remote hideout on a mountain covered with snow is always menacing, but when one mixes it with a time of the year when you should be celebrating instead of chasing badguys (or being chased by them), it makes everything else worksI think Christmas works beautifully as a background for crime fiction (which spy thrillers are part of). The blood on snow, the Nativity story to emphasize the death that surround the protagonists, etc. Come to think of it, the Nativity story itself has its share of sinister elements, so using Christmas as a background for more sinister stories is a logical choice. In Victorian times, ghost stories were often set during Christmastime, it was a tradition to read them at this time. In Québec and in many other places, many tales are also set during Christmas.
-The Godfather and The Godfather Part II. I do watch them at other times of the year too, but simply because some of their stories are set around Christmas, I try to watch them at least once around that time. Any excuse is good to enjoy those classics.
-Eyes Wide Shut. A great underrated Stanley Kubrick classic. Beautiful and haunting. I absolutely love it. Oh, and it is set during the Christmas season too.
-La Guerre des Tuques. Translated in English as The Dog Who Stopped the War, which sort of gives a bit of the ending. A Québec classic, I used to love it when I was a child. The proof that children movies can also have serious themes and still be entertaining.
-C.R.A.Z.Y. A "new" classic, and my favourite recent Québec movies. The story of a child (then teenager, then man) born on the 25th of December growing up in the 60s and 70s Québec.

Aftermaths of the Twelve Days of Christmas

For those who find Christmastime stressful, or who simply can't stand the famous song, you need to read this parody by John Julius Norwich absolutely. I really mean it. Read it. Now. Enjoy. I read it for the first time in book form in a Waterstone's, I was sadly not smart enough to buy it. It pictures perfectly how Christmas can sometimes be a pain. I always wondered what somebody could have done with all those animals, I mean you can milk the cows (or get them milked for you, as the maids are the gift after all), but what about the rest? You can eat the pears of the tree and the geese's eggs of course and well, you can pluck the partridge and put it in a tourtière, but that would make my wife very angry. And I don't think I could kill a partridge anyway, especially not if it was a gift. Same goes with the rest, so I would have to endure the stupid birds and the cows, the lords, the ladies dancing, the drummers, and the rest.

Savez-vous ce qu'il faut au sapin de Noël?

J'ai déjà placé cette chanson sur le blogue dans un billet récent. Mais j'ai décidé d'y consacrer un autre billet en français car il y a une version française de Do You Know How Christmas Trees Are Grown, interprétée par Isabelle Aubret. C'est un peu quétaine (correction: c'est d'un quétaine absolu), mais c'est très mignon et ça met dans l'ambiance saisonnière. On retrouve la version allemande ici. Quand je l'écoute, j'ai toujours en tête la scène d'On Her Majesty's Secret Service où on l'entend pour la seule et unique fois. Elle est alors d'une redoutable efficacité pour établir l'ambiance et introduire la réapparition de Tracy Bond (interprétée par la grande Diana Rigg), ange sur patin venue sauver Bond. George Lazenby n'a jamais été un grand acteur, mais il joue admirablement bien ici. Alors je remets la chanson sur le blogue, histoire de passer le temps d'ici à Noël.

A bit of ice

Well, it is not snow yet, but I hope it is getting there. There was frost on the ground this morning, I took a picture which you can see on the left. Frost is beautiful, it makes everything somewhat fragile, like if nature was all of a sudden made of thin crystal. It is beautiful, but cold, unlike snow which, when it is not too wet, makes the outdoor feel warm as if it was covered with a blanket of wool. Maybe that is as much winter as I will get here, but it put me in a good mood today.

Lustukru

Puisque ce blogue risque d'être saturé de chansons de Noël pour le prochain mois, j'ai pensé en mettre une autre d'une toute autre nature. Le grand Lustukru est une chanson inspirée du folklore breton. Enfant, je connaissais cette version, que j'avais lue dans La bonne chanson, recueil de chansons traditionnelles parfois indigestes parce que puant l'eau bénite canadienne française (ma mère en avait amené les volumes à la maison une fois mariée, pour une raison quelconque). Cela dit, il y en avait quelques chansons traditionnelles fort bonnes, et celle-ci qui est moins connue. Je préfère et de loin la version que je présente ici, et dont voici les paroles. Elle est absolument terrifiante et beaucoup plus cruelle: l'enfant n'arrive pas à dormir parce qu'il craint Lustukru, lequel va le manger justement parce qu'il ne dort pas. Je n'ai pas pu trouver grand chose sur Lustukru, ils emblerait que la bonne épellation soit avec un k, pour ne pas le confondre avec celui de la mère Michel (lequel est détestable également, parce qu'il n'aime pas les chats, mais pas à moitié aussi terrifiant qu'un antropophage). Lustukru est un croquemitaine, tout comme le Bonhomme Sept Heures et le Père Fouettard, dont je parlerai bientôt, ce qui me sera une excuse pour mettre ici une nouvelle chanson pour enfants délicieusement sinistre. Depuis ma découverte dans le livre de La Bonne chanson, je trouve Lustukru beaucoup plus effrayant que le plus connu Bonhomme Sept Heures. D'abord parce que l'on sait ce que Lustukru fait des enfants qu'il capture et le sort encouru est affreux. Ensuite, parce que le nom même de Lustukru est effrayant. Il sonne comme une morsure dans de la chair vive, il évoque aussi l'incrédulité face à son existence (l'eusses-tu-cru?). Enfin, après cette longue introduction, voici la chanson en question:

Just like winter...

...but without the snow. That said, it is quite cold out there and inside too (during daytime at least). I guess I should be half satisfied, as half of winter is here. I do like cold weather, it makes the inside feel more comfortable. I bought an advent calendar for my wife today. Chocolate tastes better when it is cold outside too. Well, everything does. I can wrap myself in my favourite blanket, wonder how Christmas trees are grown and be patient until Christmas.

L'Avent

C'est aujourd'hui le premier jour de l'Avent (en fait, c'était hier, selon ce que vous pouvez lire sur cet article, mais je me fie d'abord au calendrier de l'Avent). Le vrai compte à rebours d'ici Noël commence. C'est pour beaucoup, dont moi, une période à la fois stimulante et un peu angoissante. J'ai déjà commencé à acheter des cadeaux, mais je dois les entamer plus sérieusement et les terminer d'ici au 24. De manière plus prosaïque je dois, d'ici à la fin de la journée acheter un calendrier de l'Avent (celui avec le chocolat, pas le religieux).

Do you know how Christmas trees are grown?

It might be a bit early, but my wife and I did the Christmas tree today. Tomorrow might have been more appropriate technically, as it is the beginning of Advent, but today is the weekend and we had time to spend on it, so it was more practical. Some people are so obsessive that they put it on early November, so we are not so bad anyway. Sadly, we bought by mistake the one with the slim line and not the large one (mea culpa, I am the one who picked it up), but it is our first Christmas tree so I won't complain too much. She blogged about it herself. Anyway, it is nice to have a Christmas tree, even an artificial one, it puts us in a festive mood. I can't wait to smell the real Christmas tree in my parent's house though. I put some pictures here of the tree. You can see at the top right the very first Christmas decoration I bought for here, when I started my job in 2007. For some reason, I am particularly fond of it.

Now, people may wonder where I got the title of this post. It is not from me, and I understand that it is ironic to have it as a title about an artificial Christmas tree. Still, it has a good ring to it, so I decided to put it here. It is actually the title of a song in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. The song is a bit silly, but really enjoyable. In the movie, its silliness actually works to make the scene works beautifully. Because it is set mostly during Christmas time, On Her majesty's Secret Service is one of my favourite seasonal movies. I found the song on youtube (with rather poor and irrelevant images, sadly) and I put it here to kick start Christmas season:

Dernier jour de novembre

Nous sommes le dernier jour de novembre déjà. Ce qui veut dire que demain c'est l'Avent. Comme à chaque mois ou presque, je place ici une image de Detective Tales sur le blogue, un numéro de novembre bien sûr. C'est une petite tradition qui ne semble intéresser que moi, mais ça changera des images de Noël qui risquent de saturer ce blogue pour un mois.

That darn wedding cake

I don't like fruit cakes anymore. I used to, there were some nice Christmas cakes that my dad used to make that tasted quite good, and some other he used to buy from some charity organisation that was absolutely lovely (and which I used to have for breakfast sometimes), but not since I got married. If you don't know it already, English people traditionally have fruit cakes for wedding cakes. For me, fruit cakes (this sort of fruit cakes anyway, not the raisin cake I bake sometimes) were one of those many Christmas desserts, not something to have all year round. My wife doesn't like them, she never did, not even the aforementioned raisin cake that is from her grandmother's recipe. And it seemed a bit heavy and not sugary enough for my taste. That said, I am a traditionalist at heart, so again my better advice, I decided with my wife to be to go with the traditional British wedding cake, bought at Marks & Spencer at a reasonable price. The wedding was a great success, we had a wonderful wedding reception at a beautiful venue, where they served us great food, I never had such a decadent chocolate marquise in my whole life (I still miss), I sang New york, New York in front of an actual audience (well, more people than a couple of drunken friends) and everything went really beautifully. Except for that darn cake, which almost nobody ate and probably nobody enjoyed. Many did not like fruit cakes, others were allergic to nuts so didn't have any (with all the marzipan covering it, this thing can be pure poison), some were simply too full to eat it after the very filling meal (and the lovely marquise) and in the end, I got stuck with the wedding cake almost intact, after struggling with my wife to cut through it for the pictures. (For my Facebook friends, I think there are some pics of me immortalising that moment. It was like cutting through thick wood). I ate the first layer almost every morning for breakfast in the first month of the wedding, then I kept the other two in the freezer. We still have them, so I started eating it again for breakfast not so long ago. I try, I really do, I hate to waste food, especially one that has that sort of symbolical significance. But I really get almost sick when I take a bite of that dry cake covered with sickeningly thick marzipan. Horrid. I posted two pictures of it here, when it was whole and nice to look at (at least it was somehow useful) and how the middle layer looks a year later. Oh, and I put a picture of the marquise, just to have a memory of it on this blog (it was that good) and to taunt my readership.

Mélancolie

"En verrai ge jamais la fin
De voz oeuvres, Melancolie?
Quant au soir de vous me deslie
Vous me ratachez au matin"
Rondeaux, Charles d'Orléans

Je n'admire pas Charles d'Orléans autant que François Villon, mais j'aime quand même beaucoup son oeuvre. Les poètes du Moyen Âge savaient exprimer mieux qu'aucun de leurs successeurs la mélancolie. Je ne suis pas tout à fait mélancolique, mais dans cette période avant les Fêtes, quand la neige n'apparaît pas, qu'il ne fait pas tout à fait assez froid pour me tenir alerte et que novembre ressemble toujours trop à novembre, je m'ennuie un peu. Cela dit, ma femme et moi allons faire du magasinage pour les Fêtes cet après-midi et il y a déjà des lumières de Noël, alors je crois que je vais me guérir de ce sentiment lancinant, qui, puisqu'il ne m'inspire pas autant que les poètes que j'admire, m'est un peu inutile.

Le petit ours gris

Je vous offre aujourd'hui une autre chanson de Félix Leclerc, pas sa plus connue puisque je préfère faire découvrir ses oeuvres plus obscures. Elle est parfaite pour les journées grises, bien que les matins secs et glacés se font rares par ici.

Discover Felix Leclerc!

A crow on the roof

This morning, I took a picture of this crow up on the roof. I couldn't get a closer shot, sadly. I barely had time to take the picture before it flew away. As a kid, I didn't like crows, I thought they were quite noisy. We had lots of them any time of year. Now I really like them, partially because we had so many of them in the neighbourhood when I was a child. They are intelligent and beautiful creatures and even their croak has a certain charm. They used to have a bad reputation in ancient times, probably because they were stealing harvest, were scavengers and had that sinister shiny black colour. Even not so long ago, a crow on the roof of a house like this would have meant that one of its inhabitant was going to die soon. I like crows, but I prefer ravens, which are much bigger and much scarier. Life is not very exciting around here, things might happen next week but right now things are not happening, so I end up taking pictures of birds.

Il a neigé au Québec...

...mais pas ici. Je regarde les prévisions météo de l'autre côté de l'Atlantique et je suis envieux. Ici, j'attends la neige, mais je crois qu'elle ne viendra pas. Il fait sombre de plus en plus tôt, à quatre heures les lumières commencent à baisser, mais il ne neige pas. Je ne suis pas impatient, mais ça mettrait un peu de couleur au paysage. Enfin, il reste un peu moins d'un mois avant Noël. Patience, patience...

I'm dreaming of home

"I hear the mountain birds
The sound of rivers singing
A song I've often heard
It flows through me now
So clear and so loud
I stand where I am
And forever I'm dreaming of home
I feel so alone, I'm dreaming of home

It's carried in the air
The breeze of early morning
I see the land so fair
My heart opens wide
There's sadness inside
I stand where I am
And forever I'm dreaming of home
I feel so alone, I'm dreaming of home

This is no foreign sky
I see no foreign light
But far away am I
From some peaceful land
I'm longing to stand
A hand in my hand
...forever I'm dreaming of home
I feel so alone, I'm dreaming of home"

Let's start by a bit of triviality before I get down to serious business. Tonight I will teach for the first time in a bit more than a year. It is on behalf of a language school, for one student. I feel a bit rusty, but I think I will be all right. I should be happy, but it's not exactly the kind of teaching I wanted to do, I thought when I started working in Liverpool that language schools were below my skills and that I would finally be a real, full-time lteacher. How the mighty have fallen (not that I ever was that mighty to begin with, but still).

Since inspiration hasn't quite arrived yet, since I am feeling homesick, with Christmas coming and everything, and since I forgot to put it on Remembrance Day or Remembrance Sunday, I have decided to put here I'm dreaming of home, which I discovered in the movie Merry Christmas/Joyeux Noël (a nice movie, by the way). And I just found out that Natalie Dessay sings in the movie version of the song, so that's another reason to like it. This song illustrates perfectly the longing of the expatriate like myself.

Sainte-Catherine

C'est la Sainte-Catherine aujourd'hui. Essayez de manger de la tire,des restes que vous avez gardés de l'Halloween. Ou alors, lisez ce conte, dont j'ai déjà parlé ici et qui est un petit bijou d'atmosphère. Je l'ai lu en quatrième année et je m'en rappelle encore, c'est dire. Si vous trouvez la tire trop collante, c'est une excellente façon de souligner la fête que de le lire. C'est d'ailleurs tout ce que je vais faire pour souligner ce 25 novembre.

Saint Catherine's Day tomorrow

Well, I am a bit early for this, but I thought I would remind my Anglophone readership that it is St-Catherine's Day tomorrow. I will write a post about it in French tomorrow with the usual nostalgia, children souvenirs nobody wants to hear about but my brothers and I, so I won't bother you too much with childhood memories. That said, Saint Catherine's Day is a fascinating little holiday that is sadly forgotten these days. It is one month before Christmas and for Quebeckers it used to be the last big day until Christmas. It didn't start the Advent, but it was still a way to pass time until then. It was, in effect, our Thanksgiving. It was also the day of unmarried women and spinsters, as Saint Catherine is the holy patron of virgins. As a child, I didn't know much about the saint, but I knew that "coiffer Sainte Catherine" meant, for unmarried women of 25, becoming "vieille fille", i.e. a spinster. As a child, 25 seemed very old to me, and I wouldn't understand why any man in his right mind would want to marry a woman so ancient anyway, so the tradition made sense. Obviously, I didn't know I was going to marry at 30 a woman aged 26 going on 27. In France, they had Saint-Catherine's hats or wigs to celebrate the event. In Québec, we used to make tire, which is taffy,"like Marguerite Bourgeoys" now a saint herself), who introduced taffy in America and evangelised natives by bribing them with the candy (the way we were told her story, that's how I understood it). So that's what I loved about Saint-Catherine's Day: the taffies, which we used to cool on snow, when there was some. Funny that a day so austere was also for us another day of sugar indulgence. But the holiday served also as a warning for the girls who were too eager to get a husband. We were told the cautionary tale of Colette, a maid approaching 25 who did not want to become a spinster, and who tried too hard to get married before Saint Catherine's Day. If you can understand French, you can read her story here. It's a beautiful conte québécois the way I love them: simple, dark, with no happy ending.

I didn't know how to commemorate the day, and then I found recently at total random this song by the McGarrigle sisters, which is called Complainte pour Sainte-Catherine. Granted, it is more about the rue Sainte-Catherine in Montreal, not the day or the saint herself, but the "pour" in the title means that the song is addressed to the saint, so I took it as a sign. Anyway, I don't know if it is the thick Quebec anglophone accent, the use of joual, the way the lyrics picture perfectly a cold winter day in Montreal, but I found the song irresistible.

Orange sanguine

Il fait froid, mais il n'y a toujours pas de neige. Que ce pays est gris ces jours-ci. Il a plu abondamment hier, de cette pluie froide qui pénètre tout. Aujourd'hui il fait soleil (pour le moment), mais on gèle même à l'intérieur. J'ai passé tout l'avant-midi à envoyer une traduction parce qu'hotmail avait des problèmes. Alors voilà, j'ai un peu hâte aux Fêtes. J'ai quand même de bonnes raisons de garder le moral. Le métier de traducteur, bien que terriblement irrégulier parce que contractuel, paie extrêmement bien quand on considère le temps passé à travailler. Et ça me tient occupé, mais pas trop, alors j'ai le temps de chercher du vrai travail (et tant mieux, parce que c'est également d'un ennui mortel). Je consomme aussi assez régulièrement de la comfort food. Comme nous allons au Québec pour les Fêtes, il serait absurde de commander ce qui me manque du pays, mais j'ai trouvé un substitut pour le jus de canneberges qui complétait mon jus d'orange à Montréal. Je prends donc du jus d'orange sanguine Tropicana. Ca n'a pas le goût acide si distinctif de la canneberge, je doute également que ça ait ses valeurs nutritives, mais ça donne de la couleur au déjeuner et ça change de la fadeur du jus d'orange. Je sais que c'est d'une trivialité frisant le manque d'inspiration, mais j'ai décidé de prendre en photo le verre de Sanguinello en question en photo et de la publier ici, histoire de mettre un peu de couleur au blogue (couleur qui, de par sa rougeur, rappelle Noël qui s'en vient). Cela dit, je suis conscient que je vous fais lire un billet qui, après avoir divagué sur pleins de trucs et sauté du coq à l'âne, porte surtout sur un verre de jus d'orange.

Une citation...

Dernier billet de la journée, très court. J'ai déjà entendu cette réplique alors que j'étais plongeur dans un restaurant de fine cuisine:

"-Tu sais, l'alcool est un poison qui tue lentement.
-Tant mieux je ne suis pas pressé."

À se tordre à terre.

An anniversary to remember

Today is the day I met my wife, six years ago. It was a Saturday evening, I was eating a mince pie in the residence's kitchen and she showed up because she was looking for a friend (my neighbour, a Greek girl from Cyprus I will always feel guilty not to thank in public in my wedding speech). I might blog more about that evening one day, something that hopefully will be an outstanding post. For now, suffice to say that since that day, I try to have a mince pie on the 23rd. I am not the biggest mince pies fan, in fact I quickly get bored of them, but it is one of those little traditions I have and I am quite fond of it. It is important to commemorate such events, and it makes the end of November more exciting, or at least exciting for something else than Christmas lights and decorations they already put everywhere. This is a personal, little celebration of mine that needs nothing but a mince pie.

À propos du grenier

Je ne pensais pas bloguer encore une fois ce soir, mais j'ai trouvé un article sur cyberpresse qui m'amène à revisiter un de mes billets préférés. J'y avais parlé de mon amour des mansardes comme lieu de résidence Ir, il semblerait que je ne sois pas le seul à apprécier les vertus du grenier. Le style est plus journalistique, l'approche est plus pratique qu'évocatrice, mais la lecture de l'article n'en est pas moins intéressante.

JFK

Holly's blog entry reminded me that today is the day of Kennedy's assassination (and I have a good excuse for forgetting, as you will see tomorrow). For people of my age, itt was the 9/11 of our parents's generation. A lot of people of my age have known the story through Oliver Stone's movie, which I never liked. I much prefer the James Ellroy version of the murder, that he related in American Tabloid and The Cold Six Thousand. Just as fictitious as Oliver Stone's paranoid fantasy, but to my taste much more believable.

On a side note, you can find here a fascinating website about Kennedy and his murder, which I visit from time to time around the 22nd of November.

Is this a nest?

I wonder... I saw it in one of the front yard's tree yesterday, and while there is no sign of a bird around there and the branch doesn't strike me as the ideal place to build a nest, as it is exposed to the weather and potential predators, it sure looks like a nest. Maybe it is just a bunch of twigs that got there by the wind, but I think it is more likely an empty nest. So sadly, I will not see birds any time soon in it, but the nest in itself still looks quite nice. Interesting how the natural world can be so aesthetic, even it its smallest incarnations, like this nest or a spider web.

Réflexions décousues d'un samedi matin

Sommes-nous enfin en hiver? La température baisse lentement mais sûrement. Ils disent que c'est très froid à la télé et je dois admettre que, même si c'est encore doux comparé à ce qu'on peut avoir au Québec, le froid pince de manière étonnante lorsqu'on sort. On annonce de la neige certains endroits. Et d'ici là (si jamais elle vient à tomber ici) il y a le vent qui souffle. J'apprécie la baisse de température, donc, parce qu'enfin il y a unv rai changement saisonnier.

Étrange, j'ai ces temps-ci envie de manger de la grosse pizza cheap et abondante qu'on retrouve dans les pizzerias au Québec. Je me rappelle à quel point on aimait Pizza Royale quand mes frères et moi étaient jeunes. Le restaurant avait beaucoup de succès vers la fin des années 80 à Chicoutimi, je me demande encore pourquoi, parce que ce n'était qu'une pizzeria quelconque. Mais c'était notre pizza préférée. Maintenant, Pizza Royale est retombé dans l'obscurité. Les pizzerias se sont multipliées et nos goûts ont évolué aussi. Cela dit, parfois j'aime retourner aux joies gastronomiques simples ou, dans ce cas ci, simplistes. Où sont les neiges d'antan, et ainsi de suite.

The wind in the windows

It is quite windy today, you can sometimes hear the wind shaking the windows slightly. I love the kind of day we are having right now: it is sunny, cold and windy. I remember when I was working in Liverpool, a few days after I got back from the Christmas holidays, we had a few days/weeks where the weather was terrible, with lots of rain and lots of wind. I had my head down marking grammar exams and the windows of my office were shaking as if the end of the world was on its way. It felt great. So was sleeping in my bedroom in the old Victorian house I was living in. When the weather outside is unfriendly, you appreciate more the comfort of your home.

I can feel the wind more in this attic flat. Whatever the weather is, we are in much closer proximity with it. It is something else I love about attic rooms: it makes you more in touch with the outside word, in direct contact with nature's temper. I don't know if it is because we are higher up, or because of the angles of an attic, but attics have that property. Or maybe I just have a wild imagination.

Londres aller-retour

On dirait que je n'échappe pas à cette ville. Je suis donc allé à Londres brièvement aujourd'hui, pour m'inscrire à une autre agence de placement, celle-ci spécialisée dans le domaine de l'éducation, alors je crois que j'ai plus de chances de progresser avec eux et de trouver du travail qui au moins m'intéresse. Cela dit, je suis resté à Londres le moins longtemps possible. Par paresse, j'avais décidé de m'y rendre le plus tard possible. Par manque d'enthousiasme, je l'ai quittée tout de suite après mon rendez-vous. J'aurais pu faire un peu de magasinage du temps des Fêtes une fois rendu, mais l'esprit n'y était pas. Je trouve la ville toujours aussi barbante et la réconciliation espérée est encore loin.

Au retour des Fêtes, j'essaie de me réconcilier avec la ville, promis. Pas avant, parce que je crois l'avoir assez vue pour le moment. Mais en janvier (ou en février?) je vais essayer d'y aller une fin de semaine avec ma femme et on visitera les musées. D'ici là, je l'évite comme la peste.

Looking for inspiration, hoping for snow

Since November, I feel like I have no worthy topic to blog about. Well, I do, but I feel either uninspired to blog about them, or I am waiting for a more appropriate moment. There is just something about this month I guess. Not that it is in my case completely uneventful: my wife's birthday is in November and there are some unknown yet interesting holidays, which I am going to talk about in due time, or already did. But on the whole, November is stuck between Halloween and Christmas, so it is a month of waiting time and expectations. Autumn is no more in full force, but it's not quite winter yet. I don't like the monotonous, in between nature of November. If only there was snow...

Ah! There's another thing: I miss the snow. Snow makes everything look more serene and warm (ironically enough). I have been longing for the snows of yesteryear since we got snow here as early as October. They had snow in Québec a few days before, so I was hoping for some real drops In November, then I remembered that I was living in England. You might think that I am digressing, talking about snow in a blog that started being about inspiration, but you see, this is actually structured (okay, not necessarily well structured, but the connection makes sense). If you understand a bit of French, you will know that I mentioned in some of my previous posts the great poet François Villon. Villon made one of his most famous poems (which I often quote from) longing for snow and for past glories. He was inspired by this absence. It told me that one does not have to have an exciting life to create. Creation can also come from monotony, from longing. I am no François Villon, but I am looking up to my favourite poet by longing for a time that will come and that I have seen before, hoping for it as I have known it in my childhood in Northern Québec and I have been giving an foretaste of it this year. Through melancholy, I hope to get a stroke of genius, or at least some kind of interesting writing. Not an epiphany, as I got all of them in teenage, but something good. I don't know which one will come first, the snow or inspiration, but I am expecting them. In the meantime, I'll put some pictures here that my dad took in Chicoutimi in...April 2008. It looked like December, as you can see.