Kew Gardens

Today, as it was their last day in England, we went with my parents to Kew Gardens today, as I already mentioned here. It eas a magnificent day, it was also a lovely time spent with my family. I discovered relatively recently that I love gardens, especially British gardens, I love how harmonious they look, yet how nature in them seems barely tamed, as if it just sprung from the ground and spread around the buildings, old and new. And it is lovely to see, smell and feel green. I saw little of the gardens, but I enjoyed them tremendously. And took loads and loads of snapshots, some good, some very bad. I didn't know which one to put here. This is the Temple of Aeolus, which for some reason had a strong impression on me. I know Aeolus from The Odyssey and my readership can check on this blog how much I am obsessed with the epic poem and with greek mythology in general. So I decided to put one picture here for the time being, of the Temple of Aeolus surrounded by vegetation that seems wild.

Dernier jour d'avril...

...passé avec père et mère pour leur dernier jour en Angleterre au Kew Gardens, lequel mon père voulait visiter depuis déjà un bout de temps (plus de vingt ans je crois). Journée magnifique, jardins magnifiques, la photo ne rend pas justice à l'endroit, je risque de continuer à débiter des clichés alors je vais m'arrêter là.

Cela dit, ça a fait beaucoup de bien de les voir et de pouvoir profiter avec eux de cette escapade dans la presque nature. Je n'avais pas eu de vacances depuis un bout de temps et le temps passé avec eux, même trop court et entrecoupé de travail, m'a été salutaire. Et puis on a eu du beau temps, ce qui ne gâche rien et qui est rare en avril. Aujourd'hui, c'était une fin de mois magnifique d'un mois qui a été en général étonnamment clément. Je suis un homme heureux.

Musing on that wedding tomorrow

I am home early today. And tomorrow because of "Kate and William's wedding". It sounds like they are old friends when they announce it like this in the media. I mean, really? It's not like if I ever had a beer with that guy or went to his stag night! We share nothing but a name. Anyway, as I needed holidays and the Easter ones had been too short, this is most welcome. Monarchy has to be useful about something. Still, the republican I am finds all the excitement about this wedding a bit ridiculous. In the end, it is a procession of (mainly) old people dressed like clowns. Catholics have the Vatican, the UK and the Commonwealth have the Queen and her descendants. Anachronism made flesh. At least I will have the day off.

Still, it is absurd, all that fuss about two people getting married, all that money spent on someone who will probably be the head of a state... because he was born. I guess I will watch bits of it, I don't have much choice, we will be invaded by images, soundbites, what have you. Maybe, maybe I will even drink at their health and happiness with a Windsor Knot. Not because they are royalties, but because they deserve to be happy. I am genuinely curious about this beer and this new brewery in Windsor. I wish the brewery well. A little anecdote that stayed in my head all day: in the lovely village of l'Anse-St-Jean there was a crowning, which I actually attend to. A bit of a ridiculous thing that got people talking, but the local brewery brewed a delicious beer for the occasion, "la Royale de l'Anse". It ceased to exist, sadly. Something good came up from that monarchy too, however short lived. I do hope the brewery in Windsor survives time, we need more breweries. But I hope even more than one day I will see the end of the monarchy in this country and mine.

Page de nostalgie montréalaise

Ca m'est venu comme ça aujourd'hui. Mon expérience de Montréal en tant que Montréalais (d'adoption mais quand même) date un peu. Mes souvenirs les plus vifs datent surtout de mes études à Montréal. Je me suis donc lancé dans un exercice de nostalgie, voyons un peu ce que ça va donner. Je me souviens:

-Quand la CAM était à 45.00$.
-Quand le proprio de la Binerie Mont-Royal m'appelait "jeune homme".
-Quand il y avait une boulangerie indépendante sur l'Avenue Mont-Royal appelée Le Moulin où on allait mon frère et moi parce que les employées étaients mignonnes.
-Quand je me stockais en bouquins chez Olivieri.
-Quand on entendait surtout les Colocs dans les bars.
-Quand je trouvais Pierre Bourque nono et un peu trop mégalo (ce qui ne m'a pas empêché de voter pour lui à mes premières élections montréalaises, parce qu'au moins il aimait la ville et il avait des projets, contrairement à l'autre demeuré).
-Quand on me disait après que j'aie prononcé quelques mots: "Toi tu viens du Saguenay."

Who else wants to be Irish?

I just read this article on the BBC news website, about American presidents with Irish blood, wanting to be associated with Ireland. Even Barack Obama has Irish blood. The article indicates that this might simply be because American politicians want to appeal to Catholic voters in the US and it has nothing to do with a particular affection with Ireland. I would find it a bit sad if it was true. I have French and probably Scottish blood, but like most Quebeckers I think I must have some Irish blood. From the little research I did, my ancestors, although Scottish by name, came to Canada from Ulster, they were Ulster Scots. The line between the two nations often gets blurry in history and I probably have mixed blood.

I did not fall in love with Ireland as early as I fell in love with England. Unlike my love for England, my love for Ireland is not entirely an allophilia, as I feel a natural bond with the country. Maybe because there are so many Irish Quebeckers, maybe because I feel, rightly or not, that I do have a bit of Irish blood in me. Yes, yes, I blogged about it before. But I wonder if there is not something about Ireland that makes it more attractive to other cultures. I remember a literature professor who once told us that Quebeckers were desperately trying to be latin. I think many people, among them Americans, Canadians, even some Brits, are desperately trying to be Celtic.

J'ai eu raison de me méfier

Je disais hier que je me méfiais du beau temps qu'on avait. J'ai eu raison de le faire: aujourd'hui, la température avait baissé, assez pour que je gèle en manches courtes sous un manteau trop léger pour la saison. Enfin, pour le mois. Il a suffi de quelques degrés de moins, de quelques nuages pour parfois cacher le soleil et d'un peu de vent. Le contraste était saisissant. On ne m'y reprendra plus, surtout qu'on annonce de la pluie pour les prochains jours et que la baisse de température pourrait donc devenir dramatique. Avril est un mois au tempérament bien cyclothymique.

Holiday reads

Quick post before I go to bed. I was a bit rough on Waterstone's recently. Well, I am a tiny bit happier about them now. I received another promotional email, this time about "holiday reads", talking about offers on travelling books, but also about novels from the country where one can be travelling to get a real feel of the place, etc. I do plan my reading list according to the time of the year and the place I am going to visit if I am on holiday or simply travelling. I am not original, maybe even a little bit shallow, but I found it a good way to know where to start when unread books start piling up on the bookshelves, or when I want to buy a book quick and don't know which one to choose. So I like it that a book chain helps me in my preparation as a reader and gives me some interesting reading suggestions. Now I am not planning any holiday trip soon, but I will keep a look at their website. They earned a bit of my respect back.

Étranger en son pays

Je ne suis pas allé à Chicoutimi depuis bientôt un an. Depuis la récente controverse sur la prière au conseil municipal, je me demande si je ne suis pas devenu étranger à mon coin de pays. Je sais, il y en a qui contestent la croisad imbécile de Jean Tremblay. Ces compatriotes sont comme moi, des gensde Chicoutimi fiers de leur région et de leur ville. Je suis fier qu'il y en a encore des comme eux, qui comprennent que le Québec a changé. Mais il y a tellement de gens qui l'appuient. J'ai aussi eu des nouvelles de mes parents à propos de la façon dont le maire est perçu: beaucoup avalent son argumentation fallacieuse et confondent comme lui culture, héritage, valeurs et dévotion catholique d'un autre âge. Et ça me déprime un peu. Je crois que la région et sans doute aussi le Québec ont besoin d'une communauté athée comme il y en a ailleurs, qui brasseraient un peu la cage et feraient aussi un peu d'éducation. En fait, je désespère un peu de voir un Québec authentiquement laïque. Là d'où je viens, je trouve qu'on en encore bien loin.

Agressive secularism?

Yesterday, I was not so surprised to read that a Catholic priest had again complained about secularism in this country, this time by Scottish cardinal Keith O'Brien. More here and here.

Now, where to begin. I have heard these accusations before, it quickly gets old. Cardinal O'Brien used very strong words, not only did he accused "agressive secularists", the label he puts basically on secular humanists, of destroying this country, but he talked of us as "enemies" and accused us of persecuting Christians. Yes, in a country where the sharia law is applied, where religious schools can teach Creationism as if it was facts, when Christian fundamentalists try to censor a humanist billboard advert, secularists like myself are the the threat, the Enemy, one could even say Satan. Of course, the cardinal, while fiery in his accusations, remains vague when making his case. O'Brien seem to have complained mainly that homosexuals cannot be legally treated as second class citizens by religious people like himself. He aluded to this story. What O'Brien did is downright cowardly: he draped himself and other fundamentalists (because that is what he is) in the cloak of the martyr, by doing so hoping to avoid criticism in the same time for more questionable aspects of his faith: his homophobia among other things, and his wish to have the right to be fully opressive towards gays, lesbians, free thinkers, etc. This is what he is pleading for really, a passeist view of a society that changed and which he did not follow.

And asking Christians to abide by the law is not persecution. Telling them their belief is wrong and in this case amoral is not persecution: it is criticism. Keith O'Brien hs the right to believe anything he wants and to hate homosexuals, secularists and so on. But he can be called on that, he can be criticised on that. I am not a Christian anymore, I am not a Catholic anymore, I have not to accept its moral code. And I will go further by saying that if this moral code is opressive, it is in effect immoral and should be fought. It should certainly be separated from the public sphere by a wall of fire.

Se méfier du beau temps

Il a fait particulièrement beau ces temps-ci, en fait il a fait une température rien de moins qu'estivale. Pas tout à fait la canicule, mais puisque nous sommes en avril, c'est tout comme: plus de 20 degrés Celsius en avril, c'est semblable à plus de 30 degrés en juillet. Cela dit, je me méfie de ce beau temps. Je ne suis pas superstitieux, s'il fait beau maintenant rien n'indique que les mois prochains seront horribles. Cela dit, je me rappelle encore l'été pourri qu'on a eu ici en 2007 après un avril dangereusement semblable à celui-ci. Alors je me demande si la température estivale peut durer pour les mois prochains. Cela dit, ce serait bien de respirer un peu avec des températures plus fraîches: c'est quand même étrange de se mettre de la crème solaire aussi tôt dans l'année.

Musing on Easter

It is Easter Sunday today! So have a happy Easter everyone! I love Easter, for various reasons, and like Christmas I celebrate it for its Pagan roots. I am a primitive man, but at least I am conscious of my primitive nature. For more on Easter's Pagan significance, I recommend this Atheist Eve strip by Tracie Harris. Always interesting to read her. You can also have a look at this article in the Guardian. Mixed with celebration of fertility and return to life, Easter, like many holidays we love (Halloween, Christmas, etc.) is also an excuse for eating excesses, taking as much as we can of nature's goodness. A chocolate Easter bunny, a Cadbury's egg, it is simply a sugar coated (literally!) Pagan symbol. I remember of a birthday I had around Easter (I believe it was in 1987, when Easter Sunday was on the 19th of April), we celebrated both the same day that year. We had a brunch in a restaurant my godfather owned at that time. On the center table there was a Horn of Plenty made of croissant dough, filled with fruits. Years later, I still wonder who thought about it, but I am still amazed at how powerful those symbols live in our psyche.

This picture was taken last Easter in Québec, in a sugar cabin. It was a dreadful sugar cabin, but they had rabbits. I thought that I would put one on the blog that is not in chocolate, for a change. I will not eat rabbit (or lamb) this year, but I might have an omelette for tonight's dinner, which is just as appropriate. I already had plenty of chocolate.

Mozart pascal

Okay, j'ai déjà mis l'Agnus Dei de la Messe du Couronnement ici, mais puisque je ne mangerai pas d'agneau cette année, autant la remettre. Nous sommes Pâques, c'est donc jour de musique sacrée et toute occasion est bonne pour écouter du Mozart. Est-ce moi ou est-ce que Pâques "récupère" de la meilleure musique que Noël? enfin bref, voici l'agneau (un mauvais jeu de mot avec "Ecce Homo"), interprété par Kathleen Battle, dirigé par Herbert Von Karajan, lequel m'a fait découvrir la musique classique. Ah oui, ça a été enregistré au Vatican (aaarrgghhh!), mais j'imagine qu'on ne peut éviter l'Église complètement quand on veut écouter de la musique en latin.

No lamb this year

It is officially Easter since a few minutes ago. After my parents left for other parts of England, it means that we will have a quieter Easter. I have come to this conclusion, however it pains me: one of the Easter traditions of my adult life will not be practised this year. I will not eat lamb. For stupidly sentimental reasons, mainly: during our last trip in the Lake District, I thought they were too cute. See the picture on your left, where this little fella looks like he is praying. Now can I be that cruel? If only it was offered in a stew where you can separate the product from the animal, but no, if I really, seriously wanted lamb, I would need to go and buy some in the supermarket, knowing full well that it is the part of a baby animal just like this. Stupid, stupid, stupid sentimentality, especially since that creature was pretty much breeded to be meat.

Since I hate ham/gammon, lamb was my food of predilection for Easter. It had the right taste for the season too, not to mention the right association. This year, I will probably have an omelette or eggs, which is what I used to have as a child. Simple but appropriate.

Premier orage de l'année

C'est une expérience assez surréaliste: il fait chaud comme si c'était l'été depuis un bout de temps ici. Or, il arriva ce qui devait arriver: ce soir, alors que l'on mangeait dans un pub à l'extérieur, un violent orage a éclaté. Heureusement, nous étions sous un toit, donc hors de portée, du moins jusqu'à ce qu'il commence à sérieusement tomber des cordes et que le vent se mette de la partie. Il a fallu terminer nos verres à l'intérieur. L'expérience n'a même pas été désagréable: l'orage a amené une fraîcheur qui manquait et j'aime toujours les orages. Alors voilà, on a eu droit à notre premier orage de l'année alors qu'au Québec on gèle. Être expatrié a parfois du bon.

A great unknown line (number 20)

I thought I would put here another great unknown line. I have not done it for a while. This is another one from me, not because I find myself particularly witty (seriously, I don't!), but because they are easier to find.

So yesterday, my parents, my wife and I went out all afternoon in a nearby town, to celebrate my birthday and make the best of a very sunny day. I had my first Pimm's of the year in a pub. It was only half a pint 9and overpriced I think), but full of orange, lemon and lime slices. After I drink, I usually eat them, I like to bite into raw lemon and lime, especially on a hot day. My wife had a Pimm's too and I was about to have her lemon slices, but the waitress came to clear the glasses. I first asked her to leave the glass, but then I thought it was really being silly for slices of fruits, so I said:

"Oh that's okay, I will get my vitamin C somewhere else."

Kind of obscure, not really that original, but still funny.

Chocolats de Pâques

Nous sommes Vendredi saint et je n'ai toujours pas acheté du chocolat de Pâques, sauf deux oeufs Cadbury's. Cette photo date d'il y a un an, c'est le lapin de Pâques que j'ai eu en cadeau de ma mère, acheté chez Eddy Laurent. J'ai une confession de Philistin à faire: je crois que pour Pâques je préfère le Lulu ou celui des Pères trappistes. Le chocolat sur la photo était absolument délicieux, mais le Lulu a quelque chose de plus simple et qui rappelle l'enfance. Et puis je sais que le chocolat noir est de loin supérieur au chocolat au lait (je n'arrive tout de même pas à convaincre ma femme), mais justement Pâques pour moi c'est surtout du chocolat au lait. Je sais qu'avec le gâteau de chocolat acheté hier on est stocké en sucre, mais je m'ennuie des extravagances de mon enfance, une figurine en chocolat par personne (pour moi ça a été tour à tour: un lapin, un ours, un écureuil, un lapin encore), plus des oeufs en chocolat (Lowney's, que je ne retrouve plus), des oeufs Laura Secord, d'autres trucs qu'on recevait... Lorsque j'aurai des enfants, j'espère leur faire découvrir les excès des Pâques familiales.

Maundy Thursday and birthday

I learned today on BBC news that it was the first time in 85 years that Queen Elizabeth celebrates her birthday on Maundy Thursday. Yes, because I share my birthday with the Queen of England, which is something, as a republican, I am not particularly happy about (but I guess it could have been worse). My birthday often happens around Easter time, which as a child confused me a bit: I thought Easter was my birthday. A couple of times my birthday cake was egg shaped or rabbit shaped. This is not as bad as being born on the 25 of December and it has advantages: there are more chances for my birthday to fall on a holiday when it is around Easter.

Marquise, si mon visage...

"Marquise, si mon visage
A quelques traits un peu vieux
Souvenez-vous qu'à mon âge
Vous ne vaudrez guère mieux"

C'est ma fête aujourd'hui, j'ai 34 ans. Je sais que j'ai déjà mis cette chanson de Brassens inspirée de Corneille sur ce blogue avant, mais comme elle se prête admirablement à cette journée je la mets ici à nouveau. Vous trouverez le poème original ici, avec d'autres poèmes sur l'âge et le passage du temps.

Last day being 33

And there is not so much time left of it, less than an hour in fact. So what to think of my thirties that will carry on and of my thirty third year of life that ends in particular? Some random observations:

-As I said to a colleague who turned 30 recently, the thirties are in many ways the new twenties. Back when I turned 30, it felt like the beginning of the end, don't know why exactly. Maybe because I was the oldest person in our group of friends going out (in Liverpool). And the only one who had just turned 30!
-I got luckier and in a better professional situation at 33 than my previous years.
-Jesus alledgedly died at 33. I will luckily see another Easter at 34.
-I am not feeling old, in spite of the grey hair I see sometimes. I felt old when I turned 30 though (see above). I think age is a question of perspective more than anything else.
-This year ended up being quite eventful: got a new job, started acting again, did more travelling, travels got delayed or cancelled, etc. I didn't get bored.
-And there is still 45 minutes to it. But in a way, about twelve hours, as I was born around midday. Birth is also subject to perspective.

Question existentielle (45)

Une question existentielle qui est un peu le contraire de la 41:

-Quel est dans l'absolu l'âge ingrat?

Waterstone's: even more stationary?

A quick post before bedtime, about my favourite chain of bookstores, which is starting to fall from grace and might end up in cultural Hell, in my eyes at least. I got this email from Waterstone's tonight, titled: "A New Chapter: Even more stationary, gifts and joyous things". Is it what a bookstore really need? Even more stationary? Don't we have other places to buy stationary? I don't go to a bookshop to buy stationary, I go to a bookshop to buy books! Bestsellers, old classics, forgotten classics, relatively unknown stuff, totally unknown stuff, I expect the place to have a variety of books! I might buy the odd pen or handbook here and there, but I go there for the books. I don't want Waterstone's franchises to be like W.H. Smith's, glorified convenience stores. And I know they have it rough with online shops pumping their clients and everything. But still, selling books is more exciting than selling stationary.

La famille

Mes parents sont en visite en Angleterre, la première fois depuis notre mariage. Je les ai vus ce soir brièvement, ils étaient encore tous groggys par le décalage-horaire. Cela fait très plaisir surtout que je ne les avais pas vus depuis maintenant un an. C'est étrange de savoir que mes parents sont ici quand d'habitude c'est le contraire et que c'est l'expatrié qui visite son pays natal. En même temps, ça rend mon mal du pays un peu plus profond.

Oh, et j'ai un peu fêté Noël ce soir: j'ai enfin déballé mes cadeaux de Noël. C'est un peu étrange de le faire en avril, alors qu'il fait beau et chaud dehors.

Reflection on masks

This is is a mask I received as a gift a few years ago, a decorative mask in papier-mâché, a strange mix of Venetian and primitive masks, made by a local artist in Chicoutimi. It is on the wall of my bedroom there.

I have blogged about masks before. It is a fascinating object: used to conceal identity, to create a character, for more prosaic, functional reasons, to decorate or a mix of many functions. Even the prosaic masks, say a surgeon mask or a gas mask, can be quite sinister in the proper circumstances. A mask is an artificial layer of skin that deforms or recreates features, or erases them. When a mask is worn, as I said in my previous blog, it reveals just as much as it hides. One of my favourite comic book characters, Batman, does not wear a mask to conceal his identity: it reveals it, it shows his true nature. Batman is the real persona, Bruce Wayne is the disguise. Of course, masks have been used in fiction to play this ambiguity between hiding and revealing. Think about Eyes Wide Shut (a criminally underrated movie). Masks should be used more often in fiction, they have such an evocative power.

Question existentielle (44)

Une autre question sur Pâques:

-Parmi tous les animaux et figures en chocolat de Pâques, laquelle est la plus propre à Pâques et pourquoi?

J'espère que personne ne va me dire Spider-Man.

The local music shop

We found at total random today the local music shop. I say at total random as it is situated out of the center of town, in a neighbourhood which you usually access by car. We went to the local brewery and stopped there on the way back. It is a very small shop, filled with guitars, a bit of music sheets and not much else. There was a clarinet, some violins, a cello, I think I saw a trumpet too, but I think they were on display just for the look.Objects can be aesthetic, even more so instrument used to practice an art.

Anyway, those guitars on display got me thinking. I think it might be the only instrument people bother to learn nowadays. That is the feeling I had walking in. It is true that it was a small shop, a local one. But I remember being a teenager and what else teenagers my age were playing, why would they go to a music shop except to buy some guitar picks? My friends used to say that sales of guitar picks got the music shops survive. I looked for some opera lyrics sheets, there was nothing. A bit of musical comedy stuff, but that was it. It speaks volume about the state of music today.

I might look like I'm thinking poorly of guitar players. I'm not. It is after all the instrument of modern music. I am also glad that any musical instrument is being sold in the days where pop stars, chick groups, boys bands and the like have plagued the music industry, maybe to the point of creative sclerosis. I had the discipline to learn music, but never enough to turn it into a profession and the only instrument I have left is my voice, which I never developed as I could have. That people develop musical talents, however modest, even as a simple hobby, and learn music, genuine music, is enough to be happy. I might stop by again, chit chat with shopkeeper. I might even buy something.

La loyauté d'un flic

Un billet de Patrick Lagacé aujourd'hui m'a fait lire un article du Devoir sur Yvan Delorme, l'ancien chef du SPVM, sur lequel j'ai déjà blogué. J'ai déjà eu du respect pour lui, jusqu'à ce qu'il prouve sa profonde incurie en tant que chef de police, à plusieurs reprises.

Ce n’est pas seulement troublant: c’est enrageant. Déjà qu’Yvan Delorme avait montré qu’il était un chef incapable, sans leadership aucun, même pas foutu de contrôler des partisans du CH paquetés un soir de séries, incapable de prêcher à ses hommes la rigueur et la probité, par la parole ou par l'exemple, maintenant on sait qu’il faut enquêter sur sa loyauté envers la police et qu’il était peut-être bien l'homme de paille d'hommes d'affaires véreux. On savait qu’il était incompétent (appelons un chat un chat), maintenant on peut le soupçonner sérieusement d’avoir été le Kim Philby du SPVM. Je sais, il est innocent jusqu'à preuve du contraire. Mais coupable ou non il dans tous les cas, hors de tout doute raisonnable, un innocent.

Passing for an Italian speaker

Today was the birthday of a colleague who is half Italian. Of course, I took it as an excuse to say a few words in Italian, eager as I am to speak the language and show off (of course when I do it usually backfires). I first said "Buon compleanno" and then when she said a few more words I said the usual "Io parlo bene Italiano ma non capisco una sola parola". Another colleague was (easily) impressed because I said it fast and asked me where did I learn Italian. I said during my first year in England, where I was hanging out with Italians and where my Italian improved much more than my English. I blogged about it before. But what struck me is that he presumed I was fluent in a language I barely know. Which is what many Italians think, until I get overconfident and make a fool of myself (see above). I like giving this kind of impression, that I can speak Italian like a native, that I am a professional actor, an almost professional baritone, whatever. I guess I suffer from a slight mythomania. I have some tendencies towards it anyway. But maybe it is just me playing a role, with me as the audience.

Question existentielle (43)

Pâques s'en vient, alors les questions existentielles risquent de porter sur Pâques pendant un bout de temps. Celle-ci est inspirée indirectement de ce billet:

-Que manger pour le repas de Pâques?

Et j'espère qu'on me trouvera une autre réponse que du jambon!

An academic critique

Sometimes life winks at you. Today, I got one of those very rare emails from my publisher, as my thesis, which has been published as a book, was reviewed. I got a copy of it and read it eagerly. It is the second time (as far as I know) that it has been reviewed.

I was not excited when the book got finally published. It took about two years to finalise the darn thing and I never felt that it was quite as good as it could have been. The formatting in itself was a terribly painful and frustrating procedure. Of course, like most academic books, it sold badly (although fairly well for an academic book, or so I was told). But this review cheered me up, for many reason. The first one I read was mixed, but this one is mainly positive. Yes, there are reservations and some criticism, but some of them I already had myself (as it was published a while ago) and the rest I think I could defend in a congress without much difficulty. But on the whole, it is very positive, sometimes even laudatory: clear style, methodological, treating a worthy subject only sporadically by others, stimulating work, etc.

I have to confess, I had butterflies reading it, first because of anxiety. I always read/listen to critiques of my work (as an amateur singer, as an amateur actor and moreso as a genuine academic) with anxiety as I am a naturally vain person who does not like being criticised. It is nice to know that a book I don't read anymore, which was central to my life not so long ago, is now appreciated among this academic world that was once mine.

Oh, and the review was also published by one of the major journals in the field. Do I need to say that it made my day?

Manger de l'agneau ou pas?

Pâques s'en vient et donc je commence déjà à penser au dîner de Pâques, qui sera je l'espère copieux et délicieux. Mais voilà, je fais face à une question éthique importante: est-ce que le repas pascal devrait avoir comme pièce principale de l'agneau? L'année dernière, j'avais évité ce problème parce que j'étais au Québec. Cette année je célèbre Pâques en Angleterre, donc je suis très tenté de renouer avec l'agneau accompagné de sauce à la menthe (et oui, c'est délicieux). Mais voilà, j'ai promis à ma femme de ne plus manger de l'agneau depuis notre voyage dans le Lake District, où la proximité avec les mignonnes petites bêtes m'a fait réfléchir sur ma nature de carnivore. À Keswick, on les voyait tout le temps, les moutons étaient timides et ne se laissaient pas toucher, mais on pouvait quand même les voir de près et marcher dans le même champ qu'eux. Difficile de désincarner la viande quand on la voit marcher.   

J'ai quand même déjà trahi ma promesse lors de ma dernière Saint-Patrick, mais je ne pouvais pas refuser un Irish stew offert et puis quand c'est en viande hachée on fait moins l'association. C'était quand même plus simple d'être végétarien à Pâques quand mes parents respectaient la tradition québécoise particulièrement dégueulasse de manger du jambon. Détestant le jambon, je me contentais de manger des oeufs cuits durs. C'était aussi pascal. Mais quand on a connu l'agneau, surtout avec du rouge, on ne veut rien manger d'autre à Pâques. D'où mon profond conflit moral. Je suis déchiré entre mon coeur et mon estomac.

A different Wednesday evening

It has now been a week since my acting course is over. I am still a bit weird about it. Not quite sad anymore, but I am not used to it. I had a full, real meal tonight (although I kind of miss the peanut butter toasts already), I did not read lines or poetry aloud, I did not do warming up exercises (maybe I should have had), spent a fair deal of time doing house chores and watching TV. I cannot spend all my evenings out, but I appreciated doing something different on Wednesday. Now, for a little bit, they will be like any other evening of the week. Maybe not so long if I go onto the next course. But until then, I have to learn to be a civilian, so to speak.

Question existentielle (42)

On a eu droit à deux jours d'avril froids, d'autant plus froids qu'il faisait chaud jusqu'à récemment. Ce qui m'a inspiré cette question existentielle:

-Pourquoi est-ce que je suis heureux de sentir le froid arriver à l'automne alors qu'au printemps ça me décourage?

Musing on city, countryside, noise and silence

Yes, this is another cheap excuse to put a picture of Montreal (Outremont I believe). One of the last posts of Cynthia on Sur un Boeing Bleu de Mer made me think about my past life as a city dweller and my present one as an immigrant living in a British town. It made me wonder if I was more naturally a town mouse or a country mouse. I grew up in Chicoutimi, technically a city, as it has a cathedral, but so spread around that it is hardly a big city. I thought I would never like living in a big city, yet I fell in love with Montreal when I started living there. And then there was Liverpool, but I did not live in the city itself, I was a few minutes away by train. Of course I slept a few nights in my life in small villages and faraway places, including Sainte-Hedwidge, which is pretty much as remote as you can be.

This is one thing that I find fascinating when one spend time in a place is its relationship with noise, particularly at night. I grew up in Chicoutimi going to sleep (often very late) in a sleeping city. When I started living in Montreal, I could hear the traffic going down Christophe-Colomb non stop. At first I found it disturbing, then I found the noise strangely soothing, like it was a big cat constantly purring. Back in Chicoutimi for the holidays, I had difficulties sleeping as the steady sound of the night's traffic was not there. But Montreal, for a "big" city, is rather calm, in some places at least, at night. I am not sure I would have slept as soundly in London, a city I grew to dislike, partially because of the noise and the frantic beat that creates it. In Liverpool, I could live it, then go home and prepare classes, mark, read and sleep in quiet, peaceful suburbia. The Victorian house I was living in got me used to silence at night, real silence. There is nothing like reading a horror story in a quiet town or village at night. It is a deliciously frightening  experience. I would ideally read my crime fiction in a city where I can hear the noisy outside world.

Il y a rock dans baroque

C'est un jeu de mot particulièrement vaseux, je sais. C'est aussi un calembour "combien pertinent" à en croire un ami de Facebook. Je m'explique: l'ami en question a mis une Suite de Rameau sur sa page de Facebook, faisant un parallèle entre la musique baroque et le heavy metal. J'ai donc sorti ce calembour, qui n'est peut-être même pas le mien. Je vous laisse juger de sa pertinence en vous laissant écouter le morceau en question, que vous trouverez plus bas.

Post acting blues

I think that's what I feel these days. It is nice and warm outside, my job is quiet, yet I don't know what to do with myself (yes it sounds exactly like that). I am pathetic really: it hasn't been a week yet and if I do go to the next one it will start in about six weeks. I always had the same feeling after the last performance, when the curtain goes down, we hug each others, we congratulate each others, we have one drink or more together and then that's it. The next morning, you don't have to remember your lines (yet you will still remember them years later), you don't have to polish your character (even though you feel like you barely started getting it) and it is business as usual. Acting is in many ways a solitary trade, whatever I said here. Younger, I would have drunk a fair deal to bury it Since I had work the next day. I guess I am older too. But it is the process I am going to miss, until next time, the work, the pain even, the way things move into pieces.

Expressions régionales

Parce que j'ai l'intention d'être un expatrié qui sait d'où il vient et qui n'a pas perdu ses racines, en fait parce que j'ai l'intention de me faire identifier comme un Bleuet par les Québécois qui me rencontrent jusqu'à la fin de mes jours, je me suis mis à repenser à nos expressions rérionales et à essayer de les réintégrer dans mon vocabulaire. En un mot, j'essaie de garder le "là". Pas pour avoir la parlure niaise de l'autre abruti, mais parce que je tiens à exporter cette part de culture qui a une véritable valeur.

Corvids and magpies

This picture was taken in the Lake District, in the Keswick Museum, every exsue is good to publish pictures from that time, even dead birds on display. It was a small museum but I was fascinated by what was in it.You can see here (I think but I am not sure) from left to right a raven, a crow and a magpie (or a hooded crow?).

Anyway, when I went out yesterday I saw lots and lots of crows. With the springtime colours, their black feathers make them difficult to miss. Oh and their distinctive caws! I am fascinated by these birds, which I used to dislike as a young child, especially when I was having breakfast, as I found their appearances and their cry utterly sinister. But then of course whatever is sinister also fascinates me, even at a young age, and I learned more and more about them and ended up loving them. I still find them sinister, but playfully so, knowing very weel that this is irrational superstition. Great working material for fiction or games.

Magpies are a different lot. I never even saw one until I campe in England. They have a very distinctive colour too, and I remember taking many pictures of them when I first came here. Before I associated them more with this Tintin album, maybe the best one ever. I never heard La Gazza Ladra, except its overture. Anyway, as this is the wildlife I see outside, I thought I would put some here on my blog.

Question existentielle (41)

Une question existentielle inspirée de mon dernier billet (à l'aquelle un Anonymous a répondu avant même que je l'aie posée):

-Quel est l'âge idéal et pourquoi?

En espérant que personne ne me dise 33 ans, parce que ma trente-troisième année se termine bientôt.

Still 33, soon 34

It kind of struck me today: I am 33, going on 34, and it will be soon. At Easter, or almost, which is kind of strange as it is alledgedly "the age of Christ". Someone once told me it was a "perfect age" because of this, I still wonder how the year when you get tortured and killed can be your best one. Imagine (just imagine!) the other ones. When I turned 33, I barely noticed, because I got distracted. Things changed a lot in this year that is about to finish and they changed very quickly, sometimes for worse, more often for the better. I will not write again what I have already blogged about, there are already enough repetitions here, but I have been thinking a lot about it as my birthday gets nearer. Maybe it is old age.

Je veux revoir la Suisse

Ceci est une photo de la boîte de chocolats que j'ai reçue récemment (je sais, je photographie des boîtes de chocolats, sous tous ses angles en plus, avec emballage, sans emballage, boîte ouverte, boîte fermée, c'est pathétique). J'aime bien son côté vieillot, avec l'image de Neuchâtel dessus. Je trouve que ça a un certain charme, un certain cachet. J'ai presque envie de garder la boîte rien que pour l'image, mais j'imagine que j'ai la photo maintenant. Et puis en regardant ça je me suis dit qu'il faudrait que je revoie la Suisse. J'y étais allé brièvement il y a plus de dix ans, deux ou trois jours à Saint-Moritz, vers la fin août ou le début de septembre, je ne sais plus, l'endroit était mort, presqu'une ville fantôme. La Suisse ne m'a jamais particulièrement attiré, mais la récente gentillesse dont j'ai été l'objet me fait penser que je devrais redécouvrir ce pays et apprendre à l'apprécier.

Ways to spend a Friday evening

I am always tired on Friday evenings nowadays. I don't go out, I usually stay indoors and watch TV. I guess it is the nature of the beast, Friday nights are meant for those who don't work on that day. That said, I rarely went out in the past on Friday nights. Even when invited at dinner with my colleagues, say, I usually try to make it short and never stay there until dessert. If it is not with friends and/or family I usually try to avoid an evening out on Friday. It used to be different of course and there was a time when I could not wait to get out on Friday. But even in Liverpool, when I never worked on Fridays, my best evenings were spent at home. We had a few home parties that were more pleasant than nights out (especially since at that time there was no smoking ban in public places, so the bars were giant ashtrays), but even a quiet night watching whatever was on TV, reading some books, stroking the cat and having gin and tonic ("I'm making gin and tonic, would anybody like some?" I never enjoyed this drink unless it was in these particular circumstances I think) was pleasurable enough. No wonder I idealise that time.

Un air d'été

Non, non, pas cette toune de Pierre Bertrand, que j'exècre profondément (c'est gnan gnan). Sans Beau Dommage, je trouve qu'il a peu d'intérêt, pour être honnête. Enfin, ça a peu d'importance, j'ai choisi ce titre pour ce billet parce que c'est exactement l'air que le printemps a ces temps-ci: nous ne sommes pas encore rendu à la mi avril et il fait chaud. Assez chaud pour que je porte un manteau d'été, pour que le mercure indique 20 degrés (l'un des avrils les plus chauds de l'histoire de l'Angleterre, paraît-il), pour que je mange moins de trucs lourds (il me faut bien terminer ceci), pour que je songe à l'été qui s'en vient. Cela dit, je ne me fais pas d'illusions: avril est un mois abjectement traître et prompt aux changements d'humeur. Alors s'il fait beau maintenant, je me méfie de la suite des choses.

After the acting night

Be warned: there is a lot of rambling here. I did not quite organised my thoughts into something coherent.

So yesterday was my last class of the acting course. This one anyway. The next one will be in May, in a nearby town, unfortunately not at a fifteen minutes walk from home. But I kind of already commited myself to attend: I asked to my teacher "as a favour" if I could use The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi at some point, either for an exercise or a performance or whatever. I am not ready to do the whole play of course, far from it, but I want to work on that text. My readers know my obsession with this play, I might as well make something about it and get it known on this side of the pond in the meantime.

Anyway the night itself was physically exhausting but exhilarating, like these last nights always are. Our performances were recorded for the local radio and it will be aired at a yet undetermined date. "Voice" performances are different than stage performances, they are easier in a way, but you need to channel a lot more of the character in one specific manifestation. I certainly got the voice right, and through it the character just came alive naturally. It is a surreal feeling, just as it is strange to get back to being yourself after it.

However enjoyable the performance was, I still miss stage drama. I discovered yesterday that this is my ultimate during these courses: I want to perform on the stage again. It was very pleasant being congratulated by my fellow classmates, the writer of the play who was there too, and it was flattering being asked by some if I had done this professionally. I wish it could be true, but I know that I am right now an experienced amateur. Still, it felt good. I hope one day I can be, at least on a part-time basis, a professional. But first, the goal is to get back on the stage.

L'accent belge?

Bon, j'imagine qu'il fallait que ça m'arrive un jour: après l'accent suisse, quelqu'un m'a dit cette semaine au travail que j'ai l'accent belge. Je n'ai aucune idée où j'ai pu attraper ça. Surtout que même les Belges que je connais ne l'ont pas, enfin ils ne l'ont pas très distinctement. Je crois en fait que c'est une tare française d'être incapable d'identifier les accents francophones hors France autrement que comme étrangers. Voire même étranges. J'ai visité la Belgique une fois, je connais assez peu le pays à part pour ses bières (que j'aime moins que les bières anglaises), ses frites avec mayonnaise (délicieuses), ses moules et bien entendu Jacques Brel. Mais l'accent, je ne suis même pas capable de l'identifier, sauf quand il est outrageusement exagéré. Et encore, on me dirait que c'est autre chose et je le croirais.

No rest for the virtuous

As you read these lines, I am rehearsing for the last time until tomorrow's production of the play. But I wrote this post on Monday. I have been tired all weekend, partially due to my cold, partially due to a lot of work. I woke up on Monday feeling like I had been sleeping under a ton of bricks (yes I love this trope). But hey, suffering is part of acting, whether the pain is physical or mental (getting in character can be really painful and leave you angsty). I don't want to sound like a masochist, but the pain makes the end result worth it. It makes you appreciate it more anyway.

Question existentielle (40)

C'est la question existentielle numéro 40, comme nous sommes en plein carême (pas que j'en sois très préoccupé, mais quarante est un numéro approprié) et que c'est Pâques bientôt, je vais poser une question profondément existentielle sur cette célébration religieuse au coeur du christianisme... qui change de date à chaque année! Ce qui m'a toujours un peu agacé: parfois c'est beaucoup trop tôt, parfois un peu trop tard, parfois ça tombe sur ma fête. Alors voilà la question:

-Quel est la meilleure date sur laquelle Pâques peut tomber?

A box of chocolates

An anecdote that made my week last week: I received a present from a client last week, two boxes of Swiss chocolates. Not one, two. Nicely wrapped too, a lot of effort was put into it. You can find a picture of the chocolates on the left. They are delicious and utterly decadent. Strange that a country that has the reputation to be so strict (it was the bed of Calvinism after all) are famous for something so sweet and that pushes people so much into gluttony.It sure gets me in a gluttonous mood.

I was quite touched by it. Last time I got chocolates from work, it was some because I was leaving. And it didn't taste nearly as nice as those! It was just a friendly, gratuitious, warm gesture for something I would have done anyway. It makes me appreciate my job a bit more.

Portrait du mollah catholique Jean Tremblay

Je viens de lire cet article de Cyberpresse sur Jean Tremblay, le maire intégriste de ma ville d'origine. Je savais que ce ne serait pas un beau portrait, l'homme n'est pas du genre que je porte dans mon coeur, mais je ne m'attendais pas à trouver cela inquiétant: Jean Tremblay est autocrate, querelleur, prompt à censurer ses adversaires tout comme ceux qui le critiquent (et il y en a) et, bien entendu, un fanatique religieux.

Mais bon, il y a eu un excellent éditorial de Mario Roy pour le consoler aujourd'hui dans La Presse. Un état vraiment laïque au Québec? Sans ambiguité, sans contradiction, sans s'excuser de l'être, bien divorcé de son passé catholique, bien ferme à l'égard de tous les intégrismes, de tous les intégristes? On peut espérer prudemment.

An afternoon nowhere

This picture was taken in the Lake District last summer, in Keswick I think. I stupidly forgot to bring the camera when we went out today so could not take any pic. Anyway, as I have been wanting to do for ages, we went nowhere this afternoon. Well, it was not quite nowhere as it was a sizeable English village that was buzzing with people enjoying an April Sunday, but it was still nowhere enough: i.e. in village with plenty of countryside surrounding it, plenty of old pubs but virtually no other businesses open and no tourist around. It was warm but there was a bit of cool breeze. I enjoyed real ales in two crammed pubs, walked by the river, smelled the green pastures. England often smells of wet land, especially during spirngtime. It is not nearly enjoyable as a crisp cold autumn day, but it is still a very pleasant way to spend Sunday.

Mozart dominical

On est dimanche, alors autant mettre ici de la musique sacrée (en latin je considère ça de la musique sacrée, sans latin c'est de la zizique dévote), surtout que c'est Pâques dans moins d'un mois.J'ai donc décidé de mettre un peu de Mozart, chanté ici par Natalie Dessay. Et si on vient m'accuser de retrouver la foi (Ouch!), je tiens à rappeler que Natalie Dessay est juive (convertie, mais quand même) et je sais d'une entrevue (que je n'arrive hélas pas à retrouver sur Youtube) qu'elle ne chante pas les airs sacrés pour des raisons religieuses.

A great (if a bit geeky) unknown line from my brother

I haven't put a great unknown line on this blog for ages, I thought I would put one here now. My brother is stuck at home because of a broken leg. It might cheer him up that I immortalise a line from him. He put it on Facebook not so long ago. I am no scientist and know zilch about biometrics, but the geek in me liked it a lot nevertheless, and I found it both funny and a defence of intellectual rigour:

"Biometrics is right, if you don't have real data, don't bother submitting your article."

It is true of all research.

Je m'ennuie du Parc Lafontaine

Je ne sais même pas si j'ai déjà publié cette photo du Parc Lafontaine (La Fontaine? Je ne sais jamais.) auparavant. J'ai écouté en boucle Au Parc Lafontaine, chanson interprétée par Lucille Dumont, que vous pouvez écouter ici, même si ça saute un peu parfois comme si c'était un vieux disque. C'est une chanson presque oubliée maintenant, je ne retrouve les paroles nulle part sur Google. En général je ne suis pas très porté sur le music-hall et ce genre de truc grandiloquent. Mais je ne sais pas pourquoi, celle-là je l'aime beaucoup. C'est une chanson très osée pour son époque aussi: on parle de jeunes filles entraînées dans les buissons où elles étrennent l'amour et des frissons dans lesquels naissent les chansons d'amour. Romantique, mais disons-le pudiquement: c'est très charnel. Le parc n'a guère changé avec les décennies, quoique je n'aie jamais vu de couple y faire l'amour. C'est tout de même l'endroit où amener sa douce au moins une fois lorsqu'on visite Montréal.

When the joke is on me

As the French speakers among my readership already know, I woke up this morning with a sore throat, a bit of a runny nose and a dizzy head, the symptoms of the beginning of a cold. April Fool's Day has never been my favourite day, especially not when I am the fool in question. Destiny, or chance, has played a joke on me. At first I worried about me being able to perform my role, then I remembered that I play an old man with a raspy voice. So the joke is not so cruel, it will not be a hindrance anyway. The cough and croaking will only be more genuine. It is funny, as I usually get a nasty cold not long before performing a play. It happened back in my years at uni, every single time. Maybe my body gets more vulnerable for some reason when I rehearse intensively. It is less romantic than fate. Oh, it could be worse: my brother has a broken leg. My suffering is all relative really.

Un Poisson d'avril

Premier jour d'avril, jour du Poisson d'avril, et qu'est-ce qui m'arrive au réveil? Un mal de gorge carabiné.J,ai un début de rhume. Je ne l'ai pas trouvée drôle. Je vais donc me droguer aux médicaments, me gargariser à l'eau salée, tout pour que je puisse oublier que j'ai le rhume. Je déteste avoir le rhume en général, mais je trouve les rhumes printanniers pires. Et je sais que j'ai déjà mis Boisson d'avril de Groovy Aardvark sur ce blogue, mais j'ai la chanson en tête chaque mois d,avril et écouter du rock-grunge-néo-trad québécois (je suis nul pour trouver un genre à ce genre de chanson) à tue-tête est un des plaisirs qui me reste même malade.