Pas de commentaires en français

Tiens, nouvelle inquiétude, au moment où j'écris ces lignes, je n'ai pas de commentaires sur mes billets en français depuis le 26 avril. Je me demande encore une fois si je ne suis pas en train d'angliciser le blogue imperceptiblement et involontairement.

No gramophone?

I was reading recently the Resident's Guide of the block, looking for the specific rules about noises, as there have been people refurbishing flats nearby and they work even at weekends and very early, and I found out the most peculiar guideline: "no musical instrument gramophone radio television or other similar instrument or thing shall be played or used or any singing or dancing take place (...) between the hours of 23:00 and 07:00." Minor peculiarity: there are no commas between words. Other peculiarity: no gramophone? Gramophone? Gramophone? If you wonder when this guide is dated, it says December 2000. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I knew some of the owners were old, but not that ancient. I an not certain why, but reading this made me angry. Or rather I know why: we cannot own a pet animal such as a cat here and they wrote a rulebook that seems to have been invented in the bloody early XXth century! At best. A hundred years too old. This ludicrous statement about a gramophone made me think the stupid people who wrote it thought the people who would be as stupid as them. And I find it borderline insulting.

Les cornichons dans le vinaigre

Ainsi que je l'ai mentionné hier, je suis allé m'acheter des vivres au marché français. Cette année, à mon grand dam, il n'y avait pas de champignons comme il y en avait eu jusqu'ici. Je me suis alors consolé en achetant des cornichons au vinaigre ainsi que des petits oignons au vinaigre. Mais ce sont les cornichons que j'aime le plus. Je les mange accompagnés avec de la bière comme apéro/entrée, ou pour accompagner un lunch. C'est délicieux et ça se mange sans faim.

A Secret Garden?

The thing we sometimes discover in a quiet little town, even if you have been living here for nearly seven years now! I am referring to something that happened today: this garden, this public garden I may add, that is just in front of the public library... And which I have never noticed, seen or visited until today. I had seen the entrance, but thought it was some gate of an expensive private property. No. It is a very small garden, quite pretty, and virtually unknown. There was only one woman sitting on one of its benches when my wife and I found the garden. And well, that was it. A new discovery in an old town. I walked in a secret garden.

L'accent belge encore?

Le marché français est de retour ici et avec lui, les Français (bien entendu). C'est un de mes moments préférés, où je peux parler français en dehors de mon travail. Or, une pâtissière m'a demandé, essayant de retracer mon accent, si j'étais belge... Ce n'est pas la première fois que ça m'arrive et à chaque fois je me demande si on ne me prend pas pour un imbécile. Ca me fait toujours penser à ceci. J'ai peut-être l'esprit mal tourné, je ne sais pas trop.

Sinnerman

I don't think I ever put soul music here. Anyway, since I watched The Great Train Robbery I have Sinner Man or Sinnerman in my head, as it was featured in the drama. Even though it was probably not conscious, the beat mimics very well the sound of a train running. And it is a good ten minutes song, just for this it deserves respect in a day and age when music is so manufactured and attention span of audiences is ridiculously short. Because I fell in love with it, I decided to upload it here. This is the version of Nina Simone, maybe the most famous one and the one featured in the drama.

Les 50 ans de Mafalda

Pour ceux qui sont à Montréal ou qui vont le visiter ce mois-ci, une petite annonce que je tenais à faire: on y commémore dans les bibliothèque de la ville les 50 ans d'une grande dame d'Argentine. Je parle bien entendu de Mafalda. L'article dans La Presse ici. J'y serais si j'y pouvais. Mafalda, c'est dans mon enfance ce qui m'a sensibilisé à l'histoire moderne et au monde au delà de l'Europe et de l'Amérique du Nord. Et je place son portrait bien à gauche sur ce billet, comme il se doit.

Meetings in a nutshell

I know it is the weekend and nobody wants to think about work, but I thought we could end the working week with a bit of humour. I saw this on the desk of one of my colleagues today. I found it hilarious and decided to take a picture of it, but then found a copy on Google so this is the one I took. This is what meetings are, in a nutshell. I know they are sometimes a necessary evil and my current employer does not abuse of them. But I remember some other jobs I had, especially the old job I had at this evil company which made me move where I am now, then threw me out at the first occasion. Then and there, we had numerous and endless meetings where everybody was clueless, but acted as if we were all doing something very productive. Even in my old school job, the one when I felt like a pariah, they were organizing meetings for teaching assistants far more than necessary. So this image and its caustic humor made me laugh anyway.

Mai: où est-il?

Le calembour de mon titre est vaseux, il est néanmoins absolument exact. C'est le mois de mai depuis hier, le coeur du printemps qui devrait se transformer en été, or bien malin qui pourrait le remarquer: je porte les mênes vêtements et le même manteau qu'en hiver ou presque, il fait frais et il pleut tout le temps. C'était le cas l'année dernière. Cette année, je crois qu'il y a redite.

Walpurgis Night

Tonight is the last night of April (duh!), which everybody knows. However, not many people know that the last night of April is also Walpurgis Night. Little known in the world, but duly commemorated on Vraie Fiction  I first mentioned it in 2008, then more or less forgot about it, until I reintroduced it properly in 2012. I have a soft spot for Walpurgis Night, as it is a bit like the Halloween of April. Halloween is of course my favourite holiday of the year, so a celebration that is akin to it and helps me remain patient for the six months waiting for Halloween to be here. For one night, the little sister of Halloween is here, so to speak.

I chose to accompany this post a picture taken last November, ironically enough. It shows the ensign of a nearby village hall. Why there is a witch on it, I have no idea. Nevertheless, it is beautiful and eerie, with the moon in the background. I thought to investigate and write a post about it around Halloween, but I thought the picture was so good I had to use it tonight. It is very fitting, as witches were supposed to gather on a sabbath and meet the Devil on Walpurgis Night, among other times of year. I'd love to write a horror story about that village hall ensign and/or about Walpurgis Night. Until I have the time, the inspiration, the patience and the words, enjoy tonight and maybe read a scary story to celebrate.

La ballade des cimetières

Bon, c'est le denrier jour d'avril, la Nuit de Walpurgis, et je me suis dit que Vraie Fiction devait le souligner avec une chanson une peu macabre. Je me suis dit également que l'ami Georges est toujours à propos, alors voici La ballade des cimetières. J'ai eu Brassens en tête toute la journée, allez savoir pourquoi. Bon, elle n'est pas sinistre, mais justement, le macabre n'est jamais aussi plaisamment comique qu'avec Brassens.

About bowler hats

On my way back to work, after I left the train station, I saw a man going to it, wearing a bowler hat. You see rarely people wearing bowler hats these days, except eccentrics, and this man looked very much like one. I had seen him from time to time, dressed like a Bohemian dandy, the bowler hat is his trademark. It struck me that I recently saw bowler hats: I (re)watched recently The Great Train Robbery, where they are featured a good deal. I associate bowlers mainly with another movie. I am referring of course to A Clockwork Orange. For Alex, who wears it in the movie, and for the Bohemian guy I saw, the bowler hat is now a sign of marginality, their refusal to conformity. Ironic, as it was maybe one of the most conform hat ever invented, worn through history by all social classes. It does have some sober elegance in it, and if hats were ever back in fashion it could go with everything. Except maybe my head: it would look far too round with a bowler hat, I think. But the bowler hat can also be a sign of oddity, even have sinister tones: Oddjob in Goldfinger wears one, it is both his trademark and his weapon of choice, as the hat's rim is doubled with a circle of metal that is strong enough to break a neck. Alex and Oddjob show that it can appeal to sadistic thugs. All the same, I wish bowler hats were back in fashion. I find it somewhat sad that it is now a sign of eccentricity.

Promenades printanières

Cette photo a été prise au travail, lors de ma pause du dîner. Elle a été prise au même endroit que la photo de ce billet. Je dis ça comme ça, je crois que cet érable est en train de devenir mon marqueur saisonnier. Je marche à chaque pause du dîner (je ne dis pas pause du midi car je la prends pas mal plus tard) au travail, afin de prendre l'air et de prendre l'air du temps. Avril est sur le point de se terminer et le printemps est bien là, quoiqu'il fasse toujours assez frais. Ca n'a pas été un très beau mois d'avril, grosso modo, mais j'ai quand même pu marcher un peu et apprécier le changement de couleurs. J'aime moins les promenades printanières que les promenades automnales, parce que j'aime moins les couleurs du printemps. Je ne les déteste pas, mais je les aime moins. Mais je trouve surtout que le printemps, ça pue plus que toute autre saison. Tout ce qui était décomposé et gelé l'hiver redevient potent et souvent il y a des puanteurs qui te montent aux narines. Les fleurs n'y font rien. Mais bon, la verdure, ça a tout de même son charme. Enfant, c'était ma saison préférée, du moins c'est ce que je prétendais. Je ne sais plus trop pourquoi. Maintenant, je trouve que c'est surtout la soeur jumelle de l'automne. Enfin bref, durant mes promenades printanières, je songe beaucoup à tout ça.

Creature of Havoc

In my attempt to calm my longing for playing a good game of D&Dr and in the meantime reconnect with old childhood memories (as I am naturally a nostalgic person) I have started reading a new Fighting Fantasy Gamebook, another classis of the genre: Creature of Havoc. This one is all new to me, I never played it as a child. That said, I was always very curious about it. You can see on the left-hand side the cover of one the early editions, which is not the edition I have. But this is the cover that got me curious about it as a child. This is a medieval fantasy adventure mixed with elements of Frankenstein, where you played a mindless monster who does not know who or what it is, where it is or what is the meaning its existence. It is supposed to be one of the most complex ones, and one of the most difficult.

It is also one with the longest introductions, with a story that belongs as much in a medieval fantasy novel than a mere gamebook, worth in itself the purchase. I play these books not merely to win, but also and especially for the atmosphere, the settings, the naive history. Creature of Havoc has plenty of everything. So far anyway. I absolutely loved the backstory of the introduction, with many characters and places developed and explained. I compared this to a novel, in a way the could easily become a novel, and an epic one at that. So far, so good, in sum. I intend to blog more about it. Until then, you have this creepy cover to enjoy.

Un calembour sur Pise

Ce calembour a besoin d'un préambule un peu long. Mon amie blogueuse et compatriote Cynthia de Sur un Boeing Bleu de Mer a récemment troqué Blogger pour Wordpress et est de retour en ligne. Elle a publié un billet qui est presqu'aussitôt disparu, sur une fin de semaine à Pise. J'ai voulu commenter, mais n'ai pas eu le temps. J'aurais voulu lui demander: "Et puis, est-ce que tom voyage t'a épisé?" Non mais quel calembour vaseux. Cela dit, je le trouve assez hilarant.

The voice of Simon Russell Beale

As my readership knows, I am soon going to see King Lear, with Simon Russell Beale in the title role. More about the play here. And it struck me recently that he also did a narration of Pumpkin Soup by Helen Cooper, one of my favourite children's books, which I blogged about here. The copy of the version I bought comes with a CD with the story read by him. I think it may be the only time I heard him. And, well, I find it surreal, Simon Russell Beale performing King Lear now, being a thespian and veteran Shakespearean actor, and incidentally reader of children's books. I don't find this demeaning at all, I know many professional actors do this, and Pumpkin Soup is a modern classic in its own right. In his entry on Wikipedia, I also learn that he is a music historian. I know so little of his work, but I like him more and more. This week, I intend to listen to the CD again, giving a lot of attention to his voice.

Question existentielle (226)

Une question existentielle pour tous ceux qui ont déjà eu à les enlever, ou à les mettre:

-Sincèrement, dans une maison, quel est l'intérêt du papier-peint?

A new great unknown line

From my youngest brother. A warning: it may be considered offensive. But what a great Memento Mori:

"Life is a bitch, and then you die. But I'm alive. So life is my bitch."

Un puit fermé

Je voulais montrer cette photo lors d'une des photos du mois, mais jusqu'ici aucun thème ne s'y est prêté, alors je la télécharge maintenant. C'est celle d'un puit, enfin je crois. La photo a été prise à quelque pas de mon ancien lieu de travail, lequel était situé dans une ancienne brasserie. Je ne suis pas demeuré longtemps dans cette compagnie, c'était le pire employeur que j'ai jamais eu, la compagnie a d'ailleurs fait faillite dans la controverse il y a quelques années déjà. Cela dit, j'aimais bien l'édifice et ses environs, dont ce puit fermé. Quand je me promène dans les environs, je fais souvent un détour pour le voir. Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais je l'aime bien.

The menu at the Old Post Office in Wallingford

I have been blogging a good deal about Wallingford recently, so I hope it does not come as a surprise ifthe new restaurant/pub I plug in my traditional weekend post is from there. I am talking about the Old Post Office, or OPO, which ironically is not supposed to be the best one in Wallingford (not according to TripAdvisor anyway), but so far it is the only one I have been to and every time I went there I was happy about the food. I usually have fish there, which is now my food of predilection when I go out, but this time it was linguine with prawns and crab. Drowned in a lot of Parmesan, as you can see on the picture. You can see it on the daytime menu here. So far I only had lunch there, so I am plugging the OPO out of a very limited, very partial experience.

I do not find the food outstanding as much as good, but good food is good enough when you are hungry and eating there is in itself pleasant. It is mid-way between a gastropub and a full fledged restaurant, not quite the traditional pub I would naturally go to for the atmosphere, but the setting is nice and in the heart of Wallingford. It is clean, there are always tables available, it is spacious... and then you can have a walk in town, a lovely English town, maybe the most quintessential English town I have seen, at least down south.