Looking at the ripening apples

I took this picture in Devon, I believe it was in Dartington. It was late August and I was already on the lookout for signs of autumn. One of the surest signs that the season is close is the ripeness of apples. When they are read like here, it means it is time for harvest. Granted, it starts slightly before autumn, but apples being the fruit that represent autumn the mosts, you can easily makes the association. Unfortunately, the apple trees I saw nearby all have green fruits still. But we are still early.

Comment se prononçait "Guillaume"

Ceci est un petit billet linguistique, phonétique et historique en même temps. Qui plus est, c'est un billet de médiéviste. Enfin bref, on me massacre souvent mon nom ici en Angleterre: on m'appelle "Gouillame" ou "Guillyame" ou un truc du genre. Mais je me suis rappelé récemment que sa prononciation moderne n'est rien que ça, sa prononciation moderne. Au moyen âge, où le nom a commencé à être en vogue, c'était beaucoup plus proche de la prononciation maintenant fautive. Écoutez cet extrait sur YouTube de La Chanson de Guillaume pour en avoir une idée. Remarquez que ce n'est sans doute pas exactement comme ça qu'ils le prononcaient, mais c'est quand même plus proche que sa prononciation moderne. Morale de ce billet: il y a des jours comme ça où je m'ennuie de mon passé d'universitaire.

Waterstones: "School Starts Here"

This was the title of a mailer I received today from Waterstones, advertising their education books. Well, this is a cruel and borderline sadistic statement if there is one. And isn't it a bit early? British children have their holidays starting very late, around the last week of July and now they already have advertisement and marketing telling them they will be back to school soon. I often mentioned on this blog that even now as an adult, I have the same feeling of dread in August. I look at the shop windows in a sort of morbid excitement, wondering which one will start it. Well, this time it was an email. The medium changed, but the feeling is the same.

Couverture historique

Il y a des choses qu'on découvre parfois. Comme il y a deux semaines, on présentait une exhibition d'objets de la Grande Guerre près du Monument aux morts de la petite ville anglaise où l'on vit. Nous n'y sommes pas restés longtemps, mais par curiosité j'avais voulu jeter un coup d'oeil. J'y ai alors vu la couverture carreautée que vous voyez sous le casque sur cette photo. Or, cette couverture ressemble à s'y méprendre à la couverture de mon enfance (voir la photo ici). Ça a eu sur moi un effet similaire à la madeleine de Proust. Bon, je n'ai jamais fait la guerre avec, mais ça demeure une couverture que j'aime beaucoup et que j'associe à pleins de bons souvenirs.

In need of Twinings?

I took this picture in the place where we stayed in York for our holidays there. Ironically there was no Yorkshire Tea. But I guess we'd have plenty of it in the city, so might as well have something else at "home". Anyway, Twinings is a trustworthy brew, maybe not the fanciest but still enjoyable for something that comes in tea bags. So I thought that, given the tea situation at work and my increasing need of tea on a daily basis (I am up to three cuppa a day, sometimes four if I take one in the afternoon), I think that maybe I should stock myself with Twinings.

Question existentielle (309)

Ça fait un bout de temps que je ne me suis pas posé de questions existentielles, alors en voici une:

-Quoi porter quand il ne fait pas assez chaud pour qu'il fasse chaud, mais pas au point de dire qu'il fait froid?

Being known at the local bookshop

Yesterday, our little family paid a short visit at the local bookshop. I behaved myself and only bought two books, and with the £5 loyalty (aka big spender) voucher I had, it did not cost me much, all things considered. When it was time to put points on my name, I did not need to give it to the staff, they knew it already, first and second name, no problem at all. My wife thought it was a bit embarrassing. I think to be known as a literature lover and someone who invests in local businesses is something to be proud of. So I am happy they know my name.

Dire phoque ou otarie

Photo prise à Branféré, parce qu'elle illustre mon propos. Vous y voyez un phoque, enfin je crois. Enfin bref, vivant dans un pays anglophone et devant malgré tout apprendre la langue française, j'ai un léger souci avec mon fils: je dois bien lui faire comprendre quand je parle de phoques de quoi je parle. Et je dois aussi me garder de jurer, en anglais ou en français, ce qui complique encore plus les choses. Alors parfois je dois dire à mon fils que je voulais dire otarie pour illustrer mon désarroi. Je sais, c'est un calembour atroce.

25 years of D&Dr

It struck me recently: at some point in August 25 years ago, in 1992, my brothers, some of my friends and myself started playing our Dungeons & Dragons campaign. When we play again, which is not very often now, it is the same campaign. Now it is only my brothers and I, but still,it shows hos solid the campaign and the universe we created has been from he beginning. Sure, we were teenagers and we were naive and our approach was often flawed, but we had ideas that allowed us to develop our characters and their world into something compelling.

I choose the cover of the issue 215 of Dragon magazine to illustrate my post. Not the best drawing, but it illustrates fairly well the setting and atmosphere of how we started. We were eight players when we started, including the DM. Nine characters going through a forest like this one to retrieve a lost priest spell in the ruins of an old temple. Our adversaries during the first session were orcs and goblins, like on this image. There were two thieves, one druid, one priest from the God of War, one warrior, one necromancer and one ranger (me), plus a Dwarf who joined us later. It was full of atmosphere and already we could see the potential. So yes, this August marks its anniversary.

Bleuets, crème, sucre d'érable...

Ce billet suggère une réponse à la question (si vous vous la posez): quoi faire avec des bleuets, à part des tartes? Petit dessert improvisé de mon père: bleuets, crème, sucre d'érable, sirop d'érable. C'est pas pire pantoute et on ne peut faire plus saguenéen et jeannois que ça. Bon, le sirop d'érable peut provenir d'ailleurs au Québec, on s'entend, mais les bleuets doivent absolument être du Lac.

Are the Ticklers getting older?

I am wondering about it and it saddens me if it is the case. We went to see them this afternoon for tea and they had their eyes scotched on the mobile phone of Blonde Tickler for most of our time there, watching stuff on YouTube and what have you. They showed little interest in Wolfie, whom they adore usually. They spoke to us, but overall very little. I am bit saddened and worried about what happened today. The Ticklers are ALWAYS fascinated by everything we do and talk about, especially when it involves Wolfie. When it is time to leave, they always ask for a group hug with Wolfie in the middle. Not this afternoon. And as they are both eleven and going to be twelve (Brunette Tickler in September, Blonde Tickler in February) and will start secondary school in about a month, I wonder if we will keep the same bond with them.

Regarder pousser le gazon

Bon, c'est inutile de le nier, je dois me rendre à l'évidence: il est plus que temps de passer la tondeuse dans la cour-arrière. Les herbes sont hautes. La dernière fois que je l'ai fait c'était il y a quelques semaines (lire: mois) et ma belle-mère m'a rendu un service en coupant le gazon lors de sa dernière visite il y a quelques semaines (là, c'était vraiment il y a quelques semaines). Alors donc, le gazon est trop long, parce que quand il fait un temps de chien ce n'est pas le temps de le tondre et lorsqu'il fait beau dehors je veux profiter du jardin comme il est, pas me faire suer à le tondre. Je regarde donc pousser le gazon.

The Head of Medusa

I took this picture at the National Museum in Cardiff. I love Greek mythology and the story of Perseus and his epic beheading of the Gorgon Medusa is among my favourite since I watched a certain movie when I was a child. Since then, depiction of the story and of its monster always fascinated me. So when I saw this bronze, I was mesmerized. My wife thought it was funny to see me so eagerly taking pictures of a naked man (although he's not really naked: he has a helmet and sandals), but it was the severed head of the woman that caught my attention. Well, if one could say such vile monster is still a woman. The statue was made by Frederick William Pomeroy. I know nothing about him, but will look for more works from him. According to what I read by the statue, the work was meant to represent the triumph of man over evil. I suspect there may have been a hint of Victorian misogyny in it. All the same, it's a beautiful depiction of the myth and even in death Medusa remains terrifying.

Le temps des bleuets

Photo envoyée par mon père récemment. Je sais que j'ai publié pleins de photos de bleuets récemment, mais Vraie Fiction prend les couleurs du temps et c'est le temps des bleuets, de ses récoltes et de ce qu'on en fait. Aors autant vous le dire tout de suite: ce blogue va être couvert de bleu. Tous les prétextes sont bons pour présenter la baie emblématique de ma région.

It's coming...

I found this comic strip on Sarah's Scribbles Facebook page. This is so me it is almost scary. This is, in a nutshell, the story of the months of August of my life. I was mentioning it on this very blog no later than on the first of August, that I had started getting into a Halloween mood. And you don't have to believe me, but I had no idea Sarah Andersen had drawn this then. What can I say? Great spooky minds think alike. And now I feel far less alone. The officious countdown to Halloween has finally started. And no, it's not too early.

Un nouveau calembour atroce

J'y ai pensé toute la journée et je me sens obligé de le partager, même si ça me fait mal d'en commettre un pareil. Je me suis vraiment surpassé: "L'Émeu m'émeut." Je sais, je sais, ça frise l'insanité.

No number 13

Here is a funny little detail I noticed recently about the business park where I work: there is no number 13. There are about twenty offices, but none of them is at number 13. I wonder who was suffering of triskaidekaphobia when they were allocating address numbers to the buildings. It's a small business park, and a fairly young one I'd say, it's as bland and anonymous as a business park can be, yet it has that peculiarity. Which may not be a peculiarity. For all I know it's something common to many business parks here and elsewhere.

Le grand Félix

C'est aujourd'hui l'anniversaire de naissance de Félix Leclerc, je me devais de le souligner, comme j'essaie de le faire à chaque année. Cette année, ce sera avec Moi, mes souliers. Que j'ai déjà partagé sur Vraie Fiction. Pour sa mort, je vais trouver autre chose, mais je trouve que cette chanson se prête parfaitement à célébrer la vie du grand Félix.

"There comes an autumn sickle..."

And as the daylight's fading
When Lammas has come in
And gleamers go to work among the stubble
There comes an autumn sickle
To cut the summer's throat
Before the season knows it is in trouble

Martin Newell, Black Shuck

 We are Lammas Day, the first day of August. The first day of harvest, but more importantly for me the day when summer starts to end and when I truly start my countdown to autumn. Like every year since I read the poem, I make the above quote. This is my official countdown to autumn and my officious countdown to Halloween, when I will start reading scary stories and get into a spooky mood. The verse about the autumn sickle is most appropriate this year: it has been cool for a few days and summer does look like it is in trouble. It may give us a few more blasts, but I do hope that its throat is indeed cut.

Quoi faire avec des bleuets

Je fais encore ce soir l'apologie du fruit de ma région, parce que c'est le temps des bleuets, alors autant bleuir le blogue (je viens de faire une allitération). Le titre n'est pas tant une question qu'une suggestion. Quoi faire avec des bleuets? Pleins de choses, dont ceci: un carré aux bleuets. Ce que les anglais appelleraient un flapjack. Ce sont mes parents qui ont fait ça et m'ont envoyé la photo il y a deux ou trois ans. Je n'y ai encore jamais goûté, mais ça arrivera bien un jour.