Arrrrghhh! My comments!

To my (modest readership and blogging friends: for some reason, I seem unable to comment on some of your blogs since the last few days. Not all of yours, but it is the case for Bourdon Chapardeur, Quedula and Octoberfarm. I have no idea why it is doing that and I hope things get back to normal soon.

Victor Hugo par Georges Brassens

Pour essayer d'oublier mon rhume qui commence sérieusement à me mettre de mauvaise humeur et le temps de fin de janvier qui va avec, j'ai pensé mettre ici La légende de la nonne de Victor Hugo interprétée par Georges Brassens. J'ai déjà fait un cours sur Hernani dans mon autre vie à Liverpool, c'était mon premier cours de littérature alors même si je ne suis pas naturellement très porté sur le XIXe siècle romantique français (pas depuis mon adolescence et ma jeune vingtaine en tout cas), j'aime bien Hugo. Et puis, l'exotisme espagnol (appelé espagnolade si mes souvenirs sont exacts) est idéal pour oublier la griserie quotidienne et mon état de rhumatique grincheux. Je n'ai jamais été particulièrement intéressé par la vraie Espagne (pas comme l'Italie ou l'Irlande), je crois que c'est partiellement parce que je suis pleinement satisfait par celle de la fiction, aussi inauthentique soit-elle.

Addictive TV series

I am not a complete, hooked TV addict. Actually, I spend more time on the Internet than watching TV. Something I picked up from years of studying in university halls here without any television. I learned to do without. That said, I am addicted to some kind of TV, as long as it is intelligent fiction. Entertaining is not enough: it needs to be really smart, inventive and remain consistently so. I actually lost interest with 24, Prison Break and the likes when their plots became increasingly implausible and formulaic. I don't care if the series is brand new or not.

I already mentioned here on a few occasions the brilliant The Wire, which I watched the first season last year. I am planning to buy and watch the rest religiously. I am impatient to watch episodes written by George Pelecanos. No contemporary TV series has been as perfect (so far) as The Wire: flawless casting of unknown actors (which means that the character is more important than the name playing him/her), tight, realistic plot, the most acurate depiction of police work and criminality, brilliant characterisations, a disdain for cheap thrills and brilliant atmosphere. When it comes to crime dramas, I will always have a soft spot for Omertà (which I will try to rewatch during my next trip to Québec), but The Wire is far superior, in all aspects. Here's the first minutes of season one, with the intro:



There is also a much older and much more obscure TV series which I purchased recently: The Sandbaggers. I first heard about it in the introductions of the graphic novels series Queen & Country, as it was the inspiration for it. Like Greg Rucka's series, it is an espionnage drama based on a team of MI6 operatives, called here the Sandbaggers (in Q&C it is the Minders). It is devoid of the clichés of the genre, de-glamourised and de-mythified. The characters spend more time discussing the missions (which do not always succeed) and fighting British bureaucracy than going after KGB spies (even though the main protagonist is devoted to "the eradication of the KGB"), they drink bucket loads of coffee, smoke nervously, fight, get into arguments with their colleagues, these spies are real people. The dialogues are brilliant, sharp like razor blades, to the point. It's British drama like you'd never seen it before (or you never see anymore) and it's a shame it is not more famous. From what I read, it got a fairly important fanbase in the US, where the series was shown on PBS. There is a devoted fan website you can visit if you want to know more about the show and you can find the first episode on Youtube. Until I get season two of The Wire, I will stay hooked on The Sandbaggers. Here is the opening credit, where you can hear the only music in the show. It sets the atmosphere perfectly:

Rhume hivernal

Il fallait s'y attendre, ça m'arrive à chaque année, d'habitude dans ces temps-ci de l'année: j'ai un mauvais rhume depuis hier. C'est une tradition involontaire et dont je pourrais bien me passer, ça m'arrive peu importe où je vis. Je suis chanceux car je n'avais pas à travailler aujourd'hui, alors j'ai passé la journée à me soigner (régime de jus d'orange, de smoothies et suppléments de vitamine C) et à ne rien faire. Hier, c'était infernal, je me sentais plutôt moyen et je devais travailler. Ce sont des maux qui courent: j'avais au moins trois collègues enrhumés en même temps que moi. Au moins j'ai repris du poil de la bête aujour'hui. Et je tombe malade avant la Saint-Valentin.

Ah, petite surprise ce soir: il a neigé un peu. On annonce plus de neige en fin de semaine. Comme quoi l'hiver n'est pas fini...

A bittersweet farewell?

The Monday after next week, it will be my last day of work in my other, miserable, uber part-time, underpaid, under appreciated, I-got-fed-up-with-it job. I got really fed up with it, way before I went part-time and way before I knew it was going to end. Waking up ghastly early in the morning and getting home late, all this for, well this. It saddens me as I was so happy when I first got the job, I think I had high expectations and thought it could lead me to more. It didn't, and in the meantime I slowly got bitter about the job itself. I say this, and last Monday when I announced to some of the pupils that I was leaving soon, they seemed genuinely sad. This, and the fact that they have been really nice recently, remind me of the things I always loved about the school and will always remember fondly, no matter what. I will certainly miss them, even if I don't miss the rest, and the list that makes "the rest" is numerous. There is:

-The canteen food.
-Many of the colleagues.
-The long train journey.
-The long foot journey after the long train journey.
-The short foot journey between the train station and home which feels worse because I am exhausted.
-The prayers. Seriously. In a public school, it is the preaching and the praying that bothered me more than anything else.

Le volume des livres

J'ai récemment acheté quelques livres (deux pour moi, un pour ma femme). Rien d'extraordinaire à cela, mais je me rend compte que les étagères de ma bibliothèque anglaise, déjà passablement bien garnies à cause de sa taille modeste, risquent de déborder. Et à chaque fois que je vais au Québec, je rapporte des bouquins de ma plus imposante bibliothèque que je veux lire, relire ou avoir près de moi. Ce qui fait que je me demande si je ne devrais pas:

1)Acheter une nouvelle bibliothèque (mais où la mettre?).
2)Donner certains bouquins que j'aime moins à la charité.

Le pire, c'est qu'en consommateur invétéré, j'achète plus que je ne peux lire.

The Creative Process

During our last trip to Québec and Canada, I discovered a hilarious short animated movie made by a certain Jeffrey Royiwsky. I found it so funny I watched it over and over again, on the trip to Montreal, then back from Vancouver, then back to England. I tried to find it everywhere, on Youtube and on Google, without any success. All I found was something on the Air Canada website. Then recently, I was lucky enough to find it here. Watch it and tell me what you think.

I know why I find The Creative Process so funny: it is a simple cartoon which shows a reality I know too well. I have never made animated movies, but as a student I spent a lot of sleepless nights due to poor planning, overconfidence and procrastination, with varying results. I sometimes managed to get As, but not always. I also got a lot of suffering through it, however proud I was of my work. Anyway, The Creative Process is, in a nutshell, student life.

Petites traditions dominicales

Comme c'est notre habitude le dimanche, ma femme et moi sommes allés dans notre café préféré. Nous avions pensé essayer un nouveau café indépendant qui a ouvert ses portes récemment, mais comme nous étions sortis tard, il était déjà sur le point de fermer. Ce sera pour une prochaine fois. Selon ce que j'ai pu voir de l'endroit, il me fait penser un peu à l'autre café indépendant qui est sur le coin de rue: décor minimaliste (mais plus coloré), endroit plus éclairé, sélection de breuvages moins connus.

La visite au café est l'une de ces rituels qui se sont installés dans notre vie de couple subrepticement, histoire de rendre dimanche moins monotone. C'est une manière charmante de ne rien faire et d'oublier un peu le lundi qui vient. Nous avons une autre petite tradition, typiquement anglaise celle-là, que nous avons décidé de suivre: le Sunday roast. Avec les patates et les carottes, on mange habituellement un roast végétalien qui ne me fait pas regretter une minute la viande. Il ne manquerait qu'un peu de vin ou une bière pour rendre le repas parfait, mais tant que j'aurai ma job à Windsor qui me force à me lever à des heures impossibles (ce qui ne durera pas), je préfère ne pas boire d'alcool un dimanche. Même avec modération, ça me rend le sommeil difficile.

To go "useful" shopping

I had to go to a gardening shop today, hoping to find some "useful" purchases. I don't like "useful" shops, by that I mean tool shops, gardening shops, cleaning products shops and other shops where they sell things that are not entertaining. This is not how I like to spend my Saturday. I have an uncle, who goes to Canadian Tire (of all places!) when he gets bored during weekends. And when he gets bored again, he goes back during the very same day. At least there were electric trains on display (and on sale) in the gardening center I went to. I didn't buy any, but it was nice to see, even though they were not as nice as the family one. It is not like visiting a museum, but it is entertaining enough.

Anyway, after successful but tiresome "useful" shopping (including clothes shopping, a torture in itself, especially when you are a glorified clothes hanger), I managed to convince my wife to stop at Waterstone's to buy some books. That was more like it. Sometimes the only purchases worth making are the useless ones.

Bienvenue au Bourdon Chapardeur

Tiens je viens de me rendre compte avec plaisir qu'un ami a mis au monde un nouveau blogue. Je lui souhaite la bienvenue dans la blogosphère. Je dois le remercier pour beaucoup de mes meilleures soirées de beuverie à Montréal (on dirait que je reviens souvent à l'alcool dans mon blogue ces temps-ci). Et, puisqu'il est acteur professionnel, donc artiste, ses billets promettent d'être intéressants. Dès que je mets à jour le blogroll (ce que je remets à plus tard depuis six mois), je lui fait une place d'honneur. Et je fais cet honneur au Baron Luisant (devrais-je dire l'Étrange Cas?) également. Enfin bref, une fois encore bienvenue. Si sa plume vaut son verbe, ce sera fascinant.

The worm in the tequila

This afternoon, after work, I went to my local pub. I haven't been in a while and I was missing the place and the drinks. I must have drank half my weight in beer, but it was all real ale, so that's okay. Had I consumed all my weight in beer, then I would have been drunk. I was not expecting to drink that much, but as I ordered yet another half a pint, the barrel was almost empty, and as a generous gesture the landlady gave me what was left in it. So I had a pint for the price of a half. But that is not the topic.

In this local pub, you can buy a tequila shot with the legendary worm in it. The worm has the reputation of having hallucinatory qualities. I don't know, as I have never tried. Somehow, the idea of swallowing a worm disgusts me. The landlady (again) said that she witnessed in the very pub people feeling the alleged hallucinatory effects of the worm. I think this has more to do with common drunkenness than anything else. This urban legend reminds me of a method to get rid of slugs in gardens: you place bowls full of beer around, bowls in which the slugs will sink and die. It might seem cruel, but the slugs will die happy. So does the worm in the tequila, I am quite sure of it.

Une perle de sagesse

Entendue alors que j'étais plongeur, alors qu'on remplissait une fois de plus le verre d'un client:

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

Scotland Yard

Before I became a complete geek and started playing RPGs, when I was still a young and innocent child, I used to be into board games, something I only play during the holidays now. One of my favourite was Scotland Yard (you can find a few reviews here and a Youtube one here). I think it was triggered by my Anglophilia, which I had even then, even if I hadn't been in England yet. My first perception of London was through the map that served as the board for the game.

Other than my love and fascination for British culture (yes, I love British culture), the game appealed to me for many reasons. So, apart from the particular and pretty nice English feel to the game (the name Scotland Yard has almost mythical associations), it has that adventure element (pursuing a criminal in London is more dynamic and exciting than say investigating in Cluedo), it has a clever little game system that makes you use strategy and cooperation, it also has a bit of a dramatic background.

I discovered an advert for the game on Youtube. I loved watching it as a child, even though I could not understand a word of English. It was like watching the trailer of a movie in which I had a role. Now I wonder: why would Metropolitan Police detectives have American accents? I understand for Mister X, he could be of any nationality, but the police officers themselves?

Le ménage du printemps en janvier?

Je n'ai pas blogué depuis quelques jours, je songeais commencer par un billet trivial: quelqu'un a lavé les vitres du bloc aujourd'hui. En janvier! Il y a quelques semaines, la neige tombait tellement que les écoles fermaient, en fait pas plus tard qu'hier il avait neigé, pas beaucoup mais au moins un peu. Le temps est beaucoup plus doux aujourd'hui et tout est vert. Mais je me demande si laver les vitres si tôt après des bordées de neige sérieuses, ce n'est pas faire preuve d'optimisme. À la première bordée ou à la première pluie bien lourde, les fenêtres seront sales à nouveau.

Foggy Monday

Mondays are often Hell for me, but even Hellish Mondays can have their appeal. I woke up dreadfully early as usual, when it was still dark outside, but there was a ghostly fog that gave the surrounding and eerie feel. The rest of the day was clear, but on the way back, the fog got back and the view on the train was simply stunning, with the fog blurring light and darkness. I spent the journey back staring outside the window. The words fail me to describe how beautiful it was. I wish I had a camera with me.

Anyway, I will not have to endure the commuting for much longer: I have learned today that my contract for my Monday job will end in mid-term. I couldn't care less when I got the news, as it is not bringing me much, the commuting was getting on me and I was fed up feeling invisible. Then the pupils were angels with me today, even if they didn't know, so it make me feel less eager to leave. When I saw the fog on the way back, I almost thought I would miss commuting too.

Les oeufs crus

Ma femme et moi venons de faire cuire un gâteau au chocolat appelé "Devil's food cake" (toujours bien de se lancer dans la cuisine de classiques). On n'a pas encore goûté et il reste à faire la crème et le glaçage, mais j'ai mangé la pâte crue comme goûter de l'après-midi. C'est une tradition familiale que ma nouvelle belle-soeur trouve ça bizarre et imprudent. La gourmandise l'emportant sur la peur pour ma santé, je mange malgré tout des oeufs crus, pour autant qu'ils soient en mayonnaise ou en gâteau. Enfant, j'avais par erreur bu une bonne gorgée d'oeuf cru laissé dans une tasse dans le réfrigérateur, couvert de lait. Je me rappelle encore du goût horrible. Étonnant que ce soit si bon en pâte à gâteau.

We'll Meet Again

Maybe it is the rain falling, maybe it is the grey look of outside since the snow is gone, maybe it's because of the earthquake in Haiti, but I have been having We'll Meet Again in the head since this morning. Here in the UK, Dame Vera Lynn is of course an icon. For me, she simply sang that beautiful song in the closing credits of Dr. Strangelove, where I first heard it and where it was used to brilliant, cynical, pessimistic effect by Stanley Kubrick. The more I think of it, the more I think my mind has been associating it with Haiti. Sure, what happened there was not a nuclear holocaust, but it must have felt like Apocalypse all the same. The song pictures perfectly dark, difficult times where you can still feel a dim but ever present hope.

Un long mois de janvier

La neige a commencé à fondre sérieusement hier, à cause du temps doux et de la pluie. C'est un mal pour un bien: le pays ne pouvait pas marcher au ralenti indéfiniment. Mais ça veut dire que le brun/gris/vert a succédé au blanc. Les rues sont pleines de sable et de cailloux comme la rue Racine à Chicout un jour de printemps. Sauf qu'on est en janvier...

Janvier est un mois ennuyeux, peut-être autant que novembre. Une fois le Jour de l'An passé et les Fêtes terminées, il ne reste plus qu'à attendre la Chandeleur (si on la fête) ou la Saint-Valentin, si on est en couple. Et le mois est en général froid, humide, gris, sans couleur (les lumières de Noël étant depuis longtemps enlevées). Dans les pires des cas, on attend jusqu'à la Saint-Patrick ou bien Pâques. On vend d'ailleurs des oeufs Cadbury dès le premier janvier ici, ce qui est presqu'aussi absurde que les décorations de Noël en septembre. Mais ça illustre parfaitement à quel point janvier est un non-évènement, un mois d'attente. Un mois qui est souvent très long. Cela dit, j'aurais tort de me plaindre: autant s'ennuyer dans le temps morne que mourir sous un soleil splendide.

Distance and proximity

I have two jobs at the moments, in two different schools, one in this town, one outside. I go to the one outside town on Monday. I have blogged on a number of occasions about how I feel about this one. Apart from the general impression that I am an outsider (coming once a week, that has to be expected), I find Mondays difficult because of the long commuting I have to go through. I used to find it bearable, but since I do it only once a week now, I don't get used to it anymore. Getting there and back is long, it is exhausting, it is frustrating. I lose my day and I am too tired to really appreciate my evening. I guess all the walking is good for my health, but I don't think it is worth it.

Therefore, I appreciate my job even moreso now that I live close to it. It is also overall a nicer working environment, for me anyway, people have bene more welcoming, I feel more useful and I am less of an outsider. But the commuting difference really makes the contrast. I don't have to wake up at ghastly hours in the morning, disturbing my wife's sleep in the meantime, I have time to take a full breakfast (on Monday I have it on the train, which, no matter how much I like trains, is not idea), I can see the daylight when I come home and, more importantly, I still have energy at the end of the day.

Living close to your working place has its downsides, obviously: it is more difficult to distanciate yourself from the work, if you lose your job you risk meeting former colleagues (which is at best awkward at worst unpleasant), in my particular case I risk meeting pupils every single moment here. And no matter what I think of my job now, it does not mean that I will not get fed up one day. Still, it's nice to work closer to home for a change.

Haïti

English below, in the usual rewritten form...

Je ne l'apprendrai à personne: Haïti a subi un épouvantable tremblement de terre. Les commentaires que je peux faire sont un peu vains, forcément, vu l'ampleur de la catastrophe, absurde dans l'intensité de sa violence. Je n'ai jamais mis les pieds à Haïti. Cela dit, j'ai lu un peu sur son histoire et La tragédie du roi Christophe d'Aimé Césaire (de la voisine Martinique), lue à l'université, a fait une impression durable sur moi. Mais surtout, j'ai un peu de famille originaire d'Haïti, lesquels ont encore de la famille et des amis là-bas, alors la présente catastrophe me touche par ricochet. Je vais dire un cliché, mais nous vivons sur une bien petite planète.
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This is the kind of news that remind me that we live on a small planet and I hope to avoid clichés after this one. I will not break the news for anybody, but here it is anyway: Haiti has been caught in an earthquake. After what happened to the island in the last...centuries, this catastrophe can be qualified by nothing else than absurd so meaningless it is in its blind violence. I have never been to Haiti, but I read about its history and, more importantly, I have a bit of family that is from there, who themselves have friends and family still living in the island. Therefore, the current tragedy touches me by proxy. No man is an island, and so on... Whatever you look at it, it still sucks.