Monday 27 April 2009


I keep meaning to write a post about the mad people in France. There's a fair amount to say.

On the way to the cinema on Saturday, for instance, I bumped into one of the boulangers from the school (who share science lessons with us). He stopped me in the middle of the street and set off one one about the history of French celts, the oriental origins of the English language and how our problems all started when we dispatched the Jews to Wales.

And yesterday, on the way to the swimming pool, a really odd case came and sat next to me at the bus stop. He told me he was an artist of life, that he'd trained as a lawyer in England in 1986 and how, now, it was terribly funny to think he'd been depressed for so many years. Every now and again he'd pause gravely and try and come out with an English word. When, encouraged, I'd correct him, he'd write it down on a different scrap of paper each time. Very odd words like "bench" and "ambassador" and "rug".

Either nutters or my French is considerably worse than I'd thought.

Here are some flowers in the rain at the swimming pool:

And here I discover my town (really a close suburb to the city centre) is twinned with Edenbridge, right next to my prep school. I'm not sure it's actually that close unless you're a crow. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before I discover a Frenchman pretending to be one.

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