Behind this quite lengthy title hides a growing feeling of despair : it’s only October and already I fear of losing my fingers on the way to the Uni. And to think that a lecturer had the nerve of telling us that England is a nice warm place thanks to the Gulf Stream… I swear I’ll Gulf Stream your face if you say ‘warm’ one more time. Try living in France for 20 years then coming here.
Yet cold is nothing compared to rain. But so far, so good. Apparently if you have early lectures, rain hasn’t had the time to enjoy a coffee and the Times that you’re already back in your room. Though I have to admit, avoiding rain all the time I feel like I’m missing out on something. I was told it’s not really England if you don’t get splashed from head to toe by a bus on a stormy Monday at least once. As if you went all the way to Japan and forgot to stop for a drink at Fukushima. Would be a shame, right ? Hehe… no.
Ok, I covered weather, let’s see… I think I’ll just have a quick rant about food then complain about taking the bus for a couple of lines, then we can move on to business and talk about music and have some fun with words.
What is it with Rice, Pasta and Potatoes ? Potatoes is okay, I just saw him 2 hours ago and he was really sweet, he even said we’d meet tomorrow again for dinner. But come on, don’t tell me you don’t find Rice a bit obnoxious ? I mean, he’s always here when Potatoes and I are hanging, and the other day he even brought Pasta (who’s a complete slut, she still had cheese all over her from the night before). Plus, every time Rice is around, Salad just makes a long face and ends up leaving – I think they have some kind of beef. What ? No, Beef is alright, he’s cool. Well, he’s always a bit cold when he’s at the table but that’s not so bad. Seriously though, I think tomorrow I’m telling Potatoes to dump Rice and Pasta. I can’t stomach the three of them together anymore.
On to buses. Almost there folks, almost there. Buses are my arch-enemies, I cannot keep my footing while riding them. Every time the doors close, I think to myself ‘Okay, here we go. Remember it’s just about hanging tightly to the JESUS F. CHRIST I’M FALLING WHAT THE’ Every. Goddamn. Time. I think my center of gravity just says ‘Fuck it, I’m outta here’ and rushes to my head, where he can create the biggest imbalance possible. I hang on, slowly walk sideways trying to reach a handrail and stick the whole length of my trembling body to it. But no HERE IT GOES AGAIN SLIPPERY MOTHERF-
Bottom line, I look like the world’s worst pole dancer. On ice.
On to music : yesterday we had a great moment with Spain’s greatest pianist Roke Cepeda trying to come up with a groovy version of In the Hall of the Mountain King. You know, the one that goes ‘Ta ta ta ta ta ta ta, tatata, tatata’. No ?
Yeah, this one. Now picture one mad Basque pianist slapping the shit out of his keys and a crazed French guitarist playing a funky riff at the same time. You’ve got yourself one great musical moment. Almost worth playing on a shitty amplifier that goes ‘WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-‘ every 2 minutes.
And to conclude, a piece of knowledge, wrapped in humor. Today we learn about the zeugma, a nice little figure of speech that consists in joining different parts of a sentence by a single word (usually a verb). I love it for its comic potential : joining two completely, blatantly, stupidly different words with one verb makes for some solid laugh material. It’s easy for me to make them up in French : ‘Il reprit ses esprits et une pinte de Guinness’. But English ones are a bit more complicated. Oh, what the hell, let’s try one. ‘She screwed the exams and her teacher’.
Oh mysogyny, thou art a heartless bitch.
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Coming soon : the recipe for the Cat sauce Grand-Veneur ; one hundred and one reasons to drop your current degree for Biochemistry ; an origami nun ; gloomy autumn poetry ; lots of beautiful pictures ; even more false promises ; yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.