Sunday, February 27, 2005
Sunny skies and fresh powder were the order of the morning today, and not before time too. This weekend was spent up in Luchon on a work skiing / snowboarding trip. And I can tell ya, it was exactly what I needed.
It was the first real chance I've had to try out my new board, the Hammer Twilight, for which I just can't say enough good things. I have bought it with Flow boots and bindings and the combo has set my riding style up a treat. My previous board would vibrate at the nose at speed making riding quite unstable, but this one just holds the edges and burns and carves down the piste at stupidfast. Brilliant. It was so much fun.
I also gave some lessons to 5 people. Basically everybody was still learning to turn and people usually have exactly the same problems with that so the advice is simple to give, together with a bit of encouragement. I was talking to three of them on the coach on the way back and they all said that I had helped. That makes me feel good, to have assisted in someone's development.
The combination of my own improvement and helping others has really calmed my heart and mind. It would have been a really hellish week if it wasn't for certain good friends being available when I needed them. Anyway, this week feels like the right one to get myself back into a calmer and more tolerant state of mind after tending to the casualties from the battles I've been fighting recently.
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Thursday, February 24, 2005
Normally my work email inbox is filled with spam adverts for viagra in the morning. Today though, my friend Jacqui had sent me something which made her laugh. It made me laugh too.
Apparently she happened across a delivery van advertising it's wares on it's panel sides. This company wasn't selling anything mundane like newspapers, or even something thrilling like snowboard equipment. Nope. This place was selling France's world famous delicacy, snails. The particular niche these guys are trying to penetrate is biologically reared snails.
If these snails are reared freely in the open air, as their website advertises, how on earth are the other snails farmed?
Does it mean that for each snail on this farm that is sitting in the open air on crispy green vegetables, there are snails in other farms squashed and cramped into a little gastropod prison?
When these bio snails chat together over a nice chunk of dandelion leaf, do they extol the virtues of their new found liberty, like "Well you see you Sammy, me lad, in the olden days us snails were just a part of the system, without any freedom to slither. But now, now we can slip our sticky way across all of these here lovely lettuces. You know your uncle Sid? He crossed a whole two lettuces in one day last year!"
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Monday, February 21, 2005
So you may have noticed that for some reason my comments boxes have little pictures in them these days. Don't ask me why, I didn't put them there, but it turns out that they are these things called Gravatars. Basically, after creating your account, you choose a little square picture and upload it to this site. It then appears all over the place automatically.
I chose my image from a couple of photos from Japan. Here they are...
I took these photos toward the end of the holiday as I was riding the Keio line train with Ralph, going back to his place from a trip to eat some Thai food in the Kichioji area of Tokyo. I got very excited when I saw these signs, and whipped my camera out immediately. Basically they're posters from the train company telling the commuters what sort of behaviour is expected of them. The top one is controlling sitting positions, the bottom one is controlling the use of mobiles.
Look at that imagery. In the top one I love the way the guy sitting with his legs casually draped into the carriage is made to stand out by being black in contrast to the yellow of the politely cloned masses, all of them arranged identically with their feat neatly tucked in, their bags and hands tidily folded on their laps. Only the angles of their heads are individually arranged, although they are all facing in the direction of the bad bad person selfishly arranging his legs.
Colour contrast is used again in the bottom image to differentiate the bad guy, with the hand and mobile phone clearly standing out. I'm only about 30% sure that the message on the mobile says something like 'Your conversation on the journey. It's a real annoyance' (Japanese speaking readers please feel free to correct me in the comments). Look at the way all the good commuters are singling this social criminal out by giving him the evil eye. Boy there are a lot of cold shoulders. Don't talk on your mobile!
Those neat positions and cold stares and shoulders exist in reality, not just in these pictures. I remember riding those trains for two years and gradually learning to read the signals and feel the ostracism which at first I was completely oblivious to. I remember myself in the first year, teasing a salary man who dropped a stinker by asking loudly in front of my friends and in my best Japanese, "Has somebody farted?" (I learnt all the most important words). By the end of the second year I had lost all spark of life and had become a nice little well behaved clone, trimmed and constrained like a bonsai tree into the idea of what I should be.
I guess that's all very well for protecting people from the annoyance of someone's feet being in a slightly different position than you are used to, or from saving you the trouble of being reminded that other living people who have friends and families are sharing the train with you. But it's a daily denial of variety and of ourselves. It's a mental burden to squeeze yourself into a corsetted appearance. It produces miserable and unfriendly human beings.
So I guess I chose my Gravatar as my way of being that guy with his feet in the aisle, valuing my sponteneity above their fussy appearances, and hoping that they'll get the message.
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Sunday, February 20, 2005
You can tell when a person isn't doing anything useful at work when they start marching quickly around the corridors. Polished black shoes pick up speed as their owner leaves his desk, and by the time he has reached the crowds milling around next to the coffee machine he's stomping heavily in an effort to convince us of the urgency of his mission. In his hands there will be sheets of A4 paper, flapping in the breeze of his march down the hall, visible proof that he has Something Important To Talk About.
His pace and the number of sheets of paper he's holding are trustworthy indications of the importance their audience holds in the company hierarchy. He's not going to march down the corridor advertising his reflected importance if he's going to meet just another slave like me or you. But if he has been summoned by a manager, well just you watch him strut, shoulders thrust back square and head lifted proudly.
If you get the chance to look closely at his face when he zips past you, you can see the furrow on his brow twitching as he rehearses his subject in his head, preparing lines and getting ready to dazzle people with his knowledge. Around here there's nothing like a fine display of memorised facts for establishing your reputation as A Professional and thereby earning the credit you need to secure your promotion. Like a peacock's tail, you can bet that these guys will grab whatever opportunity a meeting gives them to fan open their entire accumulated knowledge, whether it's relevant or not. And once you get one of them started, it becomes a competition. They wouldn't want to miss out on their chance to proove their superior suitability, would they? Never mind what they were there to talk about in the first place, whatever it was the customer wanted. Actually, that was quite trivial and the problem was solved in the first minutes.
Now, half an hour later, they're still stuck in preen mode and frustrating the fuck out of the rest of us who don't give a shit. Us non-French who just want to go and sit back behind our desks, surfing the internet.
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Thursday, February 17, 2005
congratulations nick and holly
The air was as icy as the Frosty the Snowman eating a glacier sandwich on the peak of Mount Everest this morning. As I wandered along my street and out past the river I noticed that it was so cold that individual snowflakes seemed to be just appearing out of thin air, like they were being teleported from another dimension. You must think this sounds a bit stupid, but I swear, there was only one snowflake every 5 metres or so, and certainly there was no flurry of snow falling from above.
Anyway, I don't know whether it's the temperature or other things which have given me this headache. My brain now feels like it had been picked up and rolled out flat by three legged midgets who are now getting busy poking its taught surface with spiky pitchforks. That's why it's great to get some good news.
My oldest mate in the world Nick emailed me this afternoon to say that he and his brilliant girlfriend Holly got engaged on Valentine's Day whilst on a little trip to Barcelona. The two of them are really uncannily suited, and they clearly and genuinely care about each other, so it's a relief to see two people making some good decisions in their lives. Congratulations, my friend! Looking forward to being your best man :)
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A zoo in Germany has some gay penguins, according to the BBC. Apparently there are six male penguins and four females. Of all the potential couple combinations there could be, it turns out that all the males have paired up and are now sitting on stones in the vain hope of hatching little baby penguins.
Frauline Kueck from the zoo says that, "We don't know whether the three male pairs are really homosexual or whether they have just bonded because of a shortage of females". I have to admit I share her confusion, since if I was one of those six male penguins I would most certainly bolt from the gay group and get busy making more than my fair share of real eggs. Wouldn't you if your species was in danger of extinction?
Anyway, just to stir it up a bit and see what happens, the zoo has decided to add four more females. So that'll be 8 girls and 6 boys. Sounds to me like if the girls weren't lesbians already, this'll only make it worse. But whatever, apparently some undisclosed 'gay groups' from all over the world have been protesting at this unwarranted intrusion upon the sacred sexuality of those chutney penguins.
I really don't care if a person or a penguin is gay or straight. That's entirely their business. But surely, when you find yourself marching up and down outside a zoo waving a placard and banging on about the rights of gay penguins, and you yourself are not actually a penguin, haven't you got to wonder whether you've got a bit of a Daffyd Thomas type of identity crisis going on?
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Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Tokyo Turbocharge Part 5 - Up to Shinjuku
I finally got around to writing the next thrilling episode in the story of my life in Japan. As usual, it is over here on my other blog. Brace yourselves!
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Monday, February 14, 2005
tagged and it
It's been a long time since I was running around a playground in schoolboy shorts chased by girls. I haven't got a bowl cut anymore, thankfully, but it seems that the game of 'it' hasn't gone away. Vivi tagged me at the weekend and now it's my turn. Watch out, I'm coming for ya!
1. What's the total amount of music files on your computer?
I've got about 10Gig of music files on my computer, including Faithless, Archive, Badly Drawn Boy, and of all things, George Brassens. It's all sitting in a directory next to tv stuff like Pimp My Ride and The Magic Roundabout. I confess to blatantly ripping the whole lot off eMule, but in my defense I have actually gone out and bought CDs by all the artists above, except for Brassens because that was more of a get to know French music thing.
2. The last CD you bought was...
The last CD I bought was Londinium by Archive, at the same time as I bought No Roots by Faithless. Told you I'd bought them.
3. The last song you listened to before reading this message was...
Well that was a few days ago now but I am pretty sure that I was listening to Coldplay's Parachutes album so it'll be one of the tracks on there. And before you ask, yes it was on burnt CD. But I only downloaded it five days ago, so give me a break alright?!
4. Write down five songs you listen to or that mean a lot to you.
Hmmm... I'm gonna have to go and sit down next to my music collection and think about that one. Back in a mo... Right, here we go:
* "Pilots" by Goldfrapp. Actually it could be several songs from the Felt Mountain CD because it's one of the best pieces of music I have ever heard. But I choose Pilots because it has an amazing power to reach right down inside me, relax my mind to a state of zenlike calm, and make my whole body zip and tingle.
* "If Lovin' You Is Wrong" by Faithless, because it's a steamy supercharge of a sex song that's great for stripping and biting and starting an afternoon in bed to.
* "Little Fluffy Clouds" by The Orb, because it sums up my years at college spent sitting in fields or in the back of cars smoking pot and eating magic mushrooms.
* Some piece of classical music I don't know the name of, because it's on the Classic FM CD I was listening to in a darkened room in my parent's house, holding my neice only 1 hour after her birth with her dark eyes scanning me and her spirit brilliantly visible.
* "Driftwood" by Travis, because it's one of the songs I was singing tonight at band practice with Oscar, Jorge and Ishmael (I've been out and come back again).
5. What three people are you going to pass this baton to and why?
The first person I tag is definately Angela from Miss Sassafras because she loves stuff like this, and she is dead friendly.
Coco in Tokyo is the second person I want to tag, because I like to have a picture on Japan and she is the best Japanese blogger I have found.
And as for the third person, I'm gonna choose Thomas Le Danois because I actually know him in real life and he's sorta, you know, not a bad bloke and all that.
Over to you guys! :)
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Saturday, February 12, 2005
chase moi je te fie, fie moi je te chase
There's an old Eurythmics song from the '80s called Sweet Dreams that goes like this...
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas
Everybody's looking for something
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused
Hold your head up
Keep your head up
There aren't a lot of words in the song, but there's a lot of truth. It seems to be a hot topic at the moment, since both NML and Chinkel have mentioned such things recently, not to mention the film Closer being on at the cinema. And then there's all the people around here doing pretty much exactly the same.
I don't know what it is about us humans but we seem to be drawn to things and situations that cause us pain. We always want only what we can't have. When someone is treating us badly it makes us run more towards them, with all the intelligence of flies buzzing towards the beautiful blue light shining its deadly rays above the burger grill, ready to get zapped. And not just once, but again and again.
NML's post above discusses 'Bastard Syndrome', women who go for bastards. But the opposite exists too - 'Bitch Syndrome', to steal her terminology. I could write a whole essay on the subject, but here's a vast simplification: If girls with Bastard Syndrome are always sleeping with certain bastard men in the vain hope of being cared for by them, then guys with Bitch Syndrome are always caring for certain women who they hope in vain to sleep with. Those bastards and bitches always know how to keep the right level of hope burning to keep their victims coming back.
Does anybody have any examples of a relationship without manipulation, judgement or self abuse, but with mutual openness, flexibility towards change, playful mischievousness, humour, and of course, tons of kinky sex?
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Friday, February 11, 2005
You've got to admire the gall of my mobile company, Orange France. This afternoon their whole network went down, which caused havoc with my lunch plans. My friends were supposed to be at the work restaurant but were late and trying to call to let me know to go ahead. Meanwhile there's my stomach grumbling louder than all the old and grumpy bushy moustached French blokes do when we get a new software tool or management directive.
Eventually of course, we all met up and ate, had our free expressos and went back to work. It was while I was back behind my desk that my mobile started working again. I realised it was working again when it buzzed and beeped to let me know I'd got a text. It turned out that it was Orange themselves.
Seeing as the network had been dead for a couple of hours, I expected to open it and get a 'sincere apologies to our customers' type of thing. But the message I got went like this:
Want to meet new people or have friendly conversation on Saint Valentine's day. QUICK! Dial CHAT with your mobile (0.34 euros per min plus contractual charges).
What a lot of cheek these people have. I especially love that 'QUICK!' bit.
Fortunately, my sense of self worth depends upon much more than whether I have someone that I can call a girlfriend, whether someone else is there to tell me they love me, or whether I can boast to the boys about how I got laid last night. So the 14th should pass as any normal day. I'm not sending any Valentines, and am not going to be pining away beside the post-box to see if I receive any.
Not that I've got anything against the idea of Valentine's Day, that is. If there was any particular person around that I had a connection with, it would be an excuse to do something extra romantic and extravagantly exciting. You know, like getting a video and some pizzas and staying in. All the restaurants around here have got soooo boring.
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Thursday, February 10, 2005
Yo tengo una cita
Once in a while someone else starts living the ex-pat life for the first time, and this week it was the new guy who started in my office. I'd spoken to this guy before since he worked at the design office in Bristol. Now though, he's sitting a few desks down and coming to lunch, carrying himself with a completely unadulterated Britishness. That's fine by me, in fact it's great. The contrast with the rest of the Brits is fascinating.
Out of nine people we are four Brits in the office now, and all of us have been here some time. Three years for me. The amount of adjustment and change that happens to you in that time is quite significant. It wasn't until the new guy mentioned that "Everybody around here speaks atleast two languages" that I remembered what it was like back home, and how much I take for granted the variety of experience I have over here.
In every working day I will speak a mixture of French of English with people of any European nationality - French, English, German, Spanish, Italian. And then there are the clients, who are literally anybody anywhere in the world who happen to fly one or more of our planes. Finally there are the evenings. Mostly it's bars and parties, but yesterday I was in my Japanese class with Yoshiko, and tonight four of us were around mine to do some English/Spanish language exchange.
We started off easily, with a bit of Thai curry, and then moved straight into improving Jordi's English vocabulary by watching Little Britain. It might not be suitable language for him to use with his clients or his girlfriend, but he'll be finding it a lot easier to follow humour that's for sure, which is always the hardest thing to understand in another language. When Little Britain was finished, we moved onto Spanish, with Jordi teaching a little bit of 'I am going to..' whilst Chambao was playing on the stereo.
For the last two years a good chunk of my friends have been Spanish and it is shameful that I haven't taken the opportunity to learn their language already. When people become really good friends, it seems to me to be more than just a matter of being polite to learn what you can of their language and culture. It's a matter of interest and enjoyment, equality, mutual understanding, comradery.
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Tuesday, February 08, 2005
It's just as well there are two Scots in my office and not two Welsh, or it would have been a hellish scene of gloating yesterday. As it was, I waited until today before the first funny emails came through about England's loss to Wales at rugby at the weekend. Translating from French, it turned out the focus of the story was actually about a rugby fan rather than a match.
Apparently Geoff Huish, a 26 year old reported to have psychological problems, had sworn to his mates that he would cut his bollocks off if Wales won. After the match he went home, got busy a knife, turned up later at the pub wearing a kilt and carrying his dismembered scrotum, then fell over in a pool of blood.
As it turns out this guy was actually Welsh, which some might say explains a lot. But this morning when I read the article the French editor gave the distinct impression that the dood was English. My friend Sandrine, being French, didn't have much to say on the nationality matter so she used the opportunity to demonstrate the idiocy of men. I responded in my best French, saying that the main issue was not his sex but his psychological problems, and that there were plenty of completely mental girls around.
Atleast that's what I would have said if I had written 'filles' (girls) and not 'fils', meaning sons. A bit of an own goal there. You can imagine Sandrine's mirth.
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Monday, February 07, 2005
cast me as a criminal
I was round Thomas' tonight working on our plan for financial and lifestyle liberation. He kicked me out about 2245h with some lame excuse about work tomorrow and stuff, so I left and trundled my way back along his street down to the boulevard. The four laned expanse was almost empty of traffic as I approached, and the shutters were being closed at the windows of the grandiose buildings lining it 5 floors high on both sides.
Across the street I had to make a choice of walking down the safe route or into the 'hood surrounding Place Arnaud Bernard. I chose the risky option just so I could see what was going on down there at this time of night. Sure enough there wasn't very much, although a couple of guys crossed into the street about 5 metres ahead of me at one point.
Their talk was in French but loaded with slang I don't understand seeing as I don't go out of my way to learn how to talk like a wannabe gangster. The tone was unmistakeable though, completely tough-nut, you know like, "and then I told her, bitch, you don't wanna be fuckin with me - I'm one scary mutthafukka!".
He clearly felt the need to prove what a bad boy he was because he turned around from his mate and asked me for a light. I said no, of course. He responded by reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own light, then sparking up a big fat spliff. He made sure to take some big deep puffs and blow then over into my path where I would walk through them, and I suppose, notice that this one bad street dood was (gasp!) smoking illegal drugs.
As he and his now silent mate carried on walking up the street he, well, I would say he 'launched' into a rap, but what with his rhyming and rapping skills being a bit sparse, it was more like a limp. Although I remember that he was inventive enough to stretch the accent on 'spliff', emphasising the french ee sound. Much better that way to rhyme with 'poleece'.
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Friday, February 04, 2005
I knew it was time to clean my fridge when, while trying to get a couple of icecubes out of the top compartment this Monday, I managed to break off the whole of the plastic flap due to a fight it had with the small iceberg that had frozen itself solid between three tubs of icecream. I've been putting off doing anything about my personal antarctic since I moved in, which was over two years ago. Tuesday night I stayed in especially to sort the bugger out.
My plan of attack was to empty the contents first. Out went one soggy carrot and two browning mushrooms, a tub of Very Lazy Garlic, and four plastic tubes of jam stolen from a hotel breakfast. I reckoned the Colmans Mustard and the Branston Pickle could survive a few days in the cupboard, and the jars of green and red Thai Curry Paste always smell so rancid I was sure only the most psychotic of microbes would want to spend any time in there scavenging chilli and fish paste for an existence. The two different cheeses and the three boxes of cheese aperos cubes needed to stay cold so I stuck them out on the window sill, three floors above the passing traffic. The ice-cream had to stay seeing as it was well and truly wedged in with the ice drooping down on the sides of the boxes.
The next step in the cleaning process was easy. Turn off the fridge and wait.
It was Wednesday evening when I came back home from work that I began to wonder whether I should have put something on the floor around the fridge, like a towel. A puddle stretched from the fridge to the door and back again, covering the tiles and dragging little bits of fluff and pizza cheese out of hidden crevices. I dumped a couple of tea towels down to soak up what they could, and decided to drag the icecream tubs out since they were leaking their melted contents across the surfaces of the vegetable compartment. Of course, as soon as I touched the Ben & Jerry's, the whole lot fell out in a big yellow dollop all over the floor.
At this point I was in a bit of a rush to get to my Japanese class so I just mopped up the stickiness with the teatowels and ran out the door leaving the mess behind me. I was in a rush on Thursday night too when I came home with some ham and half a baguette to have a nice jambon et chevre sandwich. The floor hadn't got any worse this time even though the ice had all melted. Those towels were doing their job mopping up the leaks as I stepped over them and cut the cheese and ham and stuffed it sideways into the crusty demi-baguette. After taking a bite of the sandwich, I looked at the ham and cheese that was left over and thought that there was no way it was going to last until I finished cleaning the fridge, so there was only one thing for it. I turned it back on and put the cheese and ham inside.
Of course, when I got home tonight the inside of the fridge was just a big a mess as yesterday, with the added bonus that the drip tray now held a bulging centimetre thick sheet of ice instead of the previous puddle. Actually that has worked out pretty well 'cos now I've just dumped it in the shower to melt away, saving me the hassle of mopping up another mess.
Anyway, Friday night after work hardly seems to be the right time to deal with the mess so I'm off out to eat at a restaurant with a mate. The chores can wait until tomorrow, after I've slept off my hangover. Bon appetit!
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Thursday, February 03, 2005
Well that'll teach me for complaining about the powers that be around here. I got home yesterday to find a letter in my post box in a very official looking envelope, all stamped with the markings of the Haute Garonne authorities. You don't get a letter like that just for them to wish you a belated Happy New Year, so it was clear that every millimetre of paper ripped open to reveal the dreaded contents was taking a me little closer some horrible news.
At first I wondered whether it was those two unpaid parking tickets from the summer. But no.
When I noticed the word 'impots', I thought they may've been sending me a demand for unpaid taxes. Since I paid them all up in September I was comfortable with this option, and nearly even had a moment of gallic indignation. But unfortunately for me, steeped in my cultivated ignorance of the French tax system, it turns out I have to pay up over a 1000 euros. Within 2 weeks.
If you live around these parts, you might catch me walking back along the canal one morning, limping painfully, clutching my bruised buttocks and dressed in black leather and chains.
Oh the shame.
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Wednesday, February 02, 2005
WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE STOP THE MADNESS?
There are days over here, weeks even, where I really wonder how the feck we manage to keep this place running. For a human, living seems to be a permanent exercise in handling mis-communication, mis-perception, people sitting on their asses, egotism and fuck ups.
Monday night I left work to find that the town hall had decided to a build cycle lane outside the front of our corporate headquarters. This road leads only to our front gate, Toulouse airport, and some crumby business hotels. Having never seen a cyclist dragging a suitcase along behind them, the only possible explanation for this that there is some disgruntled resident complaining about the traffic our company generates, whilst simultaneously lapping up the double-digit rise in the value of their house.
Or perhaps the explanation is that the town hall is just bored and have a budget to spend. This might be the case since when driving to work on Tuesday morning I got stuck in a massive traffic jam backed up all the way onto the ring road. When I eventually reached the roadabout leading up to work I found the reason for this horrendous traffic jam - the same dumb ass Town Hall had decided to block half of the other route around to the front gate. This time they were cutting the trees. Apparently an urgent priority that required another diversion.
So after getting into work late, I found a pile of shit had landed on my desk. Actually there is always a pile of shit on my desk since cleaning up other people's shit is my job. But this was different. In the process of cleaning up an elephant size shit heap, some poncey-ass manager in another department had decided to add another cart load. We argued and argued and escalated to the upper eschalons, but still this dood was labouring under a complete illusion and we couldn't convince him of his error. How could we? We were never educated at the elite Ecole Polytechnique, so we couldn't possibilty have a valid point, could we? Grrr. As a result of this guy, we now get the chance to make ourselves look completely and utterly incompetent twice when only once was necessary. And make more work for ourselves while we're at it.
Anyway, as we were arguing over the phone with the hour ticking later and later past the time I was supposed to meet Oscar in town to buy some snowboard equipment, Oscar rang up.
"Sorry mate. Can't make it. Complete madness over here"
"Don't worry Dan. I only rang to say that they won't sell me anything anyway. There are two people in the shop but none of them will take my money. They say the right bloke isn't there."
Ok then. Let him spend his money in another shop.
The good news is that this morning I got to go into work a bit later than normal. Because of the frickin' traffic AGAIN! The jams were even worse than the morning before. And why? The Town Hall had decided to shut off half the road leading up to the roundabout by dumping a higs pile of rubble in it. That's three roads out of four off this roundabout they are mucking about with.
What the fuck do they think they are achieving? People aren't gonna stop driving their cars to work since most people live too far away to ride a bike, or they have to take their kids to school by car before hand. The only result is gonna be an increase in air pollution as all the cars line up for an extra 20 to 30 minutes every day, churning out dust and fumes. And a lot of pissed off citizens experiencing commuter hell where none need have existed.
I tell you, an idea is a dangerous thing if it's put into the brain of a fuckwit.
Checking the length of this post I see my little rant has gone on for quite a while. That's a real shame. Now I won't be able to bore you with all the fuckwitty things I been up to myself recently.
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