Before I launch into a fairly unexciting week, I would like to point out that I have no idea why Bourgoin Rugby have a dolphin in their logo given they are absolutely nowhere near the sea, never mind dolphins. Suggestions on a postcard –221 Avenue........
The weather has been foul this week and has brought about a cough. When I try and explain my cough as being down to the weather people look at me as if to say, “Don’t try that one, we know you aren’t Fijian”.
I don’t think Paris does autumn very well, not like Edinburgh which I think is at its best when the wind is blowing and the city is bleak, like it’s meant to be, or when the autumnal light shines off the stone. In Paris, autumn is a time for digging up the Luxemburg Gardens and preparing for the next batch of tourists, the lovers of spring. I’ll wait till Paris in the spring-time to see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be...
From the Jardins du Luxemburg to the weights room... One thing that is directly responsible for my enjoyment of my weights is Serge. Serge is the 63 year old Preparateur Physique and he is keen to improve his English. He greets me every day with a booming shout, “Hello, how are you my dear boy!” in a very posh English accent. He’s everything a ‘gym guy’ should be: knowledgeable without being pedantic, sympathetic (to my occasional aches and pains...), and a very interesting person to talk to in between sets. He’s a fan of golf, Glenlivet whisky and a true man of the world who has recently booked his passage to New Zealand for the Rugby World Cup which he is very excited about. So I think ahead to tomorrow, Friday, and remember that sadly good old Serge only works Monday-Thursday. The Serge Diaries, to be continued...
Today, the 11th of November is a public holiday in France. For some reason, I have an issue with it being a public holiday and prefer the way we do it. I probably just have unfair images of the French all making the most of the holiday and just sleeping in past 11 blissfully ignorant about the day itself after going out on the lash last night – oh wait, that was just my flatmate. So I’ve had a day with no school and just a dull weights session in the afternoon (no Serge). The wind was howling and the rain lashing against the glass doors to the gym and the artificial light made it not a very pleasant place to be. Better get used to it for the next month, I suppose.
An update on my class is needed. People are being recycled weekly so Rita the Italian-Argentine matriarch figure who confused Korea and Japan to much embarrassment (not her own) has moved on to be replaced by some South American whose pronunciation is grossly and hilariously inhibited by the extreme amount of botox her face has received. The level is getting harder and I’m in a period of transition where the bar is shunted up and it’s a struggle to keep up. To form the subjunctive...i’ve forgotten already. So that keeps plodding along, me and the prof are clashing regularly on topics such as politics and the strikers and more politics. Also, I went in a huff for a whole morning when she said she disagreed with the idea of Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables being turned into a musical when she hadn’t even seen it.
So it’s back down that same neck of the woods this Sunday versus US Bressane. But, and more excitingly, Saturday, and the Scotland – New Zealand game means my glorious return to the Scottish pub!
A la prochaine...
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