Lundi 09.10.06 An Irish Day
Today I’ve a jour de congé (day off) as our Stage at the Rectorat de Tartenson starts tomorrow and we’re not expected in school until next week. I really think my days off are jinxed as each day seems to bring torrential rain. It’s such an Irish day and I decide to make it even more so by putting U2 on and while I’m in the mood I rustle up an alternative Irish breakfast. Eggs, beans and fried potatoes are all I’ve got, but along with tea and toast I’m set up for my day as a femme au foyer (housewife).
The rain seldom eases but of course I don’t mind lounging about with my many lizard friends for the day. So many critters come in to shelter from the rain. I’m surprised they stay as long as they do since I’m tooting away on my tin whistle; I’d say my playing is more irritating than interesting.
The goggle box keeps me entertained for a little. There’s a chat show with an exposé on an ex-KGB spy intitled ‘Un espion vient de froid’ which interests me. Also, one of those dire, archetypal ‘Sunset Beach’ or ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ series called ‘Les jours et les vies’ succeeds in sucking me in for a while. It’s not long until I’ve had my fill of badly dubbed TV. I switch from the sofa to the terrace to read my Stage handbook. Needless to say I don’t stay there long as the terrace and I take in more water than words.
In order to carry out my femme au foyer fancy I use the dreary day to clean the kitchen and tidy the terrace. Mother Nature helps me wash the floors. Later I’m back on the sofa with a glossy magazine surrounded by the glossy gleam of my domestic endurance. But my chores aren’t completed as a soggy, grumpy and hungry Rowan shortly arrives home. It’s out with the frying pan again for egg-fried riz and legumes. This poor poêle à frire must be the most overused, under-appreciated, exploited utensil in our kitchen…ouin, ouin! However, the ants recognize the value of this poêle. They welcome it. They worship it. It’s their God. Every evening they set out on a pilgrimage to the holy hub that is the hob. They come through the crack in the wall beside the gas cylinder. Up the hinges they march and along the tiles they trek only to get gassed out of it by the heat or the humans.
The rain may still be falling down but it’s not at all chilly. The only thing that sends shivers down my spine are the events taking place in an episode of Cold Case. I type up this entry while looking at various exit wounds. I soon make my own exit and end up sleeping with the flies not the fishes.
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