Le pont

What a rigmarole (don't know how to spell this word) of fun logging in was. Inventing alternative passwords when really I should have spotted the double K in co.ukk. I am eating marmite on toast (and already wanting more) and drinking a cup of tea with milk in it- very english indeed. I did 'le pont' and took Monday off so I could use the Tuesday bank holiday to make a four day weekend and upped sticks to Montpellier. It was wonderful- I met a lot of people, had a lot of conversations and got sunburnt. I danced under a palm tree in a garden where every other Sunday for an annual fee of 3 euros there are concerts and djs to enjoy and rugs to dance barefoot on and tables made of recycled stuff to sit at.

Of course, this Sunday was no ordinary Sunday, it was results day. What a farce. Judging from the 8'o'clock news last night you would be forgiven for mistaking the footage of Sarko's private jet landing back in Paris from his over publicised two and a half day vacance in Malta for Paris Hilton or someone along those lines, just a shame Sarko won't be serving time on the wrong side of the bars anytime soon. Anyway, the outcome was expected and there are positive things to come and take from it (please see future entry, oh the optimist).

Lessons since I got back have been good. A la cool. Still feeling the rolling rhythm of a weekend in the sun. One that involved hiring a bike, riding it to the beach along a raised river path, riding it back against the will of the wind and to the benefit of my thighs. The discovery that the verb used by car burners when they burn cars is 'voter'. Ah, and the distant memories of wholewheat crepes and good red wine linger on.

Tonight I saw an excellent group play, for the third time, made me feel so alive and full of desire to make music. Now is a time of inspiration and ideas and more marmite toast. Goodnight