On Masterchef I always giggle when someone presents a 'deconstructed crumble' or similar. The fruity bit is on one side of the plate, and the crumble on the other. There will usually be some decorative garnish at a jaunty angle, or at least some spun sugar of nebulous character to 'bring the plate together'.
Today, I realised that living out of a suitcase for seven months has left me feeling somewhat 'deconstructed'. My clothes are tatty now, and I have just thrown away a pair of shoes as the soles had split. I must have walked hundreds of miles in them. I do have some smart work clothes, but in Bristol, I have better shoes, but in London, I have wonderful family and friends, in the UK (and around the world).
So here I am, deconstructed me.
On the good side, my French is improving from virtually nothing to being able to sort of converse with a real French person for FORTY MINUTES. I went for a charity ride in a 4x4 up a mountain with one of the mountain rescue volunteers. It was just me and him in the vehicle, and he spoke no English. I managed to make small talk in appalling French the whole time. I think at one point I accidentally told him I loved him (rather than a cathedral I had seen the day before), but fortunately realised my mistake and was able to apologise. He was very polite and we were good chums by the time we got out. I even knew how many grandchildren he had and that his son was a fireman. Hooray!
Get multilingual me!
I am thinking of deconstruction and construction lately, having seen an art exhibition called contraction and expansion (or similar). It was very good, with a Renault squashed into a cube, and other things squished together very tightly, along with expanded polysomething that looked like large beetles crawling along the floor. There was also a giant thumb, which I rather liked, as it was about the same height as me. It is very funny looking into a thumb nail that big. It was golden too.
Some of the art I have seen has been brilliant, some of the funky, weird stuff has made me laugh, some has made me happy because of the jolly colours. Some of it is awful though. I have decided I really hate modern art where the colours have run on the canvas and they are left there. It reminds me of when I was in infant school, painting with one of those long wooden handled brushes at an easel, and the colours cried tears down the paper. I was always cross about this. I think that's why I'm cross when I see 'proper' art doing the same thing. Grown up painters should know to either have less runny paint, or paint on a horizontal canvas. It can't be that hard to do.
Another strange thing I saw was a wedding dress with an embroidered and sequinned uterus and foetus on it. I think it was for a man to wear, as it was next to a matador outfit for a woman who also cooks casseroles (presumably beef). It's a bit much to expect the women to a) kill the bulls and b) cook them afterwards. Let the woman be the matador, but have a man holding the saucepan please. One job each is better equality surely?
Matadors are confusing in France, makes me start to wonder where I am.
Today, I realised that living out of a suitcase for seven months has left me feeling somewhat 'deconstructed'. My clothes are tatty now, and I have just thrown away a pair of shoes as the soles had split. I must have walked hundreds of miles in them. I do have some smart work clothes, but in Bristol, I have better shoes, but in London, I have wonderful family and friends, in the UK (and around the world).
So here I am, deconstructed me.
On the good side, my French is improving from virtually nothing to being able to sort of converse with a real French person for FORTY MINUTES. I went for a charity ride in a 4x4 up a mountain with one of the mountain rescue volunteers. It was just me and him in the vehicle, and he spoke no English. I managed to make small talk in appalling French the whole time. I think at one point I accidentally told him I loved him (rather than a cathedral I had seen the day before), but fortunately realised my mistake and was able to apologise. He was very polite and we were good chums by the time we got out. I even knew how many grandchildren he had and that his son was a fireman. Hooray!
Get multilingual me!
I am thinking of deconstruction and construction lately, having seen an art exhibition called contraction and expansion (or similar). It was very good, with a Renault squashed into a cube, and other things squished together very tightly, along with expanded polysomething that looked like large beetles crawling along the floor. There was also a giant thumb, which I rather liked, as it was about the same height as me. It is very funny looking into a thumb nail that big. It was golden too.
Some of the art I have seen has been brilliant, some of the funky, weird stuff has made me laugh, some has made me happy because of the jolly colours. Some of it is awful though. I have decided I really hate modern art where the colours have run on the canvas and they are left there. It reminds me of when I was in infant school, painting with one of those long wooden handled brushes at an easel, and the colours cried tears down the paper. I was always cross about this. I think that's why I'm cross when I see 'proper' art doing the same thing. Grown up painters should know to either have less runny paint, or paint on a horizontal canvas. It can't be that hard to do.
Another strange thing I saw was a wedding dress with an embroidered and sequinned uterus and foetus on it. I think it was for a man to wear, as it was next to a matador outfit for a woman who also cooks casseroles (presumably beef). It's a bit much to expect the women to a) kill the bulls and b) cook them afterwards. Let the woman be the matador, but have a man holding the saucepan please. One job each is better equality surely?
Matadors are confusing in France, makes me start to wonder where I am.
The 4x4
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