Getting on

The year's getting on, we're already twenty days into it. I'm finding myself a lot more at ease than last term, maybe because my social life hasn't quite exploded into three or more nights out a week this year.

I actually enjoy my course now though, and I really enjoy French as a language. I find André Gide most engaging, which is fortunate because I'll probably have to write an essay on his work at some point. Now for Duras, Beckett, Éluard and Genet. I need to go back across het Canaal. Thinking of Paris at Easter if I can afford it. Spanish, meh. I want to go to Madrid next year though.

I've only done two track sessions so far this year, one indoors and the other outdoors, and the latter was so poor I could well have been walking. Backwards. I can't say I'm overly concerned about it, though. I'll get better in time for BUCS. Sixteen days to go, until R3 goes north, dudes. Race in Reading next Wednesday. Let's rip it up.

J'suis Londonien pour toujours.

Oui, j'écris cette message en français. Je sais pas pourqoui. Je peux peut-être m'exprimer mieux comme ça. Que dis-je? Ouais. Je retourne à Londres demain, où je vis. Je suis Londonien pour toujours, même si mon niveau de français améliore autant que j'oubile l'anglais. Je ne choisirais aucune ville française avant Londres. Je m'excite peut-être trop d'y aller. Qu'est-qu'il y a à part beaucoup de travail et la manque de nourriture? Il y a mes colocataires, ou bien mes frères. Nous nous saoulerons ensemble le mercredi, woooo, la boîte Roxy! Et bien je me réveille le matin suivant avec une migraine. Ça vaut la peine, hein?

S'il reste de la neige chez moi ça m'irritera. Je dois préparer pour le championnat britannique. C'est pas facile avec ce temps. Ça me fait penser qu'il y a une personne qui fait tout qu'il peut pour m'empêcher. Ça ne marchera pas. Je vais courir le mieux possible.

Twenty-ten

Hi! It's twenty-ten, or two thousand and ten. Or two thousand ten, if you don't like limes. I think I shall pronounce it twenty-ten. Fiona Bruce does, I noticed.

I had a good Christmas. I hope you did too. I stayed at the folks' house in old KL, saw old friends, and generally just chilled out. London's calling though, as Joe Strummer once sang. The fam are missing me. I'm itching to go back, and the only thing stopping me isn't emotional. Mum won't miss me that much. It's physical. It's the weather.

Now I don't mind the snow for a few days, people at home, go sledding, et cetera. But after the excitement, you realise that it's neither here nor there. It's a nightmare hindered by the council's categorical refusal to grit pavements because someone might slip because there's no fucking ice there. I was planning on running today and now I can't go quicker than eight minute miling without breaking an arm. The track's shut. It's cold. The trains probably won't be running. The Spurs game is off. I'll probably get snowballs thrown at me when I do finally get back to London. At least the cricket's a nice restbite.

Now I've jinxed it. We'll probably lose the last test. Sheer brilliance by Paul Collingwood, Ian Bell and Graham Onions keeping the series from South Africa. Now let's not make ourselves rely on poor Graham's batting ability. I hope he takes all twenty wickets in the next match. Strauss and Cook will each get a century in the first and second innings respectively. Now that's wishful thinking.