dimanche 17 août 2003

My weapons at the wildcat's feet I returned to the canteen today, notwithstanding the state of my insides, to learn if anything mind-blowing has been happening hereabouts, which it hasn't. Somebody was upset because the bike I lent them for the duration has run away. Then literary lion Baudier, also upset -- by ill-treatment at the hands of people who should know far better -- darkly warned me that the computer I've given Marianne may end up being a "barrier 'twixt you and your daughter if she spends all her time on it". I passed this cheering news on to the charming youth, who said: "You can tell Mr Baudier that I don't need encouragement from a computer to abandon you to your fate." "Eh takk!" she added. "Voilà my revenge for KoRn!" (Flash site; load your lugholes with wax -- ouch!!!). Not my day. I blame the wildcat (for a change). Given the choice between sound effects I could offer from the bathroom or what Marianne was yet again listening to next door, I thought the sleek hunter would prefer the latter. So it was. "What are those dulcet tones that waft to my ears?" she enquired down the 'phone. "Wonderful, aren't they?" I said. Such sweet enchantment. But I got caught in a cunning trap yesterday and am no longer allowed to say or write anything objectionable about the joy for the ears of KoRn. I promised. The wildcat changes the subject when I tell her that she's the "sexiest beanpole on the planet" and not Keira Knightley, whatever the critics might say. She steals my breath away with descriptions of what she's wearing, even down to the length of the slit in the skirt, and leaves plenty of scope to imagine the remainder ... and then won't allow me to reciprocate. Where the wildcat is, it is hot. Dare I say sultry? But when I suggest spraying her like the more ordinary cat or providing the massage she's dying for with the most exquisite attention, she starts talking about things like Serbian food! Knowing full well what that total irrelevance does to my insides. Today, life is hard! But ... she defended my daughter, rightly pointing out that Marianne is nice when she says nothing about my musical tastes. And she wants a flower. I choose the polianthes, just what she needs today. . "Could you send a sword?" she asked. "Have I become a blog-heroine?" Evidently she's a blog-heroine. Did it need saying? She's the blog-heroine here, avec sa beauté sans pareille! Take your pick, sweet heart. Perhaps a well-balanced rapier, to match the fine sweep of your claws just before the weeks I missed you so much (even if I deserved it)? They say the one in the middle is deadly in the right hands. Could it be 'Freedom's Sword' you need, this one the work of Scottish artist Andrew Hillhouse for MacBraveHeart? Just let it loose... The 'Sword of the Spirit', with a flame to match that heart of yours, was painted by an American, Jeff Haynie, but intended only for games and for a religious symbolism. This one I found in the hands of a generous physics professor, Julien Sprott. The sword by René Hard-to-Read may not interest you, but your foes would be dead already should you choose to do battle clad like the manga lady wielding it. I know I would... Despite the hot Mediterranean blood that must run in your veins, I can't see you wielding the sword that conquered we Brits (Roman Britain). Your methods are more far subtle, if equally effective... But for close-range operations, I could easily envisage you pulling a Spanish dagger (by Rainmaker) from its fortunate sheath running up the length of your slender thigh... "Oh Papa!!" Yes, she's right. Time to return to earth, even if the lass was protesting about something completely different. The polianthes, held at the Botanary in Dave's Garden to mean "grey flower", is a singular plant. More commonly known as the tuberose, it is a magical plant, whose nectar is held by some to have special powers. Seeking its likeness, I learned that the Aztecs used its oil to flavour chocolate. It can be found in the same zones as the yucca cactus, sometimes called the 'Spanish dagger'. Its essence is today used in perfumes and I have seen pictures of Hawaiian lovelies wearing a tuberose lei at weddings. Such a necklace would also look well on the wildcat's brown shoulders, never mind the occasion! But it's secret significance, as ever, is something else again. What say you, wildcat? Fancy a prowl on some long white beach on Pacific shores? Then you'd be ready to fight your way to liberty... 8:06:28 PM  link   your views? [] Sad tidings ... and some artistic relief A black cross and a black-bordered notice concerning the church mass and funeral arrangements went up during the week on the communal board in the entrance hall of our building. I've since seen similar sad little announcements of loss in other old apartment blocks nearby. The man who succumbed to his ailments here in the overwhelming heat was in his 80s, a frail fixture of the building, often to be seen and swap a few words with as he leaned against the main street door, keeping up with the doings of the district as best he could. When Marianne's mother, looking better but still shaky on her pins after the heatstroke, brought the youngster round the night before an elderly spinster neighbour told us of the death of her brother, she said: "When the figures come out, it'll be a hecatomb!" This, I thought, was an exaggeration, until I saw a blog link to Thursday's CNN story on France's "heat emergency". The estimated 3,000 deaths referred to there are very many more than everybody was speculating on at the start of last week. "But the head of the doctors' emergency association, Patrick Pelloux, criticized the estimate as low. He said emergency physicians estimated that between 1,000 and 2,000 people had died in the Paris region alone. "Saint-Antoine Hopital in Paris, which has no air conditioning, was packed with patients -- many of them elderly, and many of them in beds pushed into hallways. "The head of funeral services for Paris said the city's morgues were full. The French television network TF1 aired video of air-conditioned tents that had been erected to hold the bodies of the dead." Normally, I've disliked them far too much since the first Gulf War to go to CNN for any of my news, but I'll readily acknowledge that the above story and this one -- from AP, in fact -- about 'Modesty melts in steamy Paris' are right on the mark. As my 3¾ regular readers (yes, it's gone up!) will know, I don't have a telly and don't want one, especially now that the reality show offered by the neighbours has been far more fun. Enough to make you regret that the temperature has dropped to a measly 25°C (77°F) in the shade. My only quibble is that they overdo the bit about bad tempers, certainly in this part of town. Though I suspect that Apple France must have been extremely hot under the collar about my rant of the 9th. They've got until Tuesday morning to come up with a satisfactory reply. Should they not, I will simply, as promised but with due warning, publish the icy but totally uninformative response I've already had, with their views on my style. Obviously they operate on that only rarely true premise that if you ignore a problem long enough, it will simply go away. zzz My Condition has delivered the direst of reminders that it is still very much present. I loved 'Pirates' and enjoyed writing it up, but three films in as many days and yesterday's trip well across the Seine (the furthest I've been since the shits started too long ago) have taken their own toll. This morning saw nasty nausea back with a vengeance, after the long, troubled sleep of the drained, and there was still plenty left for the first couple of hours of the day, making me spend much of them in the loo. But bloghero Yang is back tomorrow. I'll let the doctor endure his miserable Monday among the masses bound to pack out the surgery, then inform him that he must be delightfully refreshed, buzzing with renewed energy, and just dying to kick a few specialist asses hard to get, at last, a Diagnosis! Natalie's written me a lovely long letter, and won't mind me lifting the bit where she says that "I understand that Chinese medicine, diagnosed and administered by a properly qualified practitioner, can work very well if you can put up with the foul tasting stuff they give you. But I have no personal experience of it." This particular bloghero, Natalie, is half-Chinese, half-French (in a way which makes his female patients swoon) and thus eminently well-placed to consider such options alongside the western ones. zzz Meanwhile, without further ado, since Natalie's lifted the "strictures" that stood between me and Augustine, here she is with Saddam: I've already given the reference to read on and see Augustine's more recent doings. But should you have forgotten, just click the cartoon. 1:39:00 PM  link   your views? []

nick b. 2007 do share, don't steal, please credit under artistic licence terms; contributing friends (pix, other work) retain their rights.