Some more navel gazing (long, self-centered, etc.)

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Gregoire Kretz

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Jan 28, 2001, 8:14:54 PM1/28/01
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Parte The First
---------------


The ukglb edit:

(please note: names of people and places have been changed to protect
the innocent. In fact I spent three days in Abudhabi with a Swedish
guide called Hao-T'ei)


11.01.01 Toronto - Vancouver

Playing with temperatures: left Le Havre by 10C, same in
Vancouver, passing in Toronto with -5C. Airport is overheated anyway, so
doesn't matter, walking around in a simple shirt. No time for a decent
gin & tonic, so will have to be on the plane. That first trip was really
crowded and seemed longer than usual (which it was anyway). Quite
jet-lagged, 10pm home and 4pm local, left home at 5am. Yes, I need a
g&t. Hell, I deserve it!

A reflection, on going to Paris: ukglbers usually compete about
who's had the worst train journey. Well nothing to report here: train
was on time, people were quiet, even announcements cared to be not too
loud too early in the day - but, as usual with the French, we try to
make up for one success with an impeccable failure somewhere else. In
this precise case finding your way from the RER station to the airport
terminal itself: constructions, repairs, and an improbable shuttle
system.

So, up above the clouds it's a lovely weather. For a while the
sun reflecting on them had a mesmerizing glimmer, like a hermin lazing
around in a sunbeam, or even a frozen sea - which in fact it turned out
to be: the clouds had cleared somewhat and apparently there are some not
entirely minimalistic lakes to the east of Toronto. After the eight
hours of the first flight, this one seems relatively benign with its
mere 5hr length. It is also much helped in the comfort domain by being
half-empty - plus a forthcoming second drink.

Sportsnews is on. Hockey, players doing what they're best at:
impressing each other into believing they've got the biggest. Of course
they don't do it litterally (which could be fun) but bark and motion
gorilla-like which is just the same, really, but they're almost
convincing when they hit each other. Yep, this is Canada.

One thing I've always wondered about airlines is whether the
inflight movie is supposed to detract you from actually judging the
food, or vice-versa. The questions remains unanswered although, to be
honest, it was a good idea to show The Birds, and uncensored with it.


14h35 (PST)
Amazing. We must be approaching the far end of the Rockies. The
ground is irrevocably and hopelessly flat under the snow for miles, and
from time to time you get to see a long, sinuous ridge or some very low
hills. A few hedges or fences or whatever outline geometrical fields,
all in very staright lines. A very fine contrast between those lines,
man-made etc., and a very definite example of tectonics at work. Well, I
suppose the prairie provinces had to have something for them,
eventually. Wonder if that has anything to do with the dinosaurs and
fossils you still find in Alberta (in all acceptions of 'fossil' of
course).

Amazing, too, how much Cognac improves my accent. Pissed and
high, could it get any better? A very found memory of mine is
discovering summer Tuscany at dawn, from a window in the train's
restaurant. Magic. Canada from the air over brandy ain't half bad
either.


14.01.01 9h00
Olympia, coffee Chez Trishette

When I prepared for this trip I kept reminding myself this would
be my first time in the west and that all Americans wouldn't be like
these. It may be true, but this would then be a pity: of all the people
I've met so far none has been disapointing. They were all very sweet at
first, then revealed their depth and intelligence with disarming
franchise.

It all started in Seattle, really. Trish had been nice enough to
fetch me in Vancouver. I did my best to give her a camp, grand arrival
scene but am afraid I wasn't flaming enough. Ah. We'll blame it on
jetlag and travel fatigue. Did my best to look suspicious at the customs
but the agent wouldn't strip-search me. Trish's comment: "But he's a
redneck!". Well once in a while it's fun to give in to carnal pleasure
without the help of a brain.

Wound up in Seattle by 8pm and stayed at a charming little
hotel, new-ageish in a sort of post-grunge way. The city responsible for
bringing us the likes of Burt Cocain has switched with eloquent easyness
to yuppy, think dotcom millionaires with a Frasier syndrome. Nice.

I must have been very, very tired because the Kamasutra and two
condoms on the night stand remained untouched. Breakfast at a Russian
piroshki place at the open market, untroubled if by the incidental Texan
asking in an assertive way "What kind of food is this? Where 're you all
from?". I wish the white, blond staff had answered 'Zimbabwe', just to
see his reaction.

The open market itself is rather nice and tempting, overlooking
the seashore and beckoning with myriads of fruits and vegetables and
flowers and scents. And cast-iron pigs, for some reason. It must be a
logical reason because a bit further they litterally throw a big fish at
you. The reason remains unclear. Some very decent shopping followed.

Now, we all know the US is supposedly a place where personal
freedom is both protected and claimed almost obsessively - to the point
that being seen in public with a rump the size of two watermelons is a
political statement. It does have merit, though, when you see a lesbian
hugging her girlfriend in the street and nobody bats an eyelid
whatsoever (three couples in the same day). Still, it is downright
outrageous when you are allowed to disregard all of nature's laws which
expressly state that quality wine cannot be produced outside France -
and end up making very fine wine indeed. I had no idea there were
vineyards so high up north.

Trisha and Catherine's house is small but neat and packed with
what is to be known as traditional late 20th century lesbian resources:
books and herbal tea. There's even a queer- and francophobe cat called
Tess hiding in some closet somewhere (litterally).


Went to see Rent at the Paramount on our second night in
Seattle. Accompanying us were other people, almost family to Catherine,
and their daughter and son. Nice people. And the show was very good
indeed, in spite of some criminal directing of the soap opera variety.
Outstanding voices, ready to belt out at any opportunity, to the obvious
enjoyment of the audience - hint: if the European appreciative clapping
is a cat purring, this is an elephant charging. Too bad such enthusiasm
doesn't reflect on elections. I'm still puzzled at the the number of
times the singers/dancers have to bang their hands on a table, or climb
onto it frenetically, or jump down from a ladder with even more frenzy.
I'm sure there must be a reason. One of the most dramatic moments was
ruined, though: the heroin, Mimi (my, this and a song called La Vie
Bohême, would the writer have some classical training?), dies and her
boyfriend screams her name in agony. Should have clutched my throat but
mostly evoked the Muppet Show's Beaker attempting to sing Feelings to an
unwilling audience: "Meee-meeeee"... Had to suppress a chuckle.

Had a gentle stroll downtown with Trish yesterday. Although a
state capital Olympia is a nice provincial town, if a little dull. No
wonder they drink so much coffee - it is everywhere, in specialty shops
and drive-through booths. The fun part is a boat rocking workers
collective and union thingy, very socialist in the world of free
enterprise.

Then dinner at Ariel and Sequoia's. Lovely people, very bright
and living in a great house. In true western fashion we discussed
politics, travel, arts and personal neuroses. Crashed in bed at 1, not
giving a damn about jetlag.


17h00

Watching QAF, US version. Boring. Like giving Death in Venice
the MTV treatment. The actor playing "Brian" looks like Simon LeBon with
lousy silicon lip job on a bad hair day. The love scene between him and
"Justin" is very graphic, though, but only inspires me the question
whether that hairdo would look good on me.


17.01.01 12h30
Vancouver Airport

Sunday was alright. Some shopping at the mall, true to US
fashion, and finally dinner at Thekla, _the_ (as in 'only', not
'fashionable') disco in town. Burgers next to the karaoke. Here again,
it seems Americans weren't taught about half-measures: either they were
reaching new heights of terror or they were putting a show, grand and
with booming voices. Trish was there, along with Roger, a coworker.
Thekla's building once was a bank, hence an interesting, round
shape. After 2 hours of karaoke we retreated upstairs for relative calm
and some quiet drinks. Karaoke thankfully gave way to music at one point
and I hit the floor as soon as I recognized they were playing New Order.
Good 80s music it was, which kept me happy. And they played some PSB,
which _never_ happens in any disco I go to. Score one for the States.


Monday was ML King day, so all things public had a day off.
Shops were open, of course. Breakfast at Ruby's, which means servings
large enough to feed three ocelots, then on to Robert's and Bill's
house. Their garden is wonderful, even in the winter, with decorative
cabbages bringing colours. Ever the stealing gardener I noted a few
things to re-use later: arborescent heathers, 1m high, and palm trees
which survive even in this climate, and holly, the red fruits oddly
uneaten by birds. Tow possible reasons: American birds find better food
elsewhere -or- American holly tastes even worse than surimi.

Oh, and they had a large cage at the back of the garden with a
lynx and a wildcat, of course - I mean, who wouldn't? Big, furry, stocky
cats that piss on you through the fence when they like you, then let
themselves be petted thoroughly. Bobo apparently liked the smell of my
new shoes and kept nibbling at them ecstatically. Why not. Doing this he
also reminded the fondler his teeth were long and sharp enough to scare
a Jehovah's witness away.

In the afternoon I went for a hikette at Watershed Park (or
something like it, I was concentrating too much on looking like a
character from Twin Peaks to remember acurately). Nice, almost wild, but
with a maintained walkway. Must have met 10 people at most on the 3km
loop. In a desperate attempt to boost their self esteem the locals are
trying to reintroduce salmons into the small stream. Good luck!

The vegetation was what appears to be typical of the temperate
rainforest: mostly fir trees and some others, unidentifiable without the
leaves, ferns everywhere (even on branches, single leafs, so unlike
Normandy). And moss. Moss everywhere, on wood and stone, dangling down,
unkempt like grunge hair and soaking wet with mist. Coupled to the chill
in the air and the humidity it leaves a very creepy feeling. The trees
look dead yet you're not so sure, something is alive and it is all over
you, all around you, and very possibly watching you. Suddenly you notice
the odd-shaped scratches on a trunk and you're not so sure you want to
know what caused them, or what left those traces in the mud - it's a
small wonder the X Files were shot not too far away.

Had Trisha's adoringly homecooked chicken for dinner, amazingly
survived the quantities of peppers in it then went out for drinks with
Roger. Wound up at Eastside, loaded with hippies, biker-wannabes and
students. Lovely atmosphere (very unthreatening in spite of some
attitudes) although I wouldn't recommend wearing a Versace there. ZZTop
wardrobe would be more like it. Then on to some other bar in the
suburbs, almost empty. Quite redneck, almost like a small version of
_that_ bar in the Blues Brothers, but with a queer bartender, which
apparently is a tradition there. Very nice man, gave us free cocktails
for me to try and then the recipe. Lovely, really.


20h10 - From the air


Left for Seattle the next morning. Unfortunately not much to see
on the way because of the fog. Lunch at the new Asian supermarket, sushi
for me, needless to say. The girls (if I can survive calling them this)
left by 2 to terrorize the people at Ikea and I went for a walk, touring
the bookshops (unfortunately Laurie Anderson seems out of print,
although a book on her was published recently) and ending up at the
Museum of Art. A few quick notes: Bill Gates and the Mrs had the decency
to donate a million dollars for its refurbishment. John Singer Sargent
is very interesting, perhaps even more in his sketches and quick water
colours than in his formal paintings. Ind^H^H^Hnative art becomes boring
and hopelessly PC after a while. Shakers were really good, pre-bauhaus
crafstmen (albeit total nuts - a British habit of evacuating the
crackpots to the States?). Scattered rose petals can be funny, but you
should really know what you intend to do with them. And charging 10$ for
an admission ticket won't improve the state of culture in this country.

One last visit to that horrid thing on King Street they insist
on calling a station (and what is that other station, finely renovated,
on the other side of the street for, then? Why couldn't I leave from
*there*? Sheesh...) and I was on my way to BC.

Almost forgot to mention the seals at the pier, peeking at you
with eyes more human than I've seen on car dealers, raising their head
above the water mundanely as if to ask the direction to the Ritz, then
plunging back.

Three hours of bus later (yes, even on Amtrak. Logical, isn't
it?), interrupted only by the customs in their very macho uniform with
guns (hey, you never know, Canadians might decide to invade and you
better be ready to defend the Home Of The Brave) I was in Vancouver,
quite bored and tired. Chris resolutely failed to show up or answer his
phone so I had plenty of time to admire the gorgeous and clean station
(eat your heart out Seattle! :o) ) and wonder which of the local thugs
would mug me first. Except this was Canada so they politely asked if I
had a quarter instead, adding they were very sorry to bother me.

Checked into a nearby motel at last, smiling at the prospect of
a fine night in a big bed in a well-heated room and dutifully watching
Radio Canada's late news. Which is of course when the power ran out for
the whole district. So what do you do when the heating is electric,
there is no TV and they won't refund you? Yes, wind up in bed with your
clothes on, wrapped in three layers of sheet, blanket and bedspread, and
cursing yourself for not buying that bottle of rhum at the duty-free.
Fortunately the power came back an hour later, just as I was wondering
what colour my face would turn after that lovely shade of blue.

There is something to be said about power failures in the
Western world. You can see the city dark for kms around you, some
buildings in the distance taunting you with their bright lights.
Somewhere, on the street, you can make a few people briefly in the cars'
headlights, wondering what to do. And it starts everybody's car or house
alarm. Argh.

A quick breakfast at Starbucks' and there I was, leaving.


(To be continued, eventually)
--
"Quand la vie vous fait flyer
Quand vous avez l'goût d'partir
Partir pour ne jamais revenir..."

John Rayment

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Jan 29, 2001, 2:22:15 AM1/29/01
to

Gregoire Kretz wrote:

> Parte The First
> ---------------
>

Delightful, Greg. Thank you.

BaldJohn

Gregoire Kretz

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Jan 30, 2001, 6:19:55 PM1/30/01
to
John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:

Thanks dear. I must admit I started writing it thinking of the group
then thought it could be more than that - hey, I'm not getting any
younger, and the memory, it's going, going... :)


Greg

John Rayment

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Jan 31, 2001, 1:54:17 AM1/31/01
to

Gregoire Kretz wrote:

> John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:
>
> > Gregoire Kretz wrote:
> >
> > > Parte The First
> > > ---------------
> > >
> >
> > Delightful, Greg. Thank you.
>
> Thanks dear. I must admit I started writing it thinking of the group
> then thought it could be more than that - hey, I'm not getting any
> younger, and the memory, it's going, going... :)

...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...

BaldJohn

Paul

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Jan 31, 2001, 3:45:56 AM1/31/01
to
In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
<jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:

>...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
>become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
>business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...

Sucking it to death?

--
Paul

Please don't respond to the 'Rev' fuckwit; just report him for abuse of the ng
charter, and killfile him. That way, he can talk to himself *and* play with
himself. It should keep him quietly amused for hours.

John Rayment

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Jan 31, 2001, 4:46:14 AM1/31/01
to

Paul wrote:

> In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
> <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:
>
> >...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
> >become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
> >business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...
>
> Sucking it to death?

Well, sucking it to some kind of conclusion, I'm sure...

BaldJohn

Richard G

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Jan 31, 2001, 1:05:31 PM1/31/01
to
On Wed, 31 Jan 2001 06:54:17 GMT, "John Rayment"
<jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:

> ...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
> become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the
> serious business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...

Even Gregoire himself,
Once he was asleep,
Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;
Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.
But EmmaButch loved him.

--
Richard G
http://www.geocities.com/richardg_uk/index.html
http://www.smallfilms.co.uk/bagpuss/bagend.ra

John Rayment

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Jan 31, 2001, 1:13:13 PM1/31/01
to

Richard G wrote:

> On Wed, 31 Jan 2001 06:54:17 GMT, "John Rayment"
> <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:
>
> > ...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
> > become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the
> > serious business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...
>
> Even Gregoire himself,
> Once he was asleep,
> Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;
> Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.
> But EmmaButch loved him.

LOL
Er... Greg, how's your knowledge of British children's TV?

BaldJohn

Gregoire Kretz

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Jan 31, 2001, 5:18:44 PM1/31/01
to
John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:

> Richard G wrote:

> > Even Gregoire himself,
> > Once he was asleep,
> > Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;
> > Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.
> > But EmmaButch loved him.
>
> LOL
> Er... Greg, how's your knowledge of British children's TV?

Well I quite like Question Time...

Gregoire Kretz

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Jan 31, 2001, 5:18:52 PM1/31/01
to
Here, dear, have another slice:

Parte the second,
----------------

where things, well, keep being things but do it very well when you think
of it.

20.01 17h15
Ottawa, Sebastien and Marie-Noëlle's house.

Nathalie was there in Montréal to pick me up from the airport,
very sweetly. Managed to see the Rolls Royce factory on the highway. She
still lives in the same flat, with the same parrot with whom I seem to
have reached some interesting level of communication (whistlings, allos
and woofs notwithstanding).

Stayed quite long in bed for a change, then went downtown to
shop. Nothing interesting to be bought and a credit card less and less
compliant, but it was fun to enjoy the crisp cold again, kind of a shock
therapy which never fails to revive me. The memory of those 5 Montrealer
bums seen in Vancouver fades away quietly.

Met Martin again afterward. I'd been so scared for him when I
heard about those bombs falling onto Ramallah, where he'd been sent by
Oxfam, that I pictured falling into his arms and maybe cry a little. Of
course we stayed with judeochristian reserve and just went "Hey, how are
you?". He still looks good, in spite of a little weight put on. Ah,
Eastern charms at work I suppose. Can't believe he's turning 40 next
year. He's looking for a job now, which brings us both to the same
level.

We had a very local diner of poutine and smoked meat, then on to
see a play at La Licorne with some former schoolmates of his playing. Le
rire de la mer was very funny, in spite of its theme: Penelope is about
to die and wants to travel one last time. 5 good comedians in all,
creating whole new worlds with very few props. Why the woman would
choose to go to Britain and France before she dies is beyond my
understanding but she does and the French don't come intact out of it.
And then she goes to (antiquity) Greece, of course.

Later on we went for drinks but wound up [12 lines withdrawn at
the request of an MP, a clergyman, and two artists and their ocelot].
Lovely. I left by 3 am, cursing myself and fearing the result on my back
(spine still hurting). Of course waking up at 8.30 was a deplorable
event but I managed to drag myself to Réno-Dépôt for that interview.

I. D. was cold in an efficient way but told me interesting
things: all they offer at the moment is a part-time, underpaid,
unassured thing in the suburbs, and the HQs are so small they don't
really have many places I could fit. Ouch. We ended on a polite note and
I headed straight away for the nearest shop selling Oreos. Comfort food,
so comfort to start with.

My back was so painful I stayed in bed most of the day and only
got up to have dinner with Nathalie. She very sweetly drove me to the
station - funny, I don't resent her vengeful driving as much as Trisha's
careful own. And she must have telepathic powers to see the road through
all that salt clogged on the windshield.

Two hours of backbone horror bus later I was in Ottawa, trying
to explain a Pakistanese taxi driver where the hell the rue du muguet
is. S & MN comforted me with a big, nice, well-heated house and a beer.
Oddly enough they look even younger now that Romain is born. Why not.
This is the kind of house I like, really: modern, three floors of hard
wood and white walls - very comfortable indeed. They're leaving next
summer for two years in Sénégal so I'm tempted to ask they recommend me
as tennant. I'm sure commuting to Gonfreville with Air Canada every day
could be fun.

The whole Jobert-Saint Pierre family went ice-skating on the
Rideau river today. My nature being prone to gravity and my temper to
resolute abuse when confronted with ice not of the cocktail variety, I
wisely stayed in the Rideau Center to do some further shopping. I'd
arranged to meet Brice, a Frenchman exiled in Ottawa and a regular fsh
poster. He was very nice and we did our best to bother shop people
together. Then we went to visit the Parliament, which was very
interesting when you forget its Disneyland neogothic style - but what
country hosts its two houses in the same building, really? The
incidental recollection from constitutional law was enough to silence
the locals on one question of our guide. But maybe I shouldn't have
raised my shoulders in a "it's-so-obvious" way. Oh well. A country which
is capable of creating Alberta deserves no pity.

And now back home, warming up over blueberry tea. Catherine P-H
is here with her boyfie Nicolas. They should be back from a racketting
session in the woods soon, unless they froze to death of course.
Temperature's been a warm -18C all day, with glorious sunshine blessing
the visiting poofter.

Tonight the whole MRI-mafia here meets in a Tunisian restaurant
- all because of _me_, he he he... Should be fun to meet the old guard
again. On with the show!

Oh, and I finally found _that_ teapot from Bodum. It comes in a
big box with a warmer thingy beneath and I'm sure carrying all this back
home will be lots of fun.

23.01 21h00
Montréal-Paris, from the air for the last time.

It is the end of it, but we'll pretend the middle can be in the
end and vice-versa. And sometimes it actually is.

So dinner at Le petit Tunis was fun and good. The whole mafia
was indeed there: Sébastien and Marie-Noëlle, Nathalie, Catherine V and
Antoine, Maryse and Martin, Catherine B, Ingrid - and me. Saddly no
Martin P or Manon, but Dominic was there at least, in spite of a hairdo
like a hen's bottom. Oh well, managed to look sexy anyway, as usual.
Very pleasant and unexpensive food, and a warm and comfy atmosphere to
go with it. Everybody talked about their job but managed in a very sweet
quebecois way not to make it oppressive for me. I was too blitzed on
painkillers and wine to care anyway. Oddly enough Martin R remembered me
as someone bright and funny. I have no idea why.

Afterward we all crashed at the JSP Hostel for some local beer
(so addictive. Learned that the original, round shaped bottles were
called 'tits' before America stroke and imposed the penis shaped ones).
I disgusted the assembly by being resolutely American. Yes, I did ask
for some marshmallows to caramelize on the fire. MN joined in, very
lascively - this woman must look devastating by a fireside, in an
evening dress, with those Nicole 'EyesWideShut' Kidman eyes... Of course
S himself in an evening dress wouldn't look bad at all either (Note to
self: make wardrobe suggestions to both of them). Some slight drama from
Romain aside (he's young, blond, cute and with French origins so he can
get away with it) it was a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

Dom once more revealed to be deeply human, unexpectedly, when he
held me back in his car for a while to make sure I wasn't depressed at
my own comparative lack of status. Sweet man, really. Well I _was_
depressed on Sunday but then again I legally am to be on that day, so
what else is new?

Drove back to Mtl with Nathalie, back aching a little more than
planned (did anyone say lack of sleep and hangover?). She was
unexpectedly sweet, too, when she asked if I was over the previous
Friday's blues. I think she was still amazed at my eating a whole box of
Oreos.

Bus, then Québec. Gilles' flat is a big, old hardwood thing with
_very good_ central heating, let by Luc Plamondon's grand-aunt (no
less). Happy dinner at Le bonnet d'âne, fine and cheap, with Gaëtane and
Vincent. They both look healthy and happy, new owners of a small house
on the outskirts and working miles away from their original training.
But who needs ethnologists anyway?

Later on a few beers at Le drague, now a big, self-contained
complex with a new diso dug into the cellar like an arena. Great look,
with an excellent DJ. Left by midnight, before the drag queens assaulted
the floorshow and went for a walk down memory lane through the snowy
streets. By -25C but that's alright.

Well the Ballon rouge is no more, closed, and the sauna 925 has
been replaced by a huge, Stalinian hotel. In front of the parliament
they were building their usual ice monstrosity for the carnival, while
huge blocks of compact snow waited in the park to be used for the
sculpture contest. Grande Allée is now host to a McDonald. Things
changing on Cartier, too. My old flat on de Bernières still looks the
same, and so does the one on Fraser. But what does it matter, I found
myself wondering. A quiet, single tear (we'll blame it on the cold,
won't we?) signalled bedtime for me and I did go home, mentally kissing
all this goodbye. Since that's what it is.

I still like the country, the province and the city, but more as
an estranged lover now. I've come to choose not wanting to live there at
any price. We'll see what the future brings. So there, a few lines for a
big turn.

Monday: lunch with Marie-France at Krieghof. She's lovely as
ever and succesful on all fronts: good job, good boyfie, good children.
Good for her, if someone really deserves it she's the one.

Some more shopping with G at Place Fleur de Lys, just to make
sure I was decently indebted: _La_ Dufresne's latest and earliest, plus
the naffest phone ever. Return to Krieghof for hot chocolate with dear
Mr Malone, now head of the politics or something dept., i.e. all the
crap the other depts won't bother doing. He's looking good, not much
older and somewhat slimmer - is it me or do people improve when I'm not
there? Nice meeting him again. We'll stay in touch and probably meet in
London next July.

Later on dinner at G's, with him as meistercook, me, Eric
(flatmate and former bf) and Claude (current bf). G is an excellent
host, offering a high-quality and comfortable flat with excellent
cooking to the transient guest. Just to make sure he's not perfect he's
very capable of being a pissy and neurotic queen. Charming, really.

Tuesday (today or yesterday, whatever) found me at the Krieghof
for the third time - this time for breakfast with Jos, back the previous
day after five weeks in France/Spain. Looking good, too. Single (is this
connected?) again, and fed up with making fake teeth. The future is
about a possible stay at a Californian lab for a (short) while, then
opening a big restaurant and bar and dance hall all centered on
flamenco. Hope he makes it. He's very friendly and human as usual and
seemed pleased to see me again. Another one of those long-distance, real
friends then.

Lunch at the Museum with Joanne - still looking etc... She may
be leaving this year for two years as a secretary at the UN in NY, and
seems very pleased at her (very recent) grandson. [some heavy bitching
snipped here] I hope all goes for the best for this family. Met Denise
and Lisette briefly, both seeming pleased to see me. Could I be a nice
guy after all?

Visited quickly Robert Lepage's exhibition there on métissage
(mixing). Astounding, as always, even though he apparently was quick to
claim public credit for pieces that were developped by others (and no
music by LA). A Babel tower you climb into, a stage for middle-age
disections, trees made of wire and film, a wall with words projected
onto it (with light sticks as used in LA's Nerve Bible show) and
others...

Concluded by a quick pace to the station, two more buses, a
final look at the Olympic stadium (which is what started it all,
really), to end up in an airport, the voices of Nathalie then Martin
sounding odd from the other end of the telephone line. Goodbyes are so
omenous, sometimes...

And here am I, with Keanu Plasticine Reeves looking at me from
six screens at the same time. I'd pray for some power failure but some
weird intuition tells me it wouldn't be a good idea on a plane.

Oh well, I've come to the end of my journey and this diary. If
it were some cheesy novel I'd decide fate wanted that last page to
remain unwritten as it is and so on, but since it's my life I'll
probably end up using it to scribble something useless and/or silly.

Now wondering where [snip] is now, and if he's read Making
History.

THE BEGINNING

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Jan 31, 2001, 5:19:00 PM1/31/01
to
Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote:

> In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
> <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:
>
> >...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
> >become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
> >business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...

Eh? Biskit? They drip feed me now, you know...


> Sucking it to death?

I'm not usually this efficient, unless you mean the Small Death?

John Rayment

unread,
Feb 1, 2001, 1:55:25 AM2/1/01
to

Gregoire Kretz wrote:

> Here, dear, have another slice:
>
> Parte the second,

Thanks for that, too, Greg. A delightful read.

BaldJohn

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 1, 2001, 9:09:29 AM2/1/01
to
Previously, Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote

>In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
><jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:
>
>>...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
>>become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
>>business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...
>
>Sucking it to death?

I don't think I'll eat a digestive again. Someone was talking about
soggy digestive the other day. And they didn't get soggy from being left
out of a tin.
--
Stephen M Baines
http://www.kitschcamppalace.org.uk/ PGP 0xD6E5F0E3 0x6A002A8B

Not exactly happy today, so excuse any biting.
Normal service may be resumed shortly. Hopefully.

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 1, 2001, 9:30:08 AM2/1/01
to
John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:

Any time, dear. The pleasure was on my side, too, obviously.

Now, if any of you feel like reading some more stuff by me the answer is
very simple: subsidize my holidays! :o)

Greg

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 1, 2001, 9:29:37 AM2/1/01
to
Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote:


> Even Gregoire himself,
> Once he was asleep,
> Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;

"Cloth"? Why do you need cloth when you sleep?


> Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.

*Grrrrrrowl*

There may very well be a London meet in exactly two weeks, and me in it
- tell me, were you planning to be there, too?

And I've lost some weight, you know! :)


> But EmmaButch loved him.

That's very kind - maybe we should meet, Emma?

John Rayment

unread,
Feb 1, 2001, 12:13:19 PM2/1/01
to

Gregoire Kretz wrote:

>
>
> Now, if any of you feel like reading some more stuff by me the answer is
> very simple: subsidize my holidays! :o)

Somehow that seems like an expensive way of obtaining reading matter!

BaldJohn

Neil Matthews

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 2:41:57 AM2/2/01
to
On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:09:29 GMT, Stephen M Baines
<{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk>
wrote:

>Previously, Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote
>>In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
>><jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:
>>
>>>...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
>>>become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
>>>business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...
>>
>>Sucking it to death?
>
>I don't think I'll eat a digestive again. Someone was talking about
>soggy digestive the other day. And they didn't get soggy from being left
>out of a tin.

Oh dear! Not the biscuit game! <veg>

--
Neil Matthews in Cambridge
ne...@chaos.org.uk
http://www.chaos.org.uk/~neilm

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 4:23:25 AM2/2/01
to
Previously, Neil Matthews <neil.ma...@nospam.ntlworld.com> wrote

>On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:09:29 GMT, Stephen M Baines
><{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk>
>wrote:
>
>>Previously, Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote
>>>In article <3A77B6AA...@baldy.demon.co.uk>, John Rayment
>>><jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> writes:
>>>
>>>>...and with that, the poor, wizened old creature that M. Kretz had
>>>>become, sagged creakily into his bath-chair, and returned to the serious
>>>>business of gumming his way through a digestive biscuit...
>>>
>>>Sucking it to death?
>>
>>I don't think I'll eat a digestive again. Someone was talking about
>>soggy digestive the other day. And they didn't get soggy from being left
>>out of a tin.
>
>Oh dear! Not the biscuit game! <veg>

Yes... I'd never even heard of it till the other day. Someone using it
as a way to judge their target of affection just somehow...

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 6:55:15 PM2/2/01
to
Neil Matthews <neil.ma...@nospam.ntlworld.com> wrote:

> On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:09:29 GMT, Stephen M Baines
> <{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk>
> wrote:

> >I don't think I'll eat a digestive again. Someone was talking about
> >soggy digestive the other day. And they didn't get soggy from being left
> >out of a tin.
>
> Oh dear! Not the biscuit game! <veg>

Sounds fun. What are the rules?

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 6:55:31 PM2/2/01
to
John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:

Come on, a bit of optimism: if 200 posters give 5ukp each (which is a
very low price to pay for such quality reading, I agree with you
wholeheartedly) I wind up with 1000 which is largely enough to send me
somewhere that can make we write something.

Send donations now to...

Richard G

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 7:06:19 PM2/2/01
to
On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:29:37 GMT, "Gregoire Kretz"
<gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> quoted a la Bagpuss:

>> Even Gregoire himself,
>> Once he was asleep,
>> Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;
> "Cloth"? Why do you need cloth when you sleep?

Such stuff as dreams are made on.

>> Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.
> *Grrrrrrowl*

Wait for the "but"!

> There may very well be a London meet in exactly two weeks, and me in
> it - tell me, were you planning to be there, too?

Commitment, commitment, commitment. You men are all the same.

> And I've lost some weight, you know! :)

Only some? :-P

>> But EmmaButch loved him.
> That's very kind - maybe we should meet, Emma?

Has anyone met Emma IRL? With a surname like hers, and a to-die-for
attitude, she's too good to be true.

The most important, / The most beautiful, / The most magical /
Saggy old cloth cat in the whole wide world

Richard G

unread,
Feb 2, 2001, 8:40:58 PM2/2/01
to
On Fri, 2 Feb 2001 23:55:15 GMT, "Gregoire Kretz"
<gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> wrote:

> Sounds fun. What are the rules?

Soggy biscuit: a team game.

All players race to, ahem, anoint the biscuit. The last gentleman so to
do is obliged to consume the evidence.

Next question:

Has anyone ever actually played it?

Rich T

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 4:02:40 AM2/3/01
to
Previously, Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote

>On Fri, 2 Feb 2001 23:55:15 GMT, "Gregoire Kretz"
><gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> wrote:
>
>> Sounds fun. What are the rules?
>
>Soggy biscuit: a team game.
>
>All players race to, ahem, anoint the biscuit. The last gentleman so to
>do is obliged to consume the evidence.
>
>Next question:
>
>Has anyone ever actually played it?

There is a corridor in a hall of residence at Nottingham University that
played it the other weekend. A friend of ours was in attendance. The
corridor, apparently, is full of rugby players, which may well say it
all.

Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 4:47:52 AM2/3/01
to
On Fri, 2 Feb 2001 23:55:15 GMT, gregoir...@wanadoo.fr (Gregoire
Kretz) wrote:

>Neil Matthews <neil.ma...@nospam.ntlworld.com> wrote:
>
>> On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:09:29 GMT, Stephen M Baines
>> <{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk>
>> wrote:
>
>> >I don't think I'll eat a digestive again. Someone was talking about
>> >soggy digestive the other day. And they didn't get soggy from being left
>> >out of a tin.
>>
>> Oh dear! Not the biscuit game! <veg>
>
>Sounds fun. What are the rules?
>

You all stand round in a circle masturbating over the said biscuit (or
a cream cracker), the aim being to all come over it. The last one to
do so has to pay the forfeit - which is to eat the said biscuit.

Popular in Student Union Bars the country over (mainly from the rugby
club....)
--
\/ Lyn David Thomas
Webpages start at:
http://www.cibwr.freeserve.co.uk

Paul

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 7:32:14 AM2/3/01
to
In article <3a7bcd4e...@news.freeserve.co.uk>, l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk
(Lyn David Thomas) writes:

>You all stand round in a circle masturbating over the said biscuit (or
>a cream cracker), the aim being to all come over it. The last one to
>do so has to pay the forfeit - which is to eat the said biscuit.
>

I thought cumming last was supposed to be a *good* thing, not something
deserving of punishment.

Cream cheese for tea anyone?
--
Paul


Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 8:27:22 AM2/3/01
to

This is a game for heterosexual males...

Matthew Malthouse

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 10:18:05 AM2/3/01
to
In article <1eo89nh.1ha...@caen-9-37.abo.wanadoo.fr>,
gregoir...@wanadoo.fr (Gregoire Kretz) wrote:

} Come on, a bit of optimism: if 200 posters give 5ukp each (which is a
} very low price to pay for such quality reading, I agree with you
} wholeheartedly) I wind up with 1000 which is largely enough to send me
} somewhere that can make we write something.

But 5 ukp spent at an airport bookshop should get something of 40,000 words
or more...

Matthew

--
The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman
- King Lear, act 3, sc. 4.

Paul

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 2:36:22 PM2/3/01
to
In article <3a7c06f...@news.freeserve.co.uk>, l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk
(Lyn David Thomas) writes:

>This is a game for heterosexual males...

Of course, silly me. They would think whoever cums first is the winner. Like
it's a race or something.

--
Paul


OFC

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 5:33:12 PM2/3/01
to

Stephen M Baines
<{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk> wrote in
message ...

|Previously, Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote
|>Soggy biscuit: a team game.
|>
|>All players race to, ahem, anoint the biscuit. The last gentleman so to
|>do is obliged to consume the evidence.


Presumably a full round of shortbread is better (and more absorbent) than,
say, a kit-kat, where it'd run out the grooves.

|>Next question:
|>Has anyone ever actually played it?
|
|There is a corridor in a hall of residence at Nottingham University that
|played it the other weekend. A friend of ours was in attendance. The
|corridor, apparently, is full of rugby players, which may well say it
|all.


<pants gently>

Owain


OFC

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 5:33:19 PM2/3/01
to

Gregoire Kretz wrote in message
<1eo89nh.1ha...@caen-9-37.abo.wanadoo.fr>...

|John Rayment <jo...@baldy.demon.co.uk> wrote:
|> Gregoire Kretz wrote:
|> > Now, if any of you feel like reading some more stuff by me the answer
is
|> > very simple: subsidize my holidays! :o)
|> Somehow that seems like an expensive way of obtaining reading matter!
|Come on, a bit of optimism: if 200 posters give 5ukp each (which is a
|very low price to pay for such quality reading, I agree with you
|wholeheartedly) I wind up with 1000 which is largely enough to send me
|somewhere that can make we write something.

But there is no need for you to go elsewhere to write something. You can
write about where you are now, and it would be interesting to all of us who
aren't there. It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)

Does your local telephone-box have prostitutes' calling-cards, and of what
significance is this to the local socio-economic climate?
Has your local green-grocer started giving you the hard onions from the
back of the pile? Is this because you've changed your haircut, or he caught
you shagging his son?
Does the opera-loving construction workers McDonalds advertisement achieve
its memorability by patronising stereotypically uncultured working classes?

None of these require you to spend GBP 1000 on air fares. And we'd be able
to keep out fivers and enjoy a Chicken Italiano.

Owain


OFC

unread,
Feb 3, 2001, 5:44:51 PM2/3/01
to

Matthew Malthouse wrote in message ...

|In article <1eo89nh.1ha...@caen-9-37.abo.wanadoo.fr>,
|gregoir...@wanadoo.fr (Gregoire Kretz) wrote:
|
|But 5 ukp spent at an airport bookshop should get something of 40,000
words
|or more...


Never mind the quality, feel the width?

Owain


Dave Hughes

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:24:12 AM2/4/01
to
On 03 Feb 2001, oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com (OFC) typed slowly and
produced <95i0v3$i9p$4...@epos.tesco.net>:

>Presumably a full round of shortbread is better (and more absorbent) than,
>say, a kit-kat, where it'd run out the grooves.

Hmm, I think any type of chocolate covering would be fairly impervious
wouldn't it? You'd want something non-choclate covered (although it could,
of course, contain chocolate nuggets) and something probably with a rough
surface so it would seep into the cracks. How about a Boaster?
--
Dave. Please note, that due to excessive spam, the from address will no
longer be checked and the contents chucked into the bin daily. Please
direct any replies to the appropriately corrected Reply-to address.

Dave Hughes

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:23:56 AM2/4/01
to
On 03 Feb 2001, oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com (OFC) typed slowly and
produced <95i0v1$i9p$3...@epos.tesco.net>:

>It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)

And I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with someone writing about
Aber.

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:23:24 AM2/4/01
to
Previously, Gregoire Kretz <gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> wrote

> Oh, and I finally found _that_ teapot from Bodum. It comes in a
>big box with a warmer thingy beneath and I'm sure carrying all this back
>home will be lots of fun.

Not a hot plate, surely? Nothing is guaranteed to spoil tea quicker!
Greg, I'm shocked.

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:21:25 AM2/4/01
to
Previously, OFC <oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com> wrote

>Stephen M Baines
><{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk> wrote in
>message ...
>|Previously, Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote
>|>Soggy biscuit: a team game.
>|>
>|>All players race to, ahem, anoint the biscuit. The last gentleman so to
>|>do is obliged to consume the evidence.
>
>
>Presumably a full round of shortbread is better (and more absorbent) than,
>say, a kit-kat, where it'd run out the grooves.

Though a chunky kit-kat could be quite funny to see them eat afterwards.
<G>

>|There is a corridor in a hall of residence at Nottingham University that
>|played it the other weekend. A friend of ours was in attendance. The
>|corridor, apparently, is full of rugby players, which may well say it
>|all.
>
><pants gently>

I think, actually, it was pants optional.

Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:29:57 AM2/4/01
to
Previously, Gregoire Kretz <gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> wrote
> And here am I, with Keanu Plasticine Reeves looking at me from
>six screens at the same time. I'd pray for some power failure but some
>weird intuition tells me it wouldn't be a good idea on a plane.

No, prolly not. My one experience of such things was when there was a
massive thunderstorm at Chicago O'Hare, and it knocked out the control
tower. It was about 5 or 6 hours later before the flight took off, and
we sat in the plane for the full amount of time with endless "I love
lucy" or the bloke next to me telling me about baseball.

Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 10:02:13 AM2/4/01
to

:-)

When I was at college they had variants on this, like the loser had,
in addition to eating the biscuit, to give the winner (the first to
come) a blow job to completion. They also seemed to be quite fond of
giving each other love bites.

Some of their other games were less fun, like seeing who could produce
the longest turd on a table.... (this was reserved for their annual
dinner - usually accompanied by several being taken to hospital to
have be treated for acute alcohol poisoning).

Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 10:03:04 AM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 12:23:56 GMT, hug...@hugzee.co.uk (Dave Hughes)
wrote:

>On 03 Feb 2001, oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com (OFC) typed slowly and
>produced <95i0v1$i9p$3...@epos.tesco.net>:
>
>>It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)
>
>And I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with someone writing about
>Aber.

Indeed Michael Carson has several books out based on his experiences
in Aber.

Paul

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 11:32:11 AM2/4/01
to
In article <903E7D20Fh...@hugzee.co.uk>, hug...@hugzee.co.uk (Dave
Hughes) writes:

>Hmm, I think any type of chocolate covering would be fairly impervious
>wouldn't it? You'd want something non-choclate covered (although it could,
>of course, contain chocolate nuggets) and something probably with a rough
>surface so it would seep into the cracks.

You lot are beginning to put me off my tea. I was talking to this poor young
thing yesterday, suffering from a terrible cold. Of course I suggested sucking
a fisherman's friend, or taking warm honey, providing he didn't mind something
warm and sticky trickling down his throat.
--
Paul


Paul

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 11:32:01 AM2/4/01
to
In article <3a7d6d92...@news.freeserve.co.uk>, l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk
(Lyn David Thomas) writes:

>When I was at college they had variants on this, like the loser had,
>in addition to eating the biscuit, to give the winner (the first to
>come) a blow job to completion. They also seemed to be quite fond of
>giving each other love bites.
>

We're still talking about heterosexual males, right?

--
Paul


Paul

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 11:31:56 AM2/4/01
to
In article <wQ90Jmn8...@localhost.kitschcamppalace.org.uk>, Stephen M
Baines <{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk> writes:

>the bloke next to me telling me about baseball.

Isn't that covered by one of the conventions about torture, or something?
--
Paul


Stephen M Baines

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 11:41:28 AM2/4/01
to
Previously, Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote

It seems not. :-( See
http://www.kitsch-camp.demon.co.uk/Postcards/fri11.htm for the full
grizzly.

Scott James Remnant

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 12:41:23 PM2/4/01
to
Dave Hughes <hug...@hugzee.co.uk> wrote:

> >It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)
>
> And I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with someone writing about
> Aber.
>

Indeed not, although I draw the line at writing about Merthyr Tydfil.

Scott
--
Scott James Remnant Have you ever, ever felt like this? Had strange
http://netsplit.com/ things happen? Are you going round the twist?

Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 1:49:15 PM2/4/01
to

Oh yes, and violently anti gay ones at that. Its a macho thing -
apparently.

Lyn David Thomas

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 1:50:55 PM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 17:41:23 GMT, sc...@netsplit.com (Scott James
Remnant) wrote:

>Dave Hughes <hug...@hugzee.co.uk> wrote:
>
>> >It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)
>>
>> And I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with someone writing about
>> Aber.
>>
>Indeed not, although I draw the line at writing about Merthyr Tydfil.
>

And what is wrong with Merthyr Tydfil.....

Lyn (ex resident) Thomas

St Mym

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:45:38 PM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 18:50:55 GMT, being the year 2753 AUC,
l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk (Lyn David Thomas) wrote:

>On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 17:41:23 GMT, sc...@netsplit.com (Scott James
>Remnant) wrote:
>
>>Dave Hughes <hug...@hugzee.co.uk> wrote:
>>
>>> >It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)
>>>
>>> And I'm sure there's absolutely nothing wrong with someone writing about
>>> Aber.
>>>
>>Indeed not, although I draw the line at writing about Merthyr Tydfil.
>>
>
>And what is wrong with Merthyr Tydfil.....

It's Common

>Lyn (ex resident) Thomas

see?...

--

st mym

You just get out what they put in, and they never put in enough.
Love is like a bottle of gin, but a bottle of gin is not like love.

Richard G

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 7:58:08 PM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 12:23:24 GMT, "Stephen M Baines"
<{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk> wrote:

> Not a hot plate, surely? Nothing is guaranteed to spoil tea quicker!
> Greg, I'm shocked.

The French are not renowned as a nation of tea-drinkers.

When my dad went to France to stay with his pen-friend's family, he
sought to make a cup of tea. Needing a teapot, he searched through his
phrase-book then enquired, "Ou est la chaudiere?" The family, somewhat
bewildered, led him to the cellar, where the boiler was indeed located.
My dad still visits his pen-friend's family, and they never let him
forget the time he asked for a teapot.

With poetic justice, my dad's pen-friend subsequently came to stay in
England and, having enjoyed his first English meal, announced to his
shocked hosts: "I am fed up."

English rose

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:08 PM2/4/01
to
OFC <oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com> wrote:

> Stephen M Baines
> <{$stephen$}@the-view-from-your-balcony.kitschcamppalace.org.uk> wrote in
> message ...
> |Previously, Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote
> |>Soggy biscuit: a team game.
> |>
> |>All players race to, ahem, anoint the biscuit. The last gentleman so to
> |>do is obliged to consume the evidence.
>
>
> Presumably a full round of shortbread is better (and more absorbent) than,
> say, a kit-kat, where it'd run out the grooves.

Yes, but think of the ballistics: you really have to aim very, very
carefully to hit something so small, what with the pressure involved.


And do they actually eat it?
I'd think it's something embarrassing to a het.


> |There is a corridor in a hall of residence at Nottingham University that
> |played it the other weekend. A friend of ours was in attendance. The
> |corridor, apparently, is full of rugby players, which may well say it
> |all.
>
>
> <pants gently>

Yes, but did you have to eat it all in one single gulp, dear?

Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Gregoire Kretz

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Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:38 PM2/4/01
to
OFC <oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com> wrote:

Who cares for the latest diarrhea by Stephen King when you can have a
genuine Greg instead?

Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Gregoire Kretz

unread,
Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:22 PM2/4/01
to
Lyn David Thomas <l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk> wrote:


> You all stand round in a circle masturbating over the said biscuit (or
> a cream cracker),

Of course...


> the aim being to all come over it. The last one to
> do so has to pay the forfeit - which is to eat the said biscuit.
>

> Popular in Student Union Bars the country over (mainly from the rugby
> club....)

I always thought those rugby boys had something to hide...


Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Dave Hughes

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Feb 4, 2001, 5:19:48 PM2/4/01
to
On 04 Feb 2001, pau...@aol.comnospam (Paul) typed slowly and produced
<20010204113038...@nso-fa.aol.com>:

>You lot are beginning to put me off my tea.

Aww sorry - sit down, here's some tea and a plate of bourbon creams.

>I was talking to this poor young thing yesterday, suffering from a
>terrible cold. Of course I suggested sucking a fisherman's friend,

You know fishermen?

>or taking warm honey, providing he didn't mind something warm and sticky
>trickling down his throat.

And did he? Mind that is.

Gregoire Kretz

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Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:12 PM2/4/01
to
OFC <oscarfoxt...@redhotant.com> wrote:

> But there is no need for you to go elsewhere to write something. You can
> write about where you are now, and it would be interesting to all of us who
> aren't there. It's not as though you live in Aberystwyth ;-)

Yes! Brilliant idea!
(Just don't let it deter you from sending the money)

So here it is....

"The Journal of a Nautical Poof"


Chapter one: The lost squeak-end.

Today I woke up alertly and happy and decided to go for a good walk
outside.

It was raining.

I stayed in bed all day.

Hang on for chapter two, it's mind-boggling!

> Does your local telephone-box have prostitutes' calling-cards,

Er, no, this is the yuppy-like district, everybody has cell phones...


> and of what
> significance is this to the local socio-economic climate?

Well as a result of expanding the university they are renovating that
whole area. It's too bad, really, it was the hookers district and
they're almost all extinct now.
The brothels have closed, too, and all you can find is a few hookers bar
for the sailors in the fishermen's district...

OTOH the queer scene has never been so alive and well in the city and
its quality will even improve once I've actually fed the dead body of
last night's drag queen to the gulls.


> Has your local green-grocer started giving you the hard onions from the
> back of the pile?

You *know* that onion is slang for ass in French, don't you? :)
And as far as piles are concerned...


> Is this because you've changed your haircut,

Aren't you mistaking me for Mr Malthouse?


> or he caught you shagging his son?

*Gasp*

He was his _son_?


> Does the opera-loving construction workers McDonalds advertisement achieve
> its memorability by patronising stereotypically uncultured working classes?

McDoze? Why would we want those? We have restaurants.


> None of these require you to spend GBP 1000 on air fares.

No, but everything is much more enjoyable if it's expensive and not
everybody does it.
(From: "The Big Book of Pooves", third part of the wholy Go's pail)


> And we'd be able
> to keep out fivers and enjoy a Chicken Italiano.

No-no-no, that fiver goes to *my* pocket, all right?
:)


Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Gregoire Kretz

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Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:14 PM2/4/01
to
Paul <pau...@aol.comnospam> wrote:

> Cream cheese for tea anyone?

LOL!
I'll never look at digestive biscuits the same way again!


Maybe I should import this to France and see if it catches... Do you
think it works with Lu butter biscuits, too? <eg>

Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Pete Baggett

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Feb 4, 2001, 3:28:58 PM2/4/01
to

Oh yes, I used to do the bar for some of their events. The Yard of Ale
contest was always particularly unpleasant as they all had their
girlfriends entering as well. It usually ended with the large wheeled
bin used to collect cans used to puke into (this was both genders).
--
Pete Baggett <pe...@wulfrunian.net>
My Web Page:-
www.wulfrunian.net
(Trolleybus page www.under2wires.co.uk)

Rich

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Feb 4, 2001, 2:42:48 PM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 18:50:55 GMT, l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk (Lyn David
Thomas) wrote:

>And what is wrong with Merthyr Tydfil.....
>
>Lyn (ex resident) Thomas

If it was that good then you would surely still be a resident? ;-)

Cheers
Rich

Gregoire Kretz

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Feb 4, 2001, 4:25:11 PM2/4/01
to
Richard G <rich...@ntlworld.com> wrote:

> On Thu, 1 Feb 2001 14:29:37 GMT, "Gregoire Kretz"
> <gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> quoted a la Bagpuss:
>
> >> Even Gregoire himself,
> >> Once he was asleep,
> >> Was just an old, saggy cloth Greg;
> > "Cloth"? Why do you need cloth when you sleep?
>
> Such stuff as dreams are made on.

Dreams are made of clothes?
Oh. Why not.


> >> Groggy, and a bit loose at the seams.
> > *Grrrrrrowl*
>
> Wait for the "but"!

I _always_ wait for a nice butt, dear.


> > There may very well be a London meet in exactly two weeks, and me in
> > it - tell me, were you planning to be there, too?
>
> Commitment, commitment, commitment. You men are all the same.

Yellow-bellied, yellow-bellied, yellow-bellied. You Dicks are all the
same.

(Ha! :o) )


>
> > And I've lost some weight, you know! :)
>
> Only some? :-P

<BL>

Don't be so shy dear. If you want to fondle me just do it, don't hide
behind that pretext.

</BL>


> >> But EmmaButch loved him.
> > That's very kind - maybe we should meet, Emma?
>
> Has anyone met Emma IRL? With a surname like hers, and a to-die-for
> attitude, she's too good to be true.

Yes, I'd very much like you to attend one meet some day, preferably one
where I'd be, too. What do you say?


> The most important, / The most beautiful, / The most magical /
> Saggy old cloth cat in the whole wide world

Mmmmm... Working your way to redemption, I see... Keep going!

Greg

--
Hello, Earth!

Paul

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Feb 4, 2001, 3:39:01 PM2/4/01
to
In article <3a7d9ad3...@news.freeserve.co.uk>, l...@cibwr.freeserve.co.uk
(Lyn David Thomas) writes:

>Oh yes, and violently anti gay ones at that. Its a macho thing -
>apparently.

Well, they've certainly convinced me!

--
Paul


Richard G

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Feb 4, 2001, 8:40:34 PM2/4/01
to
On Sun, 4 Feb 2001 21:25:11 GMT, "Gregoire Kretz"
<gregoir...@wanadoo.fr> shamelessed:

> <BL>
> Don't be so shy dear. If you want to fondle me just do it, don't hide
> behind that pretext.
< </BL>

<G> Without pretext I am nothing. </G>

{posttext here}

Paul

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Feb 5, 2001, 4:46:21 AM2/5/01
to
In article <iqcr7t8vm039m9c2l...@4ax.com>, Pete Baggett
<pe...@wulfrunian.net> writes:

>Oh yes, I used to do the bar for some of their events. The Yard of Ale
>contest was always particularly unpleasant as they all had their
>girlfriends entering as well. It usually ended with the large wheeled
>bin used to collect cans used to puke into (this was both genders).

Lovely. Can't help feeling I've missed out on something.
--
Paul


Paul

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Feb 5, 2001, 4:46:29 AM2/5/01