So I’ve just moved out of the world’s anus that is Le California into
half-the-price-twice-the-conviviality uni halls, AND IT IS GREAT. Still got
bare bureaucracy to deal with but as I have come to learn half-wittedly these
past few months, the general southern-French consensus is that vital affairs
can wait. Oh yes and I had a bit of a moment at Gatwick when curiosity got the
better of me and I sauntered into the South Terminal Chapel & Prayer room
to be confronted with various bemused-looking worshippers lying prostrate on
the floor; had to take a U-turn back out making that the last time I get all dangerously
open-minded again. GUESS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY THOUGH. I got taken on an
exclusive excursion (muchas gracias to my amazing friend Sophie) around the
ports of Mars which was peng enough but the director-general of MP2013 culture
capital of Europe was there and I primary researched his arse with an interview,
zing. The euphoric feeling of academic success can only be compared if you can
imagine writing your dissertation on buff oily male lifeguards and then bumping
into David Hasselhoff. AND THEN the camera loved me and Ima be in the local
paper tomorrow looking like a gimp. Everything’s coming up Milhouse!
 |
| Jean-Francois Chougnet, my Mr Baywatch. The glasses, unnngh. |
P.S. I just
saw a gypsy wearing birkenstocks and legwarmers. Haute-couture enough for ya?
