I'm online... and I've got a lot to say... but right now I have to go out...
Still, I just spoke to my dear French teacher (now my phone package has kicked in too I can make foreign calls) about seeing her next week in Geneva and she said such a sweet thing I have to share:
I told her how fabulous it has all been since I got back which truly is true, and how happy I am, and she said that when a girl speaks like that it sounds like she is in love... and I'm not! Which is great!!
It really is great because what that means is I am feeling the classic elation of that without the tension of it being dependent on another human being. Or more importantly I am feeling it because of God which means in some way I am getting to where I want to be - putting my First Love first and finding my contentment in Him. Falling in love with Jesus.
I think I'm going to have to go read Song of Solomon again now. I will post more later if I can (lots in the pipeline) but I just like that the day before I come back to La Suisse (or go back I should rather say) I have this encouragement over the direction I am going in; that is to say forward and closer to God.
Huzzah indeed.
P.S. I hope I don't sound all proud and holy, :-S I just get so excited when I feel like I am making progress and God is all affirming about it...
Showing posts with label French Class. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French Class. Show all posts
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Another thing about French Class
I don't know what I have said about my French teacher but she is called Bee and she is Great! We met a few weeks after I came to Geneva and she offered really early on to give me lessons for free: one of the many wonderful things that happened surround my departure/arrival that pointed me towards the big JC (Jesus Christ not Johnny Cash, who is by the way the medium JC).
Anyway, Bee has had an amazing life. She was a really '68er and, well let's just say she has some stories. I should get her to write a blog it would be much more interesting than mine. Bee is also a German, though her French is totally perfect and her grammar much better than most actual French people (I am so not the one to talk!).
Her English is pretty amazing too; occasionally I teach her new words but only colloquially (that's fun), or the correct pronunciation of manure. There is one thing that she says though, or the manner in which she says it, which stands out every time. Sometimes when you translate things there is a bit of a gap between the languages and the intended message does not come across quite as it might in it's native tongue. For example, I am apparently a REAL freak. Sincerely and honestly; but it's OK 'cause she likes freaks. As time has passed I've established that there are a good many of us, herself included, that fit into this category; and decided that I quite like the definition.
I admit though, tonight I was thrown. I was wearing my hair slightly differently (face-length bob with a fringe right now and I had a half french plait, for those that care) and had on brown and gold tones. Bee always like to comment (with absolute truth) on my appearance and today she looked at me totally shocked and delighted and said:
"You look really pretty. Strange that you look so nice!"
Thanks.
Now, I am not totally insecure and I have been there with the linguistic short-fallings before, so it was mostly just amusing that even as the evening wore on I was getting occasional glances and the odd reiterated "Amazing, really amazing".
Is it that shocking to you?!
My favourite is when she tells me she doesn't like what I am wearing; or what I was wearing at church last week. I feel it's important, particularly when I am getting the magnitude of compliments I was tonight, that they always come with this healthy pinch of salt. The "I love your outfit today" is so often followed up with a "Shame you weren't wearing it on Sunday" that I can't ever become vain.
Thanks for helping me keep it real!
Anyway, Bee has had an amazing life. She was a really '68er and, well let's just say she has some stories. I should get her to write a blog it would be much more interesting than mine. Bee is also a German, though her French is totally perfect and her grammar much better than most actual French people (I am so not the one to talk!).
Her English is pretty amazing too; occasionally I teach her new words but only colloquially (that's fun), or the correct pronunciation of manure. There is one thing that she says though, or the manner in which she says it, which stands out every time. Sometimes when you translate things there is a bit of a gap between the languages and the intended message does not come across quite as it might in it's native tongue. For example, I am apparently a REAL freak. Sincerely and honestly; but it's OK 'cause she likes freaks. As time has passed I've established that there are a good many of us, herself included, that fit into this category; and decided that I quite like the definition.
I admit though, tonight I was thrown. I was wearing my hair slightly differently (face-length bob with a fringe right now and I had a half french plait, for those that care) and had on brown and gold tones. Bee always like to comment (with absolute truth) on my appearance and today she looked at me totally shocked and delighted and said:
"You look really pretty. Strange that you look so nice!"
Thanks.
Now, I am not totally insecure and I have been there with the linguistic short-fallings before, so it was mostly just amusing that even as the evening wore on I was getting occasional glances and the odd reiterated "Amazing, really amazing".
Is it that shocking to you?!
My favourite is when she tells me she doesn't like what I am wearing; or what I was wearing at church last week. I feel it's important, particularly when I am getting the magnitude of compliments I was tonight, that they always come with this healthy pinch of salt. The "I love your outfit today" is so often followed up with a "Shame you weren't wearing it on Sunday" that I can't ever become vain.
Thanks for helping me keep it real!
Little bit of an understatement
Today when I went to French we spent the whole evening making CDs! I shouldn't admit to this 'cause it is a little bit cheeky but my teacher has the most amazing collection of worship music and I am a little bit on the sparse front so she got all excited about me burning my own. It was only 2 and I'll buy them as time goes by I promise... Anyway, I've invested my emotions and staked my reputation on this, surely I don't need to put down cold hard cash just yet?
Being facetious aside, I did it. Judge me. The fun part is that I got to put stickers all over the sleeves and we literally spent 2 hours making up a Noah's ark scene on one and putting typical 'lady' favourites on the other (kittens, flowers and the silhouette of a women holding a parasol). Not very relevant but very cute and there were some tract stickers too.
So then, when I showed it to Robyn, the best bit happens. Reading aloud from one of the stickers I say:
"A cheerful heart is like a good medicine."
...and she says:
"Ooooh, it's got little sayings on it."
Yes Robyn, little sayings. Did you know they've put them together in a book called Proverbs? Then that got put in an even bigger book that you have chosen to build your life upon.
Bless her!
One other thing I liked about the CD making was seeing a group called Watermark. I got all soppy, what with me being "watermarked" now. Getting baptised was so the right thing to do and I have even had my first resisting of a major temptation! Whoop!! (As opposed to whoops...)
Final observation on this topic. The song with Graham Kendrick feat. Matt Redman. Talk about a collaboration, big names from across the decades, like some kinda bangin' Timberland track mixing up the styles but always keeping it slick.
Christian music. I am looking forward to discovering you...
Being facetious aside, I did it. Judge me. The fun part is that I got to put stickers all over the sleeves and we literally spent 2 hours making up a Noah's ark scene on one and putting typical 'lady' favourites on the other (kittens, flowers and the silhouette of a women holding a parasol). Not very relevant but very cute and there were some tract stickers too.
So then, when I showed it to Robyn, the best bit happens. Reading aloud from one of the stickers I say:
"A cheerful heart is like a good medicine."
...and she says:
"Ooooh, it's got little sayings on it."
Yes Robyn, little sayings. Did you know they've put them together in a book called Proverbs? Then that got put in an even bigger book that you have chosen to build your life upon.
Bless her!
One other thing I liked about the CD making was seeing a group called Watermark. I got all soppy, what with me being "watermarked" now. Getting baptised was so the right thing to do and I have even had my first resisting of a major temptation! Whoop!! (As opposed to whoops...)
Final observation on this topic. The song with Graham Kendrick feat. Matt Redman. Talk about a collaboration, big names from across the decades, like some kinda bangin' Timberland track mixing up the styles but always keeping it slick.
Christian music. I am looking forward to discovering you...
Thursday, May 8, 2008
On Thursdays I'm Sexy
For the second week in a row I have had the most absurd experiences whilst traveling home from French , all involving Francophone men which does not help with the stereotype at all.
Indeed, any woman that has passed through Geneva will not leave without at least one story about bizarre unwarranted attentions from the stranger members of the night-time crowd. I would add an aside at this point, particularly for my mother, that at no point am I in any danger. Unless I were to choke from excessive laughter, or in a case of particularly bad B.O.
So, I thought I'd recap some of the funnier/bizarrer (adjective check?) stories; either my own or ones that I can shamelessly steal from friends and legends...
Tonight it started at a tram stop when a motorbikist passing across the way appeared to be waving at me. I ignored this as probably a traffic signal and definitely not pertinent to my future marital status so was surprised to find a few moments later that he had decided to turn in the road and come say hello - or "bon soir". Now usually I would of course ignore the strange advances of strange men in the night time. However, given the Anglophone-heavy nature of my life in Geneva I have begun to take these as golden opportunities to practise colloquial French speaking. I was delighted to find that I could both understand and refuse an offer for a lift and compliments however trite do sound better in French.
Now, I am being brutally honest when I say that even I do not think I am worthy of this attention today of all days. I ought to have washed my hair this morning and the rolled down ankle socks with summer skirt look is not that hot. All before mentioning the major circles under my eyes (been up too late watching House... mmmmmm) and random assorted bag-like garments that I was wearing. However, this did not put off bikeman. Neither did it prevent the oddball opposite me on the bus a little bit later on from persisting to make eye-contact till he got off (the bus) and then proceeding to my window and making gestures towards my face and other generally enthusiastic beckonings. With hindsight I suppose I may have had something on my nose but this ought not to have preoccupied him right up until the point that the bus overtook.
Last week made an impression simply because as the three of us were walking back from dinner to Cornavin (you ought to be avid enough to recall the post that referred to this evening and thus who sad three are) there was a passing cyclist who really shouldn't have turned around 3-times to try to 'connect' as he rode up Rue du Mont-Blanc. I was kind enough respecting the danger his life was in to not try out my latest put-downs at that point. It did seem a little silly though and as such the memory has stuck.
None of them are fussy either. I was once on my way home carrying a whole load of 'stuff' that was effectively rubbish I found in the street (kitsch objets d'art) and the only issue this posed to the man of the moment was whether I would mind moving it so he could sit next to me on a practically empty bus.
A particular favourite anecdote is when a friend had a man join her under her umbrella (sorry to steal Andrea but it is good!) and try to chat her up whilst invading her personal space and ensuring she was getting wet round the edges. Always a sure bet. I have also heard of full-on marriage proposals happening at the bus stop and even when the predator and prey do not speak a word of the same language that does not stop them wanting to call you up!
I just don't get what it is that these guys think they will achieve from all this..? Are there actually women out there who, when swooned, stared or muttered at, melt at the knees and go "oh yes, I want some of that" and it is they who are encouraging these men to persevere with such tactics? Surely they should have worked out by now from the spectrum of reactions, that I can only imagine range from polite and silent disgust to actual bodily harm, that these well intended advances will not in fact make them any luckier.
OK, so one guy was really quite smooth and did in fact have a potentially winning line. It was in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon and thus obviously a different class of perv was aprowling. After some good practising of français he offered me his card telling me he was a photographer and was looking for some new models. Now ladies, that is of course difficult not to blush at, look coy and inadvertently satisfy his aspirations of making a good impression. As he leaves I look down at the card and am confronted with a black and white image of a bare-chested woman languishing under the website address. Gutted I kick myself:
aspiring political careers are always spoiling my fun...
Indeed, any woman that has passed through Geneva will not leave without at least one story about bizarre unwarranted attentions from the stranger members of the night-time crowd. I would add an aside at this point, particularly for my mother, that at no point am I in any danger. Unless I were to choke from excessive laughter, or in a case of particularly bad B.O.
So, I thought I'd recap some of the funnier/bizarrer (adjective check?) stories; either my own or ones that I can shamelessly steal from friends and legends...
Tonight it started at a tram stop when a motorbikist passing across the way appeared to be waving at me. I ignored this as probably a traffic signal and definitely not pertinent to my future marital status so was surprised to find a few moments later that he had decided to turn in the road and come say hello - or "bon soir". Now usually I would of course ignore the strange advances of strange men in the night time. However, given the Anglophone-heavy nature of my life in Geneva I have begun to take these as golden opportunities to practise colloquial French speaking. I was delighted to find that I could both understand and refuse an offer for a lift and compliments however trite do sound better in French.
Now, I am being brutally honest when I say that even I do not think I am worthy of this attention today of all days. I ought to have washed my hair this morning and the rolled down ankle socks with summer skirt look is not that hot. All before mentioning the major circles under my eyes (been up too late watching House... mmmmmm) and random assorted bag-like garments that I was wearing. However, this did not put off bikeman. Neither did it prevent the oddball opposite me on the bus a little bit later on from persisting to make eye-contact till he got off (the bus) and then proceeding to my window and making gestures towards my face and other generally enthusiastic beckonings. With hindsight I suppose I may have had something on my nose but this ought not to have preoccupied him right up until the point that the bus overtook.
Last week made an impression simply because as the three of us were walking back from dinner to Cornavin (you ought to be avid enough to recall the post that referred to this evening and thus who sad three are) there was a passing cyclist who really shouldn't have turned around 3-times to try to 'connect' as he rode up Rue du Mont-Blanc. I was kind enough respecting the danger his life was in to not try out my latest put-downs at that point. It did seem a little silly though and as such the memory has stuck.
None of them are fussy either. I was once on my way home carrying a whole load of 'stuff' that was effectively rubbish I found in the street (kitsch objets d'art) and the only issue this posed to the man of the moment was whether I would mind moving it so he could sit next to me on a practically empty bus.
A particular favourite anecdote is when a friend had a man join her under her umbrella (sorry to steal Andrea but it is good!) and try to chat her up whilst invading her personal space and ensuring she was getting wet round the edges. Always a sure bet. I have also heard of full-on marriage proposals happening at the bus stop and even when the predator and prey do not speak a word of the same language that does not stop them wanting to call you up!
I just don't get what it is that these guys think they will achieve from all this..? Are there actually women out there who, when swooned, stared or muttered at, melt at the knees and go "oh yes, I want some of that" and it is they who are encouraging these men to persevere with such tactics? Surely they should have worked out by now from the spectrum of reactions, that I can only imagine range from polite and silent disgust to actual bodily harm, that these well intended advances will not in fact make them any luckier.
OK, so one guy was really quite smooth and did in fact have a potentially winning line. It was in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon and thus obviously a different class of perv was aprowling. After some good practising of français he offered me his card telling me he was a photographer and was looking for some new models. Now ladies, that is of course difficult not to blush at, look coy and inadvertently satisfy his aspirations of making a good impression. As he leaves I look down at the card and am confronted with a black and white image of a bare-chested woman languishing under the website address. Gutted I kick myself:
aspiring political careers are always spoiling my fun...
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Cleopatra comin' at'cha and other incites
It seems that Cleopatra is feeling at home... I am sitting on the bed with a cat licking my toes and walking over my keys. Awwww. Yet a little arggggh as well! Does she not know I am disturbingly attach to my laptop?
Well. Apparently I am a blogger at heart now. I have spent a most fabulous day-off in Geneva doing all kinds of wonderful things and being rather insightful throughout (or not as it turns out) but the consistent thought I have had is: "This would make a good blog." Oh dear. Particularly since most of the time they were not very good things at all! So, the following entry is a random hotchpotch of everything that half amused or endeared me and I do hope it does not begin to look like a list but given the lateness of the evening I fear that it is inevitable. I hope more that I will eventually find a way to balance real life with cyber stories else it will become a pretty pitiful existence...
[Aside: there is an adorable tabby chasing a wooden mouse around my parquet. If only we were all this easily satisfied.]
Today is (well, it was) the Swiss national holiday marking Ascension. Isn't that cool/weird? I suppose it stems from the days of reformation and Calvin (am I convincing you with this feeble unresearched postulate?) but I liked it 'cause it meant a lie in (OK, everyday is a lie in for me) and I could then hang with my hommies from midi de minuit. It also meant that I got another gift from my generous benefactors - tradition has it that you give lilies of the valley and mine turned up in a cute vase and are stinking out the place in the best possible way.
First thought and a very important one: probiotic yoghurt drinks suck, don't bother. I tried one that Robyn left here and it minged to high kingdom come. Anything dairy and banana flavoured ought to taste like milkshake; needless to say, this one did not. I'd rather be bloated thank you very much.
Having moved the cat in and secured all possible escape routes (I'm not sure why she would want to leap off a first floor balcony but the risk was posed) I then "left her to make herself at home" and headed to my producer's place to do some serious jammin'. En route I walked past a car with a small child in the back seat. Not that unusual. I was however slightly perturbed by the fact that he had decided to victimise me with the worst attack he knew how and was sticking his tongue out in what can only be described as a violent manner. Turn the other cheek aside, this kid needed to learn some manners - it was clear what I had to do and I must admit I took great relish in returning the favour... only to worry for the next few minutes that he had in fact been eating a pink ice lolly (it was a warm day) and I was the meanest passerby in the history of pedestrianisation and had scarred him for life. Luckily I don't think about anything for too long so the guilt quickly passed.
I particularly like jamming with Caro 'cause we make some pretty special harmonies together. She struggles, apparently, with syncopation... and I can't stick to the beat if I try. I'm sure glad her flat mates are francophone 'cause at least I can't understand the comments. I also made a great discovering this afternoon - I can play the guitar. I am not sure how I forgot this fact but sure as hell there were at least two songs that I could join in with. I am rather delighted!
So today was pretty good, and I must say it's ones like this - sharing with beloved friends, music, deep conversation, learning and glorious walks in the sun - that really make you happy to be alive. I am fabulously chilled out, but perhaps a little too much. It turns out I have lost my bank card and with some thought I can honestly say I haven't seen it for a week. How does one go about dealing with issues like this when you don't know who to ring or what to say when you get through? Oh well, I sorted through my small change and 5 cents, approx 2.5p (I remember when it was 2p...), suddenly look a whole lot more appreciable. I really am far too blasé about the whole thing seeing as when I left Caro's I still headed to Starbucks pre-French class. But I did only get a 'grande coffee maison' (anyone else note that un caffee ought to be grand?) so I was almost being frugal. Hmmm. I do hope my card appears miraculously over the next 12 hours as this weekend will be pretty crappy on 8 CHF.
This brings me, in an almost cohesive manner, to my French lesson. Now, I am not being glib when I say that at the moment I genuinely feel like one of the luckiest girls alive; and my French 'class' pose no threat to this. Aside from the fact that it is a beautiful language with wonderful culture (and I am not saying this 'cause Bee might be reading... she is German anyway!) but really and truly I don't think that learning French ever has or will be this fun again. The general form is that I turn up around 7.30/8pm and gossip (these days in a mixture of English and French) about our week and we always have at least one praise point :-). We have a bit of a pray, a bit of food and then manage to throw in a bit of dictation without even really noticing! Today was a particularly fab time - I had to leave early as I had a last minute "I invited you to dinner today but forgot to tell you" from Anna so we squeezed in 2 lessons and a week's worth of news over a table top picnic of sausage, cheese, olives, nuts and red wine! Bee even gave me a gorgeous pair of bronze earrings. This is a far flung experience from the days of Mrs ...? (how have I forgotten your name scary ginger teacher-points for anyone who remember GCSE French) who chased me down for bunking my oral and oversaw the only school detention I ever got (not for bunking said oral but for having my nose pierced in a 'defiant manner').
Then to the eve which, glorious though it was is bringing me way over my self-imposed word count. Anna made great beef borgin-stuff which I did sample though très full and I met Robyn's new lover who is distressingly lovely. Much banter (I think the deep convos can have a separate entry) and wine/dessert/tea later and I was on the bus listening to my iPod and realising that it was time for an update. 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' is a tune but, like many fabulous things, there is a time and a place and I find it hard to delight in the arrival of spring to that wonderful ditty. Why doesn't every season have it's own songs? Maybe you have some ideas as to what the soundtrack to spring ought to be...?
Hmmm, a 'deep' last thought. My successor had a fabulous mishearing today that lead us (her, Robyn and myself) to an almost poignant question. I was describing something/someone as really insightful (it wasn't me!) and she thought I said greedy and spiteful(?!). We then asked ourselves: if you had to choose one or t'other of those things to categorise yourself as, which would honestly be the best fit? Sadly I think today's blog inevitably leaves me looking like a mean glutton...
...though I could always claim I meant inciteful: I am really good at getting other people to do stuff!
Well. Apparently I am a blogger at heart now. I have spent a most fabulous day-off in Geneva doing all kinds of wonderful things and being rather insightful throughout (or not as it turns out) but the consistent thought I have had is: "This would make a good blog." Oh dear. Particularly since most of the time they were not very good things at all! So, the following entry is a random hotchpotch of everything that half amused or endeared me and I do hope it does not begin to look like a list but given the lateness of the evening I fear that it is inevitable. I hope more that I will eventually find a way to balance real life with cyber stories else it will become a pretty pitiful existence...
[Aside: there is an adorable tabby chasing a wooden mouse around my parquet. If only we were all this easily satisfied.]
Today is (well, it was) the Swiss national holiday marking Ascension. Isn't that cool/weird? I suppose it stems from the days of reformation and Calvin (am I convincing you with this feeble unresearched postulate?) but I liked it 'cause it meant a lie in (OK, everyday is a lie in for me) and I could then hang with my hommies from midi de minuit. It also meant that I got another gift from my generous benefactors - tradition has it that you give lilies of the valley and mine turned up in a cute vase and are stinking out the place in the best possible way.
First thought and a very important one: probiotic yoghurt drinks suck, don't bother. I tried one that Robyn left here and it minged to high kingdom come. Anything dairy and banana flavoured ought to taste like milkshake; needless to say, this one did not. I'd rather be bloated thank you very much.
Having moved the cat in and secured all possible escape routes (I'm not sure why she would want to leap off a first floor balcony but the risk was posed) I then "left her to make herself at home" and headed to my producer's place to do some serious jammin'. En route I walked past a car with a small child in the back seat. Not that unusual. I was however slightly perturbed by the fact that he had decided to victimise me with the worst attack he knew how and was sticking his tongue out in what can only be described as a violent manner. Turn the other cheek aside, this kid needed to learn some manners - it was clear what I had to do and I must admit I took great relish in returning the favour... only to worry for the next few minutes that he had in fact been eating a pink ice lolly (it was a warm day) and I was the meanest passerby in the history of pedestrianisation and had scarred him for life. Luckily I don't think about anything for too long so the guilt quickly passed.
I particularly like jamming with Caro 'cause we make some pretty special harmonies together. She struggles, apparently, with syncopation... and I can't stick to the beat if I try. I'm sure glad her flat mates are francophone 'cause at least I can't understand the comments. I also made a great discovering this afternoon - I can play the guitar. I am not sure how I forgot this fact but sure as hell there were at least two songs that I could join in with. I am rather delighted!
So today was pretty good, and I must say it's ones like this - sharing with beloved friends, music, deep conversation, learning and glorious walks in the sun - that really make you happy to be alive. I am fabulously chilled out, but perhaps a little too much. It turns out I have lost my bank card and with some thought I can honestly say I haven't seen it for a week. How does one go about dealing with issues like this when you don't know who to ring or what to say when you get through? Oh well, I sorted through my small change and 5 cents, approx 2.5p (I remember when it was 2p...), suddenly look a whole lot more appreciable. I really am far too blasé about the whole thing seeing as when I left Caro's I still headed to Starbucks pre-French class. But I did only get a 'grande coffee maison' (anyone else note that un caffee ought to be grand?) so I was almost being frugal. Hmmm. I do hope my card appears miraculously over the next 12 hours as this weekend will be pretty crappy on 8 CHF.
This brings me, in an almost cohesive manner, to my French lesson. Now, I am not being glib when I say that at the moment I genuinely feel like one of the luckiest girls alive; and my French 'class' pose no threat to this. Aside from the fact that it is a beautiful language with wonderful culture (and I am not saying this 'cause Bee might be reading... she is German anyway!) but really and truly I don't think that learning French ever has or will be this fun again. The general form is that I turn up around 7.30/8pm and gossip (these days in a mixture of English and French) about our week and we always have at least one praise point :-). We have a bit of a pray, a bit of food and then manage to throw in a bit of dictation without even really noticing! Today was a particularly fab time - I had to leave early as I had a last minute "I invited you to dinner today but forgot to tell you" from Anna so we squeezed in 2 lessons and a week's worth of news over a table top picnic of sausage, cheese, olives, nuts and red wine! Bee even gave me a gorgeous pair of bronze earrings. This is a far flung experience from the days of Mrs ...? (how have I forgotten your name scary ginger teacher-points for anyone who remember GCSE French) who chased me down for bunking my oral and oversaw the only school detention I ever got (not for bunking said oral but for having my nose pierced in a 'defiant manner').
Then to the eve which, glorious though it was is bringing me way over my self-imposed word count. Anna made great beef borgin-stuff which I did sample though très full and I met Robyn's new lover who is distressingly lovely. Much banter (I think the deep convos can have a separate entry) and wine/dessert/tea later and I was on the bus listening to my iPod and realising that it was time for an update. 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' is a tune but, like many fabulous things, there is a time and a place and I find it hard to delight in the arrival of spring to that wonderful ditty. Why doesn't every season have it's own songs? Maybe you have some ideas as to what the soundtrack to spring ought to be...?
Hmmm, a 'deep' last thought. My successor had a fabulous mishearing today that lead us (her, Robyn and myself) to an almost poignant question. I was describing something/someone as really insightful (it wasn't me!) and she thought I said greedy and spiteful(?!). We then asked ourselves: if you had to choose one or t'other of those things to categorise yourself as, which would honestly be the best fit? Sadly I think today's blog inevitably leaves me looking like a mean glutton...
...though I could always claim I meant inciteful: I am really good at getting other people to do stuff!
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