Dear Bank Manager

I am very sorry about that cheque I wrote.  Would be most grateful if you’d some how find some money from somewhere to honour it.  No need to look in my bank account though.  I suggest you speak with Mr Brown coz he is mysteriously able to magic up money from nowhere.

Monies were required to pay for my camera habit.  Three new lens for my Canon, a remote control and super-fast memory card.  And one of the lens is so cute and called a Lens Baby so I just couldn’t resist. 

So I’ll try not to write a cheque like that again, well at least not until next time

The amazingly brilliant Gmaps Pedometer says.  You can eat as much as you like.  Even if the Gmaps Pedometer is half right I can still stuff myself with cake and pie and potatoes and porridge and perhaps a small vegetable tonight.  

But before any high calorie content can enter my mouth I promptly fall asleep on the floor.  Such is the energy draining route that Monsieur Le Oignon Sweaty devised for us as part of our Etape training.

Slips on Film Critic hat.  

Beware spoilers below.

Went to the cinema.  I am quite the cinematic type person now coz I am being trained at work how to do video-ing and editing and storyboarding and throwing tantrums in a Barbra Streisand stylee.   My favourite thing to do is tantrum throw and edit.  I am hoping to get the the letters B.S.C. (British Society of Cinematographers) after my name.  Oh … eh … I already have those letters after my name. Hmmm.  Aaaaanyyyway, I went to the cinema ….

… to see The Reader.  With Kate Winslet, Ralph (don’t call me Ralph call me Raaaayyffff) Feinnes, Hitler Bruno Gantz and a boy. Well I didn’t go with these people to the cinema obviously, they were in the film.  I was eager to go see this film coz it has Nazis in it.  I do like a Nazi.  Well, not really, of course.  I don’t really like Nazis but I like them in films in the way that I like Daleks, serial killers and zombies.  Must stop now before I put foot any further in mouth.

So …. here it is ….

Synopsis:  don’t shag illiterate Nazis coz it will end in tears and a rope round someone’s neck

Cinematography: oh I seemed to have missed that so busy was I looking at Kate Winslet’s makeup

Characterisation: Miss Winslet played Nazi well (not Oscar nomination worthy though) and got deserved come-uppence.  Mr Feinnes was as pained and painful as ever, Hitler Bruno Gantz didn’t do any shouting and didn’t even have a proper German access (he’s Swiss don’t u know) and the boy was the star of the show.

Was The Guardian review correct?  I think three stars is more like it.

Next week: Slumdog millionnaire ……

Fast Tony bounds in to my office.  

But will Obama mow my lawn?

God yes, Tony and he’ll do the hoovering too.

I get home.  I wonder what we’ll have for tea.

Oh look there’s the President on the doorstep with a gourmet meal for two.

So his schedule is:

• Thursday: finish the war in Iraq and Afghanistan
• Friday: cure global warming and re-freeze the ice caps
• Saturday: do my laundry, save the banks, restore peace to Gaza
• Sunday: rest.  Is he God?  Probably not but ….

Yes.  

Do it!

Close the door.

Turn the volume up.

And pretend to be Freddy!

Do it.

Everything will be better after.

See what I mean.

Emboldened by several kirs I marched into the skip shop and demanded, Qu’est ce le mot pour ceci?  as I pulled at the waistband of CKs.  Unperturbed by me flashing my pants the assistant said, Les sous vetements.  I am not happy.  Sous vetements is not the word (or two) I am look for.   Sous vetements is surely only used to describe old men’s string vests and long johns?

My French is so poor that I am too scared and embarrassed to enquire further with a French person as to the word I am looking for, so I seek out our friendly Canadian bar man, Jean to ask him the right word.  We like Jean.  He keeps the Happy Hour running beyond Happy Hour for us and is mostly bilingual. 

Girls pants?  Like panties?

Yes, like these.  I flash the CKs again.

He reaches for his iPhone.   We saw him look up French words on his iPhone the other day.  He’ll surely tell me the word.

But oh no.  Jean turns around and asks the other bar staff.  The French bar staff.  No! Don’t ask them.  That’s what I want to avoid.  Asking the French people.

There is some discussion.  

There is some sniggering.

Le string? says the other barman.

No, no, no.  Not Le String.  

I am mortified.  

My face is bright red.  

I am clearly going to have to drop my skiing trousers.

Non. Comme ça.    Demonstrating that my CKs are all encompassing.

Ah … la culotte.

Culotte?

Oui ou le parachute.

Parachute?

More sniggering.

Parachute is the word for big pants for the les grandes femmes.

Other vocabulary learned 

partager - to share.  Useful to know when presented with a HUGE creme brule

casque de ski  - ski helmet.  Useful to have on head when careering downhill avec grandes vitesse.

To go up that big mountain.

In the distance.  

In June.

Not on our skis though.

But rather on our new bicycles.

Perhaps not all the way to the top.

Just most of the way up.

About 2469 metres will do.

But I have been higher.

Much higher.

… en vacance.  Or rather I was en vacance but my francais does not extend to past participle-ishness.  I was en vacance up a big hill in France struggling to catch my breath before launching myself downhill fast on two planks of wood.

While up the big hill in France I learned three new words thereby extending my French vocabulary to 3 verbs (two of which are irregular) 15 nouns and an adjective.   Fluency approaches.  More of these words another time.

I get up out of bed.

• I take off my pyjamas and put on my cycling clothes.

I arrive at work.

• And take off my cycling clothes and put on my work clothes.

I go cycle to the gym at lunchtime.

• So take off my work clothes and put on my cycling clothes.

I arrive at the gym.

• And take off my cycling clothes and put on my gym clothes.

I finish at the gym.

• And take off my gym clothes and put on my cycling clothes.

I arrive at work again.

• And take off my cycling clothes and put on my work clothes.

I finish work.

• So take off my work clothes and put on my cycling clothes.

I arrive home.

• So take off my cycling clothes and put my loafing around at home clothes.

I fret about my skiing holiday.

• And take off my home clothes and put on my ski pants, jacket, hat and gloves to ensure I look the part.

I check in the mirror and decided fretting was unnecessary.

• I take off my ski pants, jacket, hat and gloves and put on my home clothes.

I go for my shower.

• I take off my home clothes and am naked for a while.

I finish my shower.

• I put on my pyjamas.

I go to bed but not before sighing at the HUGE pile of washing I need to do.

While sleeping I dream of all the things I could be doing if I wasn’t changing my clothes all the time.

I have been invited to give a talk at a local Rotary Club about my cycling trip across America.  I am beyond excitement about being asked. I feel quite grown up now.   And it’s another chance to show off / be smuggish (which is not very grown up at all).

And then I started wondering what sort of organisation The Rotary Club is, and the Wikipedia (it must be true then eh?) said they were all round good eggs and do lots of charity stuff.  I raised £666 (yes I know!) for Arthritis Research on my trip so I think that’s why they are asking me.

My only slight concern is whether there is any rivalry between such good egg type clubs.  Will they let me in to their Club rooms if I tell them that I was hanging out with Freemasons in Maine?  I did.  I really did.  (The Masons are much less controversial in Umerica than here and they actually come out on to the street).