Musings

Anyone who even vaguely knows me knows that I have no interest in football whatsoever: it just doesn't appeal. I also have this perverse pride in knowing as near to sweet FA (get it?) as I possibly can achieve, and, as such, a small part of me dies every time I accidentally acquire any item of football-related trivia (using the word in its literal sense here). Imagine my consternation, therefore, when the newest member of "English Footballers Whose Names I Vaguely Recognise" appeared in my brain, without actually knowing why. There is a man, it would appear, called Gareth Bale. Apparently he did something quite impressive recently, though I have no idea what it exactly was. Apparently he's young, and quite good. So there, another trivial fact enters my brain, despite my attempts to evade the sport while in France. Give me Radio 4 LW any day, listening to TMS as Henry Blofeld describes in great detail the texture of the cake he's just finished eating, all while 3 England wickets have fallen, seemingly unnoticed by the great man. That is the essence of British sport, not silly people being idolised for kicking a ball before the media inevitably turn on their new "hero" in 6 months' time for sleeping with 3 male prostitutes while simultaneously injecting the blood of children he cut up the night before into their eyeballs.

I would have thought that, when one does an international exchange, it would normally be for the purpose of learning the language of the other country? Apparently not. 6 French students are on an exchange with 6 Swedes, neither of whom can speak the language of the other, so they use English as their common language, despite the...interesting...linguistic level of the French hosts. Cue my entrance as interpreter etc. Most peculiar...

Charlie