Peter Gibbons: Let me ask you something. When you come in on Monday, and you're not feelin' real well, does anyone ever say to you, 'Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays'?
Lawrence: No. No, man. Shit, no, man. I believe you'd get your ass kicked sayin' something like that, man.
Haha. That line is from "Office Space", a brilliant comedy. Highly recommend it: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=LBl8RPcyeSE. I watched it again last night whilst enjoying meringues with raspberries and cream. Mmm. But alas, the evening went by quickly and before I knew it I was waking up to the sound of my clock radio, announcing that it was time to get up and get ready for work. Mondays. *groan*. The world outside was bleak and grey and wet. Miserable. Somehow I managed to get dressed, eat breakfast, check emails and make it to the staff meeting on time. Everyone at work seemed to have a case of the "Mondays" (also known as "Mondayitis" (my favourite), the "Moandays", that "Monday-morning feeling" and "Mondayishness"). And let me say, Mondayitis and British people (natural whingers) go hand-in-hand.
Despite this, the day went relatively smoothly. There were the usual up-and-down periods of non-stop busyness alternating with dead, quiet nothing-to-do-ness. I personally do prefer the busy periods - even when you're answering phone calls, chasing people, counselling patients, dispensing, writing orders, entering things on computers, fixing mistakes, faxing things, answering queries and putting things through on the till, all almost simultaneously. Because before you know it it's tea time!
I walked home in the dark today. At least it had stopped raining. Dinner tonight was a creamy fish stew sort of thing. For those interested, this is how it is prepared: Melt some butter and olive oil in a pan, add chopped garlic and onions and sautee until clear or slightly browned. Add vegetable (or fish) stock. Bring to boil. Turn down heat and add in some milk. Allow to simmer. Add in a fillet of whitefish (I used pollock) and frozen mixed vegetables. Season with salt and pepper (and herbs if available). Allow to simmer until fish is tender, cooked through and flakes a little. Serve warm with basmati rice. Yum!
I've never poached fish before, and this turned out alright. I guess with whitefish, your options are limited - unless you coat or batter and deepfry. Or maybe baking it in foil parcels. But you can't really grill or pan-fry it though.
Anyway, enough about fish and bleak English Mondays. I'd like to write a bit about my travels whilst I was in Europe (no...England is not part of Europe haha). In particular, I would like to write about random moments when I'd experienced the kindness of strangers. It's such a warm and human feeling. Let's start with one particular incident in Mulhouse.
Lawrence: No. No, man. Shit, no, man. I believe you'd get your ass kicked sayin' something like that, man.
Haha. That line is from "Office Space", a brilliant comedy. Highly recommend it: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=LBl8RPcyeSE. I watched it again last night whilst enjoying meringues with raspberries and cream. Mmm. But alas, the evening went by quickly and before I knew it I was waking up to the sound of my clock radio, announcing that it was time to get up and get ready for work. Mondays. *groan*. The world outside was bleak and grey and wet. Miserable. Somehow I managed to get dressed, eat breakfast, check emails and make it to the staff meeting on time. Everyone at work seemed to have a case of the "Mondays" (also known as "Mondayitis" (my favourite), the "Moandays", that "Monday-morning feeling" and "Mondayishness"). And let me say, Mondayitis and British people (natural whingers) go hand-in-hand.
Despite this, the day went relatively smoothly. There were the usual up-and-down periods of non-stop busyness alternating with dead, quiet nothing-to-do-ness. I personally do prefer the busy periods - even when you're answering phone calls, chasing people, counselling patients, dispensing, writing orders, entering things on computers, fixing mistakes, faxing things, answering queries and putting things through on the till, all almost simultaneously. Because before you know it it's tea time!
I walked home in the dark today. At least it had stopped raining. Dinner tonight was a creamy fish stew sort of thing. For those interested, this is how it is prepared: Melt some butter and olive oil in a pan, add chopped garlic and onions and sautee until clear or slightly browned. Add vegetable (or fish) stock. Bring to boil. Turn down heat and add in some milk. Allow to simmer. Add in a fillet of whitefish (I used pollock) and frozen mixed vegetables. Season with salt and pepper (and herbs if available). Allow to simmer until fish is tender, cooked through and flakes a little. Serve warm with basmati rice. Yum!
I've never poached fish before, and this turned out alright. I guess with whitefish, your options are limited - unless you coat or batter and deepfry. Or maybe baking it in foil parcels. But you can't really grill or pan-fry it though.
Anyway, enough about fish and bleak English Mondays. I'd like to write a bit about my travels whilst I was in Europe (no...England is not part of Europe haha). In particular, I would like to write about random moments when I'd experienced the kindness of strangers. It's such a warm and human feeling. Let's start with one particular incident in Mulhouse.
Now, let's set the scene. Mulhouse isn't a great city (no I'm not trying to be mean). It's just that, when you compare it to other cities in France, it's just...well, very ordinary. It was neither bustling nor serene, quaint nor modern. It was pretty much just a stopover for many tourists. The only major things it had going for it were the Musée National de L'automobile (National Automobile Museum - which was pretty awesome) and the electronic tram network (kind of like what we have in Melbourne). (Note: other museums included the Textile Museum and the Museum of Wallpaper – so you can imagine what sort of city it was lol).
Anyway, I arrived in this city late in the afternoon, weary from the bus ride from Freiburg and the weight of my backpack. I somehow managed to get a map from the office de tourisme and the name of an auberge de jeunesse (youth hostel). So there I was walking around the city centre of Mulhouse, looking tired and confused. I stopped at a street corner and had the map spread open in front of me. “Where are you looking for?” said a voice. I lowered my map and was greeted by an old man. He was sitting outside a corner café with a group of other elderly men. He spoke to me in French. I explained to him in broken, schoolboy French that I was looking for the youth hostel. The man invited me to sit and have a drink with them. After a few moments of polite hesitation, I accepted their invitation and allowed him to buy me a bottle of mineral water (I had tried ordering just a carafe d’eau [glass of tap water] but that was apparently a major faux pas lol.) The guy didn’t know much English so I spoke to him a bit in my broken French, e
xplaining to him where I was from, where I was going, where I had learnt French etc. His friend, sitting next to me, spoke near fluent English and we struck up a conversation (he did most of the talking!). His English was good because he had worked in England for some time in the textile industry (Mulhouse is famous for its textiles history – hence the aforementioned museums). He told me his life’s story: he was some sort of retired salesman who had dealt mainly with jeans and corduroy, though "corduroy was a dying fashion". He told me about stone washes and dyes and various other denim related topics. Whilst talking, he kept looking at my jeans and then pointing to other people’s jeans – those of the waiters and other patrons of the café; “See those blue jeans on the waiter?” and “See the wash of the black jeans over there?” lol. We talked for ages.
Over a Kronenburg, he told me how he was raised in Lyon because his mother didn’t want to be in Mulhouse during the war because of the Germans. He told me about how he used to hitchhike in England and how you had to know English or you would face a devastaingly silent ride. He told me about his home and garden, his wife, his train trips to Paris, the company he had worked for in the UK. We talked until the afternoon was evening and all his friends had already said their “Bon soirees” and left. He had large, dark bags under his eyes.
I finally thanked him for the beer and we left in opposite directions.
It makes me happy to think such things still happen nowadays; that people still strike up conversations with strangers and invite them for a drink. In a time where people isolate themselves with iPods and mobile phones, this is such a refreshing feeling.
xplaining to him where I was from, where I was going, where I had learnt French etc. His friend, sitting next to me, spoke near fluent English and we struck up a conversation (he did most of the talking!). His English was good because he had worked in England for some time in the textile industry (Mulhouse is famous for its textiles history – hence the aforementioned museums). He told me his life’s story: he was some sort of retired salesman who had dealt mainly with jeans and corduroy, though "corduroy was a dying fashion". He told me about stone washes and dyes and various other denim related topics. Whilst talking, he kept looking at my jeans and then pointing to other people’s jeans – those of the waiters and other patrons of the café; “See those blue jeans on the waiter?” and “See the wash of the black jeans over there?” lol. We talked for ages.Over a Kronenburg, he told me how he was raised in Lyon because his mother didn’t want to be in Mulhouse during the war because of the Germans. He told me about how he used to hitchhike in England and how you had to know English or you would face a devastaingly silent ride. He told me about his home and garden, his wife, his train trips to Paris, the company he had worked for in the UK. We talked until the afternoon was evening and all his friends had already said their “Bon soirees” and left. He had large, dark bags under his eyes.
I finally thanked him for the beer and we left in opposite directions.
It makes me happy to think such things still happen nowadays; that people still strike up conversations with strangers and invite them for a drink. In a time where people isolate themselves with iPods and mobile phones, this is such a refreshing feeling.
Bon soiree mon ami!
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