Isn't it sad when the only real success of the day is having sent off a census form? I got the expected blank kind of look and no words other than 'you know you have to post it today, right?' (in Czech of course) as I was handed the envelope to send the damned forms off in. But the point is, it's done.
Everything else was rather ,nic moc' (nothing much). I'd been mostly dreading things that hadn't been proved, some of which turned out ok, then there was one non-census related bureaucratic irritation and a bit of exercise to round-off the day.
There's nothing like leaping around to Limp Bizkit, singing/saying '...cause your mouth's writing cheques that your ass can't cash.' (One of my favourite lines. I wish I could find a way to slip that into a conversation one day. Preferably with a person of authority who keeps going back on her word rather a lot.) I even managed all my high kick moves to the full-on bits in the "Rollin' (Air raid vehicle)" track. My fitness level must be slowly creeping back. [Minor success.]
And then I read an article in a French magazine while having a relaxing bath, and watched a music video of Maxime le Forestier's song 'L'homme au bouquet de fleurs'. One of my favourites. Not least because it's a really intriguing song with Daniel Auteuil in the video. I have to come back to French things from time to time because it's somehow where my heart lies, more than England. My soon-to-be temporary French teacher told me I should have been French after I told him about my penchant for red wine and dinners with friends. Maybe he's right. He also said, "it's never too late to change your nationality!" It's a tempting thought. But my Dad, and now the architect too, would never forgive me.
