| « Application pending | A Goidelic weekend » |
Got to try
At some point shortly after the last entry I noticed that Firefox was warning me about "dangers" should I proceed to my own website. My SSL Certificate had expired.
I only had the vaguest understanding of what that means; all I know is that the new owners of my hosting company were asking £50 a year to pay for something that used to be free. Fortunately I found some instructions about how to do it yourself, so now loobynet is all badged and stamped.
A gay night after work drink in my local. Bouncing Glaswegians were chanting IRA songs after watching the Celtic game. I was moaning about my lack of a roster to a black lad, who said that he was a security guard at the nearby shopping centre and knows what he's doing months ahead. I got a bit bored with him after a while as he kept saying the same thing over and over again, so I turned to the white man on my left.
"I wouldn't change my upbringing for anything," he said, after telling me about going to a nuns' school in Ireland and being rapped hard on the knuckles "for nothing". Somehow the conversation veered into sex. "And I can tell you, he was better at sucking it than she was." He made a bit of a show about having missed his last bus, but I indicated no more to the barmaid and went home. The sex life I could have if I were gay.
Me and Mel went to Lille for a few days. A little girl photobombed us.
We went by train all the way, and arrived in an airbnb place so small it depressed me a bit, and I was surreptitiously looking on my phone around for hotel rooms we could stay in, before I resigned myself to it.
Lille's a grand city that feels like a capital. Our tour guide told us that the magnificent church of St Maurice is falling slowly into the high water table (Lille = L'Isle) as the wooden subterranean piles on which it stands are eroded.
The food was a bit of a challenge. I ordered sardines rillettes, which, for €12, was a can of sardines half-opened with the key, with a few splashes of paprika on the plate. In the main square, after failing to find anywhere in the better area still serving at 1.40pm, we had a local speciality called "Welsh", which consists of a beer-soaked hunk of bread buried under a mound of melted cheese. It was heart-strangling and difficult to eat. The story goes that during the Napoleonic Wars a captured Welsh soldier introduced them to rarebit, which they adapted and adopted. After day four, I was longing for something green and raw.The people were friendly. In a bar, a man mistook me for a waiter, so after explaining that I wasn't what he was looking for, I left him and his group to get settled, then got up and went over to them. "Alors, vous avez choisi?" Unfortunately my French wasn't up to understanding their jokey replies. But... on doit essayer.
Feedback awaiting moderation
This post has 5 feedbacks awaiting moderation...
Form is loading...
