I Hate Ikea...

...My first experience of the Swedish mega-store leaves a taste of MDF in my mouth.

'I need a set of drawers' I thought to myself. 'Furniture' I thought, 'Where does one buy furniture?'. Four years of being bombarded with case studies about the behemoth of fürni left only one name in my mind. Added to this I happened to be teaching (did I mention I started teaching?) in a centre not far from a modest sized Ikea store (only a couple of square kilometers) - the stars were surely all aligned and pointing me in the direction

Once I finished work at 4 o'clock I got a bus to the Ikea store about ten minutes away. To enter the place is like entering another world - a yellow and blue one. I'm apparently too negative a person but the trouble started nearly straight away. Having headed the warnings about people being lost for days in the place and nearly starving to death before reaching the café, I had the piece of furniture selected well in advance of my visit. Aneboda, or some such, was the name of this modestly priced chest of drawers but where the hell was it?

The showroom section snake on for ever before I came to the sprawling storage space area. All of a sudden there it was - the chest of drawers of my dreams. So this piece of furniture could be collected in the warehouse section of the building; row 25 dock 48.

Another twenty minutes of walking through beds, wardrobes, TV units, wardrobes, kitchen storage, shoe racks, kids bedrooms, kitchen wear, crockery, plastic tress and baskets and I finally found the warehouse section and with a small jaunt through the warehouse I located my chest of drawers.

They were heavier than I though. At 30kgs it was going to be a long hour long metro ride back to my apartment at rush hour but I assumed that a magical solution would present itself; perhaps I could buy this small yellow trolley.

Firstly though I had to deal with the check-out. I'm sure I've posted previously about the speed of service at any french check-outs. This ranges from a man buying a loaf of bread taking 10 minutes to a jar of pickles taking 5 hours. Imagine then French people having to check through hundreds of kilos of furniture. A long wait was in store as my flimsy yellow trolley (with a max load of 30kg) began to buckle. When I eventually paid for the drawers, I was told I could not bring my branded trolley any further. So I had to drag the box to through to the delivery area - stopping to get an ultra cheap bulk produced hot-dog on the way.

It was becoming apparent to me that Ikea did not want people without cars shopping with them as they didn't want people placing small orders and clogging up there delivery system. I was looking that my small set of drawers was going to cost €50 to deliver and that having already paid for it, I had no other option, save for giving myself a coronary trying to carry it on the metro. €100 for a chest of drawers that will probably barely last the rest of my time hear, no matter how short of long that is.

Bah, so there you go... that's how exciting my life is these days apparently. Without being directly exposed to the incompetence of Irish fencing I'm left to get angry at harmless multinational corporations (albeit ones with bizarre tax dodging religious status). I'm sorry Ikea, it's not you... it's me being negative...

No more whiskey after training...

I Miss My Extra Kilos...

It's freezing in Paris at the minute and I'm only writing this entry to put off walking to training (see previous entry on strike).

Losing a stone over the course of the last year, I've obviously lost considerable insulation as well. I've never been much of a hat and scarf wearer but this is definitely hat, scarf and gloves weather. Anyway at least my figure tips have been warmed slightly from typing.

Discovering Paris By Foot

... In freezing temperatures.

For the second time in as many months Paris is in the grip of an RATP strike. I know, hard to believe that the French would go on strike (some info here) but it's happened. I'm certainly not going to debate whether the reforms are needed or whether the concerns of the €68,000+ a year train drivers are valid. Far be it from me to propose theories as to the moral imperatives in question but Goddammit this is a pain in the ass!

I walked an hour to work yesterday, after getting up at 6am only to find that my class was cancelled because my student couldn't get there. I was half-way to work this morning when my student cancelled leaving me with an additional two hours wait after my two hours walk before my next class. All the while we are experiencing the coldest days of the year so far - it's fantastic.

The strike seems set to continue I've heard talk of it lasting till Sunday at least. It's going to make my trip to the airport this weekend a nightmare not to mention trying to get back home on Sunday evening. After all that I have classes in Roissy (the town in which CdeG Airport is located) on Monday and Tuesday - I might as well stay in the airport if I want to have any chance of getting to those classes!

Ugh... I'm not digging this at all!

One year on... (Warning: Introspection Ahead)

It's exactly one year and a day since I've been living in France. Perhaps it's time for a stock-take. I'm tired of writing more or less about subjects about as tangible or relevant as the weather so perhaps it's time for a more personal confessional entry about my life so far in France and where it has lead me.

Tonight I celebrated with my friends and team-mates at my club my birthday (which happened two weeks ago) as well as, more importantly, my being in France for exactly one year. I arrived in France on the 6th of November last year - with the basic idea that I would spend a year in France to improve my fencing.

On paper I perhaps haven't really faired that well. I've lost a girlfriend. My world ranking has slipped where my focus on World-Cups and Grand-Pris has lead to a lesser involvement in easier competitions. I am pretty much completely broke but have finally found a job, to which I am quite indifferent to, which will do little except maintain my position as broke. My level of French while massively improved is still nowhere a level where I would feel comfortable working completely in French.

So... where have I performed memorably?... Hmm...

Why carry on? Why not end it all?

I suppose, I feel I am finally living. I have autonomy, freedom and no restraints emotional or physical. While my world ranking has slumped I feel like a far superior fencer and I feel that with even more work I could finally make myself satisfied in terms of results and achievements. I live in what I believe to be one of the most beautiful cities on Earth. I'm in the best shape I have possibly ever been. I am determined to become fluent in French if it is the last thing I do.

I'm generally enjoying life and continuing the path I have actually chosen to do and I suppose that is worth more than anything. While the call of a serious career is certainly beckoning I am enjoying this time and growing as a person. It's possible that both could continue in tandem and certainly that would be my ideal state - we'll see.

...

Well there it is. Confessional, heart-rendering, as ridiculously pious and self-inflated as any piece you will ever see for public consumption on the inter-web. Enjoy it or not... I'm glad to get it off my chest.

Á plus...

Best Worst Dive Ever

Brazil now have a contender to topple this hilarious and infamous dive by Rivaldo in the World Cup. Seen at around 00:45 in this dive compilation -



Dida the Brazilian goalkeeper deserves a lap of honour all to himself for this one. The mantle has been passed...



His initial reaction is to chase after the fan to give him a kick... then he remembers his training and goes down like a ton of bricks. It would be tragic if Celtic get punished for this in terms of their result, hopefully it will just be a monetary fine.

Which do I hate more?

... this week: dog-owners or smokers?

In what may turn-out to be a regular feature, I contemplate to of the most ignorant groups of people on the planet. Don't get me wrong I know plenty of smokers who are good friends of mine and likewise plenty of friends of mine own dogs but as groups they have certain ignorant and infuriating traits.

I'm working from a sort libertarian / utilitarian outlook whereby people should be free to do what they want as long as it doesn't do harm to others. I've spent the last twenty minutes cleaning dog-shit off my shoe because someone saw fit to use the footpath as a toilet for their dog. All my clothes stink like shit and my chance of cancer has increased because smokers still enjoy the right to smoke indoors in Paris.

Hmm... the jury is still out on this one...

It's Official... Apple Are Now Bigger Wankers Than Microsoft

A thinly veiled threat by Apple that if iPhone users use the mods now available to unlock their phones from AT&T that future updates they release will disable their phones. Article from Wall Street Journal

Getting Up Early / Sleeping In Late

Hmm, it's been an odd couple of weeks. Training is painstakingly slowly getting back to ordinary levels but the majority of the last two weeks of training has been taken up with football. Which is fair enough if you're coming back from a long break from training and you want to ease yourself back in. I on the other hand am coming back from a position where I've been dying to train all Summer in preparation for the Europeans and the Universiades but haven't had the oppurtunity. My form dipped correspondingly to this lack of training, culminating in an uninspired and disappointing tournament in Bangkok (which I'm sure I'll get round to writing about in some time).

Added to this, frustrations in my personal life, the majority of my friends from the Irish College having returned home and the tedium of trying to find a job, I'm left swinging like a pendulum between restlessness and a pensive aggression. As if I needed it, on top of it all the under performing Irish rugby team are bringing me down even further.

...

I'll fill in some of the blanks from the last 3 weeks...

Since my return to Paris on the 31st of August, were it not for the sparse entries to this blog I'd barely be able to remember a single thing I did. For two weeks though I got back into some serious training in the gym. Managed to get 5 sessions in for both those weeks, which I was pleased with and I was feeling good for. Aside from that, I watched the start of the Rugby World Cup and the early warning signs of things to come as Ireland struggled past Namibia.

I began a serious of interviews with 5 or 6 different English teaching organisations. Since I'm still involved in the interview process with some of them I won't say much more about that. It was good practice at my interview technique at the very least.

Last weekend, the 14th September, I returned to Ireland. I was briefly cheered up on the Friday night by watching England being massacred by South Africa with friends in town, only to be brought back down again by Ireland's performance against Georgia. Sunday's All-Ireland final was a predictably dull affair but I went to see Knocked Up in the evening - which probably made the day a draw but a moral victory. Monday, I'd had to return some things left in my apartment by a friend, so at least my bag was lighter returning to Paris.

As if by magic, Tuesday I was back in Paris. None-the-wiser for my short stay, I longed for a longer stay at home even before I boarded the plane. The rest of the week I slept. And slept. And slept.

I woke up Friday, since there was some sort of match on. Got absolutely buckled for a good 12 hour period. Stumbled home at 7am Saturday and have spent the rest of the weekend recovering until now. Just what the next week will bring... It's already 8 minutes old at the time of writing and I don't know if I care.

...

I face into the unknown. I should be well familiar with that by now; having not known what I wanted to do in College, not knowing what I wanted to after college and my not knowing eventually leading me to my current location. Still my familiarity with this feeling brings me no comfort right now.

Suggestions welcome...

France Just Keeps Getting Stranger...

I went to a stationary supply shop and they had no refill pads with horizontal lines, only ones with hundreds of squares... It's like some sort of alternative universe.

Anyway, off to training.

Excellent Rugby Site

Found this excellent Rugby Blog randomly today - www.rugbydump.com

Playing Loaded... A Lesson Here For Everyone!

I love the way Slash says - "Dope and booze were maybe more of a after the show thing, maybe in between shows and during time-off". Doesn't seem like there'd be much time left...

Which Wind Instrument Will Receive the Beatbox Treatment Next?

As far as I can see the source of the beatbox/wind-instrument phenomenom - an obviously very talented and original thinking man in New York...



The whole genre comes together and takes on a life of its own with this video though and my favourite beatbox/wind-instrument combination...



Where will this genre go next?

I Need To Build My Own Swimming Pool

Up at 8am on a Sunday! I'm at the pool at 8.30am, thinking no one will be up this early on a Sunday. No. This is France. Looking down into the pool from reception I'd say it would be easier just to walk across all the bodies crammed into the pool rather than swim. I didn't even bother going in, going to hit the gym at 10 when it opens instead. This is the final straw with my local pool!

The Good Ship Modern Pentathlon Has Sailed

It seems I may have missed the boat somewhat on my pentathlon dreams (well unfocused aspirations at least) as a friend of mine pointed out that the Irish National Championships were held early than last year on the 1st and 2nd September, last weekend.

Am I despondent? Well no it doesn't really bother me much. In fact it barely registers these days considering the raw tripe that fate has flung at me recently and the results from this years competition certainly give me hope for next year. The full results (available here) reveal that if I had even entered the competition I would have been guaranteed 3rd place in the Men's Senior category. So with my resolve refastened and a whole year now to prepare for the event, I'm determined to actually compete next year.

...

In other news, the shock defeat of Les Blue last night at the hands of Los Pumas has left the French nation reeling (I presume). I witnessed first hand the quickest clearing of a pub ever as the final whistle blow at le Stade e France signalled the exodus of maybe 200 French patrons from The Frog At Bercy where I'd gone to watch the match.

A great match though, all the same enthralling to watch. It's a great pity that the poor geographical spread of rugby means that the majority of the interesting matches from the poule stage will be coming from Ireland's poule, while the others are mere formalities for the Southern Hemisphere teams.

I'm off to get a pizza in my local halal pizzeria,

Auf Wiedersehen

Me? Working? Never...

... Or at least I hoped never.

That sad day has arrived though. I've mail-bombed the city of Paris with my CV today and now await my fate.

A Scary Thought At Bedtime...

...For anybody who was in on either of these in-jokes and particularly for the small subset which intersect both.

While catching up on my blogging a strange thought entered my head. What if The Pirate and 70's Porn Man were somehow linked? What if one was a sidekick of the other? It's not beyond the realms of possibility, I think you'll agree and it begs the question what diabolical plan will they hatch next.

I'm obviously delirious from jet-lag so I'm off to bed...

The More Things Change...

I touched down at Charles de Gaulle at about 6.30am on Friday. I must have slept more than I realised on the return flight from Thailand, as it certainly didn't feel like twelve hours. All the same I was fairly exhausted and not really in the mood for any of the annoyances that the morning would provide. A long queue through passport control was just the start. Between my fencing equipment and luggage for a two week holiday my baggage had been ridiculously overweight - close enough to 40Kg.

It became apparent to me as I made my way to the RER to head back into Paris that I would be getting into Paris just around peak morning rush hour. As the train trundled its way into Paris it began to slowly fill up. By the time it had reached Gare du Nord it was thoroughly packed. My stuffed fencing bag, I'd perched on the seat opposite me, while my rucksack was on the luggage rack above, its many straps dangling down and nearly hitting passers by. I struggled to get the backpack onto my back as we approached Chatelet - Les Halles (the mouth of hell, as I like to call it). I ended up having to reverse my way out the carriage - hitting anyone in the face with my backpack at the slightest turn left or right.

At Chatelet I have to change RER lines and it was another 10 minute RER journey across to Nation, several minutes of dragging my bags to the metro, a short metro journey and then the walk to my apartment before I collapsed onto my bed, leaving my bags where I had dropped them.

I decided to try and stay up and re-tune myself to the time-zone again as quickly as possible rather than sleeping for the day. Nonetheless, it was about 8pm when I couldn't stay awake any longer and fell asleep.

...

The next day I decided to head to training with the Paris Gaels GAA, hoping that the fresh air and exercise would clear my head. I've never played Gaelic at any level and I'm not really sure do I have any desire to either. It did certainly, however, provide a kick-start back into training; one I'm sure I'll be paying for over the next couple of days.

...

Today I've tried to tidy my apartment a bit and finally unpack. I'm still quite tired and feel a bit drained. Fencing training starts back on Tues. Annoyingly enough I think I'll need to get another medical cert to say I'm fit to train. This is an expense I could do without, in fact I could do without any expenses at this stage. The obvious outcome of my jet-set lifestyle has arrived at my doorstep and I am finally broke. I'm hoping this will at least provide me with some real motivation to get up off my ass and find a job.

As for the abissmal state of my blog over the Summer months I really and truly intend to remedy that situation over the next while. I'm going to complete my account of last seasons competition and fill in the blanks of my holidays etc asap. A return to Owen's cookbook may be in order as well at some stage. Anyway, I must get back to whatever it was I wasn't doing...

A+

I'm Not Saying Americans Are Stupid...

... but I may well have met who's bringing down their average.

I was in the Bombardier last night to meet a friend from the Irish college, David, who'd briefly returned to visit Paris for a few days. It's a quiet bar nothing particularly special about it and is generally regarded as the local of the Irish College.

We were sitting minding our own business, about eight of us, three guys and five girls, when a guy passed by on his way to the bar with no shirt on. Slightly bemused to see someone wandering around with no shirt on but even more scared and confused to see this guy seemed to have waxed every hair from his body, he drew some confused glances. Apparently noticing he muttered something in what may have been some sort of poor attempt at an Irish accent. Immediately noticing that he was American we took this as explanation enough. Someone probably said "twat", we all nodded and went back to our drinks and conversations.

A while passed before he passed once again, this time with his shirt and his girlfriend. He stopped at the shoulder of David who was sitting on the outside of the group of tables we were occupying. Right at Dave's shoulder, he grabbed his girlfriend and started sucking face (there's no other way to describe it). Once again we were left confused as to what this twat was playing at but when we were obviously ignoring him he went away.

It wasn't till he finally returned that things became truly odd in the most comical of ways. He passed on his way to the bar and on his return stopped at our table.

"I know y'all don't like me", he began.
"...", confusion reigned on the part of the assembled Irish and Danish masses.
"But I'm a good person y'all and I know you don't like me", he drawled. "My name is Madison", with this he took one of the girls hands went down on one knee and kissed his own wrist.
Isn't Madison a girl's name?
"Ok", replied David eventually the first one to break through the veil of confusion. "We don't really care, now go away."

He didn't take well to David's attempts to tell him to leave and began explaining quite indignantly that he was from "Adlanta, Georguh".

"We're from Ireland," replied Dave, "Europe."

He pointed to his cap which boar the initials GS - "See this, MoFo?"

"Oh yeah the Georgia Seagulls", I had to groan in my head at that reply. Only 10 minutes earlier David had been explaining it was a year since he'd last gotten into a fight.

This idiot was setting himself up for a smart-ass reply with every word he uttered. He was speaking like the illegitimate child of 50-cent and Ashton Cutcher; raised, after he had been abandoned, by the cast of Deliverance in the deep-south. He was the alpha-jock - the stereotypical Southern US hick, Fox-watching flag-waving moron. I was of the opinion that these were the Americans that never got passports but sadly he'd somehow slipped through the net...

Things were getting quite heated as David would say something calmly but perhaps with the merest hint of sarcasm, which Madison, God bless him, would not understand and which he would ask David to repeat to his face while staring into his face from two inches away. Dave would and he still wouldn't understand.

Eventually he departed, seemingly frustrated with the lack of respect he was being shown.

His parting shot at David was, and I hope I'm spelling this right, "You ain't nothing but a punk as bitch. Holla [back] at you, dawg!" This outburst of nonsense was punctuated by a scissors gesture into David's face.

We were not left wondering what form of mental disability Madi was suffering from for long however, as he soon was back with some of his friends - a fellow American and a Australian.

Apparently he had bemoaned to his friends that we were showing him a lack of respect. When he returned however he assured that it was just David that he had a problem with, most likely because of his believe that David was a punk-ass bitch.

A battle of wits soon commenced between David and Madi. Just to give you a flavour of their exchanges...

"Can't you take a joke?"
"Yeah, just not from an Irishman" oooh!

"I didn't think people went to bars any more just to start fights"
"Say that again to my face!"
"I didn't think people went to bars any more just to start fights"
"Yeah?"

Lookily enough the Australian was a much more agreeable sort, as most Aussies are. We explained to him the situation and he was immediately on our side.

"You should tell your friend to calm down"
"Say that again to my face!"
[Repeats what he just said to his face]

His friend managed to talk to muppet off the ledge. There was a handshake and finally we were left alone to finish our drinks.

Later still, on his way out Madison shook David's hand and hugged him. Never have I seen a group of people so confused by the actions of one moron. Gave the night a talking point though, as well as reinforcing stereotypes...

I'm Not a Swimmer...

Today I managed 50 lengths, no problem. Unfortunately that was Breast-stroke and I'm still struggling with front-crawl although I can feel myself slowly improve.

I'm going to head out to the gym shortly and do some power-work on my legs and then maybe head for a bit of jog around one of the lakes at Bois de Vincennes this evening.

I've been trying to contact the French National team coach this week as well. The French team are having a stage (training camp) next week in the South of France and it would be fantastic for me to get in on that. The French are a notoriously closed camp though and I don't really hold out that much hope of being allowed in.

Major update on its way... I promise!

I'm going to go to the gym and when I come back spend the afternoon finishing all the drafts I've made over the last couple of months but not finished. Well not all of them but most of them. Starting with the Euro-Champs, then the fencing season before that and then Cuba.

It will be done!

...

Updated the Europeans

Next-up - the rest of the season