Learning nothing from stupid violinists
Apparently all the best violinists in the world do something very important, or so esteemed and revered colleagues tell me. They all ensure they get a good deal of sleep. Like to bed at 9pm and up at 8am and things like that.
I bet French ones don't. Life here is just displaced towards the end of the day. I don't get home from work before 10:30pm most days, let alone get to bed by 9pm. (I could on Mondays, Saturdays and perhaps Sundays but that's all.)
As for geting up at 8am, I just think it's sad if Gwilym leaves the house before 7am and there's nobody to say goodbye.
Still, I suppose I could start taking afternoon naps !
All this to introduce the fact that this morning instead of the lie-in I was exhorted to take I burst out of bed and breakfasted alone on home-made bread rolls because although the desire for sleep is strong, even stronger is the excitement of awaiting a package from Britain that will revolutionise for ever the life of countless French people of the basest class.
I speak of pbone, the revolutionary plastic trombone.
This remarkable, effective and above all inexpensive instrument comes in four jolly colours (orange, yellow, blue and purple - we hope that red will be reintroduced soon) and is apparently practically indestructible.
This will be an instant boon for all budding trombonists and also for those who play in bandas and (shudder) fanfares. Imagine how colourful the Marseillaise could become, those gay colours lighting up the grey November skies. Poor Renaud, prof de trombone, is sick with excitement.
But it hasn't come yet. I should have stayed in bed.
.
I bet French ones don't. Life here is just displaced towards the end of the day. I don't get home from work before 10:30pm most days, let alone get to bed by 9pm. (I could on Mondays, Saturdays and perhaps Sundays but that's all.)
As for geting up at 8am, I just think it's sad if Gwilym leaves the house before 7am and there's nobody to say goodbye.
Still, I suppose I could start taking afternoon naps !
All this to introduce the fact that this morning instead of the lie-in I was exhorted to take I burst out of bed and breakfasted alone on home-made bread rolls because although the desire for sleep is strong, even stronger is the excitement of awaiting a package from Britain that will revolutionise for ever the life of countless French people of the basest class.
I speak of pbone, the revolutionary plastic trombone.
This remarkable, effective and above all inexpensive instrument comes in four jolly colours (orange, yellow, blue and purple - we hope that red will be reintroduced soon) and is apparently practically indestructible.
This will be an instant boon for all budding trombonists and also for those who play in bandas and (shudder) fanfares. Imagine how colourful the Marseillaise could become, those gay colours lighting up the grey November skies. Poor Renaud, prof de trombone, is sick with excitement.
But it hasn't come yet. I should have stayed in bed.
.
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