Last night I went into town to see Ne Touchez pas la Hache, Jacque Rivette's new Balzac adaptation. It was true to the spirit of Balzac: beautiful, moving and melodramatically schmaltzy. The walk home was pretty. I was kept warm by my recently acquired college scarf.
This morning at breakfast my classmate David's wife Sarah asked me if I were coming to play rugby. I really thought she was kidding, so when I said I might, I didn't realize I would be pressed into a full-on rugby match immediately after breakfast. As it turns out, (touch, rather than brutal tackle) rugby is a wonderful game. Better than dodge ball.
St. Patrick’s Day comes early this year, but not early enough for Cuddesdon. We're celebrating the life of the saintly snake charmer tonight, and I've been asked to sit-in with the Celtic band Zwingli and the Radicals. This is the concert poster:
Jovial, aware of current events and comfortably dressed: Yes, me boyos it's Zwingli and the Radicals! No one could be more excited about St. Patty's than me,
except maybe this guy.
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