« Pure Genius | Main | Strengthen the good »
May 22, 2005
Never judge a book by its football, beer and vomit laden cover.
The human race never ceases to surprise me. I went out last night to my brother’s wedding anniversary celebrations. We went to a nice non-vegetarian restaurant that was more than willing to cook me up something vegan.
On the way home however I unwittingly ended up on a train that stopped at every stop, and I mean EVERY stop including all the little obscure places I’ve never heard of, between Kings Cross and Cambridge. I also ended up on a carriage with a load of drunk, rowdy football fans. (Don’t ask me who was playing, or who won. I don’t *do* football)
Just as the train was sluggishly setting itself into motion, the middle aged beer-bellied footie fan next to me announced that the only toilet on the train was blocked and he didn’t think he was going to make it home without vomiting. So I sent Mr. PE a text message whinging about what a joy my journey was going to be and stuck my head in The Earth attempting to block out the chanting that had taken over the train.
Five minutes later I come up for air and notice Vomit Fan is staring at me.
‘What’ya’reading?’ he slurred
I showed him the cover,
‘Oooo Zola! Bit heavy for a Saturday night innit?’
I refrain from rolling my eyes and begin to wish I’d waited 20 minutes for the fast train.
‘Are you reading it in French or English?’
‘Err English.’
He pulls a face and sucks on his teeth.
‘Do you know any French?’
‘Only what I learned in school’
(Enter predictable conversation here where he flatters me about how long ago that was)
‘Do you remember any of it?’
‘Only the very basics’
He looks like he is pondering something deep for a few seconds (or maybe he is trying to stop himself from throwing up)
‘You should try reading Zola in French. It may be difficult at first but I think it would really start coming back to you after a while.’
I look at him silently thanking him for his helpful advice but really I would like to get back to reading my book now.
‘You can’t beat Zola in French. I mean these translators, they are alright but it’s just one interpretation innit?’
I smile politely and nod.
‘Nuffin like the author’s OWN words.’
God.
‘When I first read Zola, I read him in French, the second time I thought I’d forgotten all my French so I read him in English. It’s just not the same.’
I look at him, not sure if he is having me on or not. But we then went on to have a ten minute conversation about Zola that could only be held by someone who knew what he was talking about. He then sensed I wanted to get on with my book and went to talk to the people sitting across the aisle about God, religion and the meaning of life before passing out and slobbering over the gangway for the rest of the journey.
We are finally pulling into Cambridge when his mates wake him up, he turns to me all groggy and says,
‘D’ya finish The Earth.’
‘Nearly’ I smile.
Last thing I saw of him he was staggering along the platform quoting massive chunks from Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It certainly brought me down a peg or two.
Posted by purple elephant at May 22, 2005 08:15 AM