cheezy cheeky

fleeting dilemma

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 00:04:00 +0000

What are you doing Friday evening, asked the lady, with no visible change in facial expression. Would you like to go to a BAFTA event? Photographers, LIMELIGHT, all that. I think I have no plans, I answered tentatively. It's RED CARPET, you know, she added, looking me up and down a couple of times, pondering. Oh, everyone's got a little black dress (or two), I laughed it off, starting to doubt we were going to make friends. BLACK TIE, you know, she insisted. I know I was wearing a rather boring pair of jeans, a thin black jumper, and no foundation. I also know that below the cuff of the jeans there was a rather unusual pair of purple suede Ferragamo shoes, under the jumper one could've spotted a purple top in natural silk of a cleavage so plunged that a large brooch of amethist held in the gold wings of a butterfly barely kept it decent, and between that and my light makeup there was a gorgeous, long, asymmetrical necklace in pearls and vintage bezel Austrian crystal. Anyway, I'll catch up with you after lunch, I said, and faked picking up a call as she waxed lyrical to a witness about the most heart wrenching Romanian story of the last 20+ years, these poor children in orphanages that hardly see daylight once in three-four years and you wouldn't believe... I faded out. There is no BAFTA event this Friday. Thought as much.

what if you took photos with a... scanner?

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 23:14:00 +0000

One of the books I received for my birthday, Beach: A Book of Treasure [amazon.com, amazon.co.uk] by Josie Iselin drew my attention to using a scanner instead of a camera. And playing with the machine yesterday, I easily made an interesting enough clementine to get Chris involved. He then placed on the surface some random objects from around the office, and voila! I'm pretty excited with the results—what thinks you?

pick and choose: miranda liliescu or michelle lemonstew?

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 18:53:00 +0000

This is my first attempt to embed a Twitter conversation. Took some figuring out, and some persuading of the Twitter UI—it seems to me they didn't consider embedding a whole conversation just yet. Either way, curious whether it works for you and when/ where—e.g. will the JavaScript produce anything at all in a feed reader, or just revert to HTML? And, while at it, which name should your anything-but-humble author employ? In other words, yes, I'm quite alive. And the English are getting better and better at misspelling my name. How have you been?

@gorgeoux You should just change your name once a week for a year and see what feels best.
— Mark Sorrell (@Sorrell) January 20, 2012

@gorgeoux I like to think of you as Michelle Lemonstew, if that helps.
— Mark Sorrell (@Sorrell) January 24, 2012

@Sorrell Ta. Branding potential aplenty google.co.uk/search?sourcei…
— MIRONA ILIESCU (@gorgeoux) January 24, 2012

take two: centre point in the fog

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 02:01:00 +0000

As of last Saturday, we've been surrounded by fog. I love it nearly as much as I love snow, for smoothing out the harsh lines of the urban dwellings and cloaking everything in a mysterious, dream charged cape full of promises. Seen from Centre Point a week ago, the city looked small and cozy, too, and maybe I'll get round to posting those photos, as well. For now, how Centre Point itself looked in the fog tonight, framed by my babies.

the time of the momiji

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 01:15:00 +0000

After the first Japanese maple a few years ago, two more joined us last year, and then yet three more this autumn. Each time, they grew smaller and smaller. Which is ironic, considering that they are slow growing and will hardly ever get taller than me. There is method in my madness, though: I'm having another go at bonsai fashioning and decidedly keeping it all outdoors this time. Which at this time of year works a treat :) I have a chair by the momiji table, and spent a few moments this late afternoon contemplating single leaves, at times. I love my Japanese streak.

where I start my olympic journey

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 23:19:00 +0000

Many moons ago, when I was six or seven, I was selected for gymnastics. This wasn't optional, as long as one had the right height, weight, flexibility and disposition. A few weeks into the adventure, however jaw dropped I was at the slightly older girls who could twirl around the bars and do back flips, my parents found a way to get me out of it. It had become very clear why Romanian gymnastics were great, there was a fair amount of smacking packed with training. I think I didn't get much of it, but my stories about less fortunate mates seemed conclusive. Now don't you go aww, poor you and all that. It was the same deal in all countries that meant anything in gymnastics back then, as proven by some of our famous trainers back then escaping to the US at a later point and making that team a magical winner. Also, it was clear that regardless of my drive, I wasn't the material that gives a national star, not to say, heck, a world champion.

Not too long after, I was selected for Ceausescu's mass games to celebrate our labour day in August. That wasn't optional either, as long as one could move, and I think I enjoyed the experience quite a bit. But my parents found a way to pull me out of it in a few weeks or so, again, and they were right to do so. Something had happened that was serious enough. I might have fainted for the first and last time yet, in the unforgiving heat of the Romanian summer, rehearsing full days in the row at a time. In my mind, these experiences somehow suggested that I was a bit of a wuss, and that I had kicked away chances to debatable stardom, but I didn't think too much about it, to be fair. My knees were always an open wound, and I was pretty good at kicking boys' asses in football and whatnot, climbing trees and bossing others around, like a proper tomboy. One that never broke a limb, too.

I am quite sedentary today, and my most engaged sport moments are in front of the blue screen. When the whole team went out for some simple tennis coaching a few weeks back, I was sore for at least a week, and not that impressed with my performance. My knees refuse to work with me on a daily basis. I am a few sizes larger than it suits me, or is comfortable, my back has been an issue from primary school, and most serious walking and such gentle activities overheat me to no end. When we moved house over a year ago, something heavy fell on my big left toenail and the pain of seeing it through still wakes me up at night. Funny enough, the other large toe caught the condition, too, and it's been crippling, to say the least. And these are just the minor deprecations I can mention. Still, across the years, when I put my mind to something sportsy, it came out right. And God knows I tried a few things, from power aerobics to bikram/ hot yoga, from climbing mountains to running long distances, from basketball to badminton, from rollerblading to dancing long nights in the clubs of my youth. But nothing stuck for more than a couple of years, and I figure I just didn't try the right thing. With more than half a lifetime ahead of me, surely something will come up.

Reality is that the right activity at the right time gives me a proper high, like runners often claim, but few things have been appealing enough for long enough to make me want to wake up early, train, and get all psyched about the right gear.

Meanwhile, my long affair with the Olympics took an unlikely turn when volunteers were called for the Opening Ceremony (unlike the other volunteers who are more or less rushing papers left and right, backstage). I didn't think much before enlisting, and I wasn't told much after, either. I made it to the audition today, and somehow worked through all the fun pain we were given. Dancing, jumping and, ahem, acting. I was far from rested—in fact, we're off work for a week as of tomorrow for serious fear of exhaustion. Soon into the proceedings, a moment came when my limbs just didn't listen anymore, and did their own weird things. I could barely comprehend, not to mention decode in reasonable time, most of the instructions. I could barely see the instructors. I was at the back of the class, literally volunteer 201 in a casting session meant for 200. Casting session 51 of 200, too. All around me, beautiful, mainly young and exercised bodies exuded something I could remember from days past, like a vibrant mist of energy and vitality that I didn't feel I could convey. I'm now remembering all classes of muscles I didn't feel in a while, and knowing that tomorrow I will struggle to get down the stairs. But I hoped, like any cheeky creature, that their desperation in casting enough people and my ability to carry on beyond reason would be a match made in heaven.

The part of town where the studios are, not that far from Stratford, is desolate if not dead. I fumbled alongside a six lane road after all that ended, desperate for air, and of course, a smoke, while learning to walk again with dancestruck, spaghetti limbs. Off a bridge, I looked at the Olympic Stadium. It wasn't a bad thought to imagine I'd be standing there, a bit fitter than today, blinded by the spotlights, all 35 years of me among thousands and thousands of similar pawns. Creating human chains between the greatest athletes of the world, I hear. It wasn't a great thought, however, to think of myself back in that warehouse, where this and that didn't work and nearly everyone else seemed better for the role. Where bmx riders, ballerinas particular on point work, serious rollerbladers and drummers (!) stayed behind to show off some of their special skills. Once I peeled my eyes off the limelight and walked up and down that dreary area for half an hour, failing to get a cab, I got myself on the Tube, and headed to a pub where my team was having drinks with a candidate who had spent the day with us.

I proceeded to have a few beers (pints, no less), a commensurate amount of smokes, and a bit of junk food. Once home, I had a bath that didn't go higher than the solar plexus (in line with some nebulous memories that that's how you treat some insults to a body with the flexibility of a rock), and let my toenails uncurl and develop the excruciating level of misery they accomplish when submerged. I had two large glasses of sweetened water in hope I wouldn't have to crawl tomorrow, but painfully flex a muscle or two in an appearance of going places on hind legs. I told Chris more stories than he could take, and that was censoring myself. There are many interesting aspects of the afternoon, to a manager and to someone who produced large events. And then I picked up my phone, and there it was, the thing I didn't think I would see, and which was supposed to take some 72 hours. Only three hours after I had left the premises, I had been invited to a second, role-specific audition. I had to scream a little and postpone the jumping with joy, what with being in a bath and frankly, broken. Chris rushed back upstairs, partly annoyed and partly curious, and I gushed over my accomplishment and how it didn't make much sense in light of my earlier performance, and the seeming falling apart of my body.

Now I could still fail, in many ways, or end up being a stadium sweeper on the closing ceremony of the Paralympics, at best. Didn't they have sweepers in the Beijing choreography? But one thing is sure: throughout the years I learned much more about what a wuss is and is not, and while I can't remove bloody Black Swan images from my head, especially since of late my various joints took on loudly cracking (which always startled me unpleasantly in other humans)... I'm happy I pushed through today. Maybe you'll have a tiny extra reason to turn on your blue screen next summer :)

chance ikebana: morning glory in the morning sun

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 19:24:00 +0000

When my mother uses her camera at its best, some pretty amazing imagery can ensue. The light, the depth of focus, the sharpness, the framing, the harmony and the simplicity, everything comes together so perfectly in this picture that I'm instantly transported back to that balcony in Bucharest, in that unique time of day and year, gentle breeze and early autumn fragrances included. Mother Nature has quite a taste for ikebana, and I salute my mother's spot on capture. Bravo!

and then I saw the light

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 00:57:00 +0000

He turned around, hugged me, and said: My name is Chris and I proudly present this message. Then went back to sleep presently.

cheezy birthday to cheeky me!

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Wed, 31 Aug 2011 23:45:00 +0000

I've been blogging for six years. Though not necessarily here, and blogging itself is a debatable term, but let's not take ourselves too seriously just yet. In the last year, I've managed to put in front of you 76 stories. Nearly one and a half per week. I used to have one loyal reader, but now he won't stop by unless I make him.

I suppose that gives me a lot of freedom from the tyranny of readership, with its paraphernalia of stats and the likes. It doesn't help me sleep well, however, as the lack of a public brain dump is flooding my mind with its debris and sediments, some potentially delightful. But we'll never know. A sabbatical wouldn't be enough to tell you everything I've wanted to tell you of late. And I've started thinking that even the better of us do their best work early on in life. I might be done.

In case you are still reading, however, here's looking at you, kid, with a stale last sip of beer, late for bed and fraught with tomorrow's worries already. One thing is certain, I have been living out loud. Just didn't get to blog it much. And not even I know what the future holds. A seventh year of sparingly blogging, I suppose. And all that jazz. Chin chin!

la vie en rose

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 23:26:00 +0000

I couldn't explain why, but I was very determined that we move work home from the office in time to catch the last wink of light. Chris kindly obliged, and while we only have the shortest walk imaginable (other than tumbling from bed to the office), we did take a bit to drag along 96 candles off eBay (as you do) and vividly debate hires and commitments (as you do). Chris quickly mixed us a drink, while this was quickly evolving outside:

I was ordered to pop on the terrace and enjoy it, and since I started snapping away (as you do!!!)—even more vigorously ordered to put the camera away and... enjoy it. So we did, drink in hand, and work chat suspended for a very short and at once very long five minutes, while the world was painted peaches and our skins glowed in one of the best London phenomena: pink sunsets as only Asia, we thought, can provision. I'll drink to that. As you do...

one of many crops I didn't get to blog: tomatoes

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sun, 21 Aug 2011 10:20:00 +0000

A labour of love, as with the entirety of the mad garden we created, these tomatoes are grown from seeds of the sweetest fruit I found at farmers' market last year (and learned to save, which is a bit more work than, say, sunflowers). Considering the typical (read shit) summer we had, I was first mesmerised that they ripened at all, and then stunned by just how good they were.

Then, I was happy that Chris was all ready to pick them up this year (instead of me only last year), and a bit sad to realise that's about the best possible volume of our few crops still to come. We need a veggie patch. Several times the size of our current flat. But hey, who's complaining?

take two

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sat, 13 Aug 2011 23:39:00 +0000

These days I've sat in my parents' lounge for the first time in more than a year, and chatted and laughed and let them pamper me. This evening I got to show them some of the thousands of photos that are yet to make it to Flickr, and somehow moved on to some of my videos, of which they're only aware when I get to blog them. Which I don't, of late. A few of the videos are about winter in London, and my mother noted that on a hot day like this in Bucharest, she gets a very pleasant chill simply from looking at all that snow. It's a long story as to how I finally made it to this lounge, and an even longer story as to how I later came across this winter photo. Suffice to know that I have, and instantly thought of one of my own, shown underneath. Unless you're happily tucked under a thicker blanket of the white stuff than these images capture, I hope they'll make you feel better about the weather and temperature of your whereabouts.

olympic tickets. haves and wants. the short of it

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 18:55:00 +0000

Just for the irony and helplessness of it, all the work and fret put in it, all the money we're ready to make and spend, both in a blink, if all our wants could come true. After the worst ticket lottery ever organised in the UK (Wimbledon aside, don't get me started on that frickin ballot), we're down to crawling poorly designed websites in foreign languages we don't speak, writing emails in the wind (and in English, fancy the chances of those getting a reply) and even filling out paper forms to scan and, dunno, fax?! It blows my mind that for once I'm in the same place with the Olympics* but may end up seeing them on TV, still.

HAVES
BD003 (C), BV009 (D), ED001 (D), BV021 (D), ED003 (C). Or in other words, badminton, beach volleyball, equestrian - dressage. MEH. But better than nothing.

WANTS
ZO001 (C), SW004 (D), SW008 (D), GA010 (E), AT004 (E), GA011 (D), GA012 (D), GA013 (D), AT011 (E), AT013 (E), AT014 (D), SY005 (E), AT015 (D), GR003 (D), ZC001 (C). Or put simply, opening and closing ceremonies, athletics finals, swimming finals, much artistic gymnastic and a touch of rhythmic. Should that be so hard?

Later update: This spurred quite a debate on Twitter with @thegareth which eventually involved @adrideo and @Rachelonthehill. I argued that the ballot system favoured rich people who could bid a lot of money on a lot of tickets (one had to have the money in the account for months, as there were delays, or risk losing all chances). Gareth argued that the ballot is inclusive by allowing people without computers and/ or Visa cards to bid for tickets, too. I believe it's exactly those people who got left out in the end, and that a first come, first served system would be fairer. Gareth still believes the ballot is best, even though he agrees it could be improved. Chris has argued all along for a type of bid along the lines of "I'd like to see something on these dates and I can pay this much". And Rachel suggested a system where as many people as possible just got one pair each. There you go, plenty of options for the next Olympic city to not fuck up this badly.

* I had dreams for Athens 2004. Maria must recall we nearly volunteered but with Romania outside the EU, and our employeer not liking the idea much, either (understandably), it came to nothing.

mogwai live, if you can take the roundhouse sound

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 21:02:00 +0000

Later update: the embedded video below, though I couldn't apologise more for the piss poor sound quality at the Roundhouse. Only a week ago I used to think that it was the inability of the phone camera to capture that kind of sound, and especially that kind of volume, but having seen an equally bad capture on a much better camera, tonight I paid attention to what I was actually able to hear myself. In brief, NOISE. So, here's some Mogwai noise.

Watch "mogwai NOW at the Roundhouse" on YouTube

welcome to the future: the friendly fires gig I'm at now

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 20:42:00 +0000

Update, July 19th 2001: The video is finally embedded below, and I've found a moment to tell you why exactly you were welcome to the future. This video was shot on an Android phone (which explains the horrendous sound quality by the way) and uploaded to YouTube immediately after, using the free wifi of (the iTunes Festival at) the Roundhouse in Camden. From YouTube is was soon after posted to my blog, and not long after... to Twitter, Facebook and my Google Profile. It was all pretty effortless—while doing all this I could easily sing along with the Friendly Fires and shake my tushy, both of which went on vigorously. The entire broadcasting experience has been pretty fantastic, really, if we ignore the bewildering inability of the YouTube mobile site or Android app (native, you'd think!) to embed the video instead of cheating by posting a link (watch "Friendly Fires NOW at Roundhouse London" on YouTube, i.e. the whole initial post).

What could be more futuristic, after this? That the phone + pocket PC devices we use nowadays marry the good pocket cameras (many too tiny for us to hit the right button anymore) we also use, and the emerging unique mobile device has the ability to stream live :) Other thoughts?

great landscape photography. with a twist ;)

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 10:01:00 +0000

I've been sharing this image left and right as of last night, so feel free to move on if you've seen it already. But if you're wondering why I insist, first, this is a rare reminder that landscape photography is worth pursuing and can be outstanding, and second, I'm all for peeing in the bosom of nature and I applaud doing it from wuthering heights. What a wonderful sense for light, color, layers and whimsy, in a single image!

creativity, copyright, and all loose ends between

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 19:34:00 +0000

One of my photos is featured in the left bottom corner of the collage below, which is getting pretty popular on Flickr. The most interesting part of the experience, unfolding these past days, was helping Carolyn Saxby learn to credit original authors (not just link back to the original photos, which she did from the start) and, more importantly, present the work under a Creative Commons license similar to mine (as mine requests). I did offer her the option to retire/ replace my photo, more so since she edited the initial collage to add a third row of photos, but of course I'm glad she chose to keep my image in. Here is why Carolyn's short journey, partly reflected in the comments, as well as the journey of her collage, are of more interest to me than the actual work.

Finally having time to check out the other original authors, I learned that seven out of nine have all rights reserved next to their images, just like Carolyn herself normally would. For me (and God only knows, for her!), that makes it very hard to figure out how, if at all, this collage could exist in a copyright space that allows for every author's rights to be well represented and respected. It also points to some weaknesses of Flickr, particularly:

the lack of native tools for creating and publishing derivative works,
crediting original authors in connection to derivative works and recognising where rights were waived on any type of work,
as well as insufficient stress on, and integration with Creative Commons (unchanged for years, I believe).

Of course, just like the wonderful people at Flickr, the wonderful people behind Creative Commons could do a lot more themselves to educate, not to say evangelise—why isn't a CC license HOT, desirable, to begin with? And of course initiatives like Getty Images' clever integration with Flickr make things worse by allowing amateur photographers like me to dream about selling photos, which is rather nocive for the majority of said amateurs.

But all that aside, what do you think? Which of the above could be tweaked quickly and easily so that the entire ecosystem improves? That way, we'd finally get to focus on creativity rather than exploiting its outcomes or, worse, chasing wrongdoers (which is THE fad in online photography at the moment).

While you ponder, and hopefully write up your comment, do enjoy the collage that got this started for me all over again. Especially since, if copyright of photos online would be understood, enforced and supported by all players, the image below would not exist in this exact incarnation.

from the vault: this time last year

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 10:37:00 +0000

From my Photojojo’s PhotoTimeCapsule July 1, 2010: Just sitting in the new flat, still surrounded by books. But it's quiet and I hear the wind chime on the terrace. The Internet works and there's coffee. The office is nearby and I'll be heading there as soon as I finished writing the note to Daniela and packed some lunch. And a previously unblogged photo from those days :)

the life fantastic

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 00:05:00 +0000

I was sitting here two nights ago, on my fragrant Central London terrace, noting the contrasts of my life. The single working clock nearby, the oven, was stating 13:09, which could only mean nine minutes past one in the morning. I had just finished emailing three establishments in the Carribbean about a Christmas booking. Of course that is not sensible and certainly not within the means of a self-funded entrepreneur. But if I conducted myself by perceived limitations, I wouldn't be on this amazing terrace right now, and by all means, not an entrepreneur.

The type of contrast that amused me that evening has only become striking in the last months. I have a terrible electric cooker, yet I know the location (and address!) of my future London flat. I live with a nightmare macerator loo, yet I grow over 100 species of plants in my garden, many edible. I eat most of my excellent meals at home, yet I can experience the best restaurants in the city. I can't afford to own, yet I know which holiday home, which New York flat, which Mediterranean island.

And it carries on. And on. I haven't been able to write it all up along the way, yet it's all memorised, documented, chewed upon. The long working days building something unique, the phone calls with my family that didn't happen in over half a year, the strategy debates at 3am, the lack of time to get a haircut, the gifts I bought but don't get to give, the endless home projects that make it all worth, the late jazz nights we steal away, the love, the rows, the benefits, the ups and downs of being 100% on, 100% here. A nearly round snowball, immensely enjoyed.

Sometimes I try to explain it all to normal people, close or not, because they ask. They never get it, they never lived like this and never will. So when it all comes down to the leveling but-are-you-happy, I fucking am. It's all my making, all my hard work, all my good fun.

pigeons in paris

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 14:49:00 +0000

The best way to see Paris is from the cafe terraces at the top of the world. I read that somewhere, not long before going back to Paris this spring, and surprised I hadn't known about that previously, dragged Chris to Galleries Lafayette, the closest to our hotel. The view from the rooftop was not bad, but the cafe was closed, and walking the vast, unkept terrace we couldn't escape the overall impression of a rundown city, not even on a sunny day, not even with the shiny new gold leaf on some of the roof sculptures on the Opera building nearby.

But we picked ourselves up, got back in the street, walked the small distance to Printemps and were able to confirm that it's much better (as the now forgotten source had suggested). The cafe was running, there were plants and benches, a bit of a wooden deck and a much better view. While Chris skipped the dubious coffee and food and bought us safe and pricey soft drinks instead, I pointed my camera at a couple of things, including these romanticising pigeons.

This is the 400th image in my better photos Flickr stream, now rising to 404 instances. Funny enough, the 200th was about pigeons, too. And I don't even like the damn rats!

the other side of the story

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 10:13:00 +0000

Mirona was sweetly laughing in her sleep.
Chris: Hello.
Mirona: Hello!
Chris: What made you laugh?
Mirona laughed again, a smaller laugh, then said: Much vases!
Chris: Much vases?!
Mirona laughed again, an even smaller laugh, and nodded.
Chris: Was it nice?
Mirona: Yes.
Chris: Which vase did you like?
Mirona laughed again, and again, and again.

Mirona woke up first; unusual. She found the transcript; twice unusual. And then she laughed.

practice, practice, practice

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 14:37:00 +0000

Chris: Time to get back into practice.
Mirona: What practice?
Chris: The experiments.
Mirona: Which experiments?
Chris: With your ingredients.

Best of several chats with Chris last night, while he was sleeping. Though, what does he expect?

both deaf, none mute

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 01:38:00 +0000

Mirona: We've got lots of goodies!
Chris: Woolies?
Mirona: Willies?!
Chris: Woolies!
Mirona: Goodies!!!
Chris: Hoodies?!

and a good day to you!

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 15:35:00 +0000

July 16 last year wasn't the sunniest day London could pull together, and it even got breezy on that canal boat up and down and around the city. But you'll agree that one can perk up quite well with a pair of bee sunnies and a glass of white wine, while waiting to sail between the numerous locks.

not on the same page

noreply@blogger.com (gorgeoux) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 10:57:00 +0000

Mirona: This woman says to me "I hope you're not taking that weekend in Wales, it's wet and windy". I told her the weekend was abroad. Surely she doesn't think Wales is abroad!

Chris: Maybe she's got a sense of humor?

Mirona: I wouldn't expect that. But if it's the case, I could fall for it.

Chris: Wales?! Really?!

Mirona: What, am I mad? Her sense of humor!!!