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The Flowery Post
Mar. 26th, 2004 12:25 pmIl y a un person a ma cote qui est very very stinky. Mais j'ai peur que il va lire these sentences. Yuck. My french so stinky as well. Must enroll in french courses as soon as possible.
I've just started reading a novel, which promises to be very long, amusing and erotic - but that's just a guess. I've only read the first chapter and I already think that the evil sister Cassandre is not as evil as she thinks. Muawhahaha! I also don't know the title of this novel. Maybe there isn't one for it yet. In any case, I'm the unofficial literary agent for it, and I'm already wondering which famous movie stars can play the lead roles in the film adaptation.
Last night, Kevin and I went to a cafe in south London called "You Don't Bring Me Flowers". One of his friends from his creative writing course organized a reading, which would include a piece by Kevin aswell. I was having a miserable time at first, sitting by the radiator, the room filled with flower scents, a huge Warholian picture of Barbara Streisand hanging over my head, and everyone (including my boyfriend) ignoring me. Things picked up a little when a much older gay man (called Dominique) started flirting with Kevin, then was introduced to me. Ha! How I like to see someone's face collapse, and their handshake be as limp as their resolve. Weirdly enough, the night ended with us in a pub across the street, and Dominique beside me seeking help on how to date other gay men. He was a good guy after all and we made plans to have brunch one of these days.
As for the reading, Kevin's piece was the only good one. The first piece, read by Lulu le Fay, was a moralistic sentimental cack about incest and karaoke. Emma, the girl that organized the reading, had a piece on a brazilian cctv operator (no connection with me) which might have been good on paper but really didn't translate well to a public reading. And some girl called Anil never showed up. We think she got too stoned and lost her bearings by London Bridge.
I've just started reading a novel, which promises to be very long, amusing and erotic - but that's just a guess. I've only read the first chapter and I already think that the evil sister Cassandre is not as evil as she thinks. Muawhahaha! I also don't know the title of this novel. Maybe there isn't one for it yet. In any case, I'm the unofficial literary agent for it, and I'm already wondering which famous movie stars can play the lead roles in the film adaptation.
Last night, Kevin and I went to a cafe in south London called "You Don't Bring Me Flowers". One of his friends from his creative writing course organized a reading, which would include a piece by Kevin aswell. I was having a miserable time at first, sitting by the radiator, the room filled with flower scents, a huge Warholian picture of Barbara Streisand hanging over my head, and everyone (including my boyfriend) ignoring me. Things picked up a little when a much older gay man (called Dominique) started flirting with Kevin, then was introduced to me. Ha! How I like to see someone's face collapse, and their handshake be as limp as their resolve. Weirdly enough, the night ended with us in a pub across the street, and Dominique beside me seeking help on how to date other gay men. He was a good guy after all and we made plans to have brunch one of these days.
As for the reading, Kevin's piece was the only good one. The first piece, read by Lulu le Fay, was a moralistic sentimental cack about incest and karaoke. Emma, the girl that organized the reading, had a piece on a brazilian cctv operator (no connection with me) which might have been good on paper but really didn't translate well to a public reading. And some girl called Anil never showed up. We think she got too stoned and lost her bearings by London Bridge.
