Oh what neglect!

My dear friends and global family, so to speak....,
I have been meaning to write on this here site for ages and ages. And every time I sat down to start, I was given a new pair of roller skates to try out (see previous blog for de-coding).

I recently went to London: major enterprise for one as weak in the legs and lungs as myself -although just to see me you wouldn't know it, so perky and cheerful do I look!-. I had to visit the French Consulate in South Kensington to collect my New Improved passport. It is one of those machine-readable gismos which are supposed to prove to the immigration officers that I am not a terrorist! But in order to get one of these, you have to be seen to be who you are...if that makes sense...So I met a lovely young French civil servant who did all that needed to be done. And then waited for a few hours -which I occupied at the Museum of Natural History across the road, and don't you feel sorry for dinosaurs? I do!-, before collecting my pride and joy...a brand new passport! I kept the old one for the love of the visas that were in it and the stamps I collected when I was still a great traveler; latest in date were Latvia (a trip which I had almost forgotten about...although, thinking about it again many bizarre events should have made memorable) and India (a trip to Mount Abu, to the head quarters of the Brahma Kumari World's Spiritual University, which I will NEVER forget). Well: Have Passport! Will travel!

An interesting fact about the French Civil Service: it is HUGE. In France, the Civil service covers a multitude of professions: Paris transport workers, doctors, teachers, as well as all the obvious administrative posts in town halls and in the public domain (embassies, police blah blah blah I am not a teacher any more so I don't have to know everything....) BUT there is a point to that opening. In order to join the rank of the Civil Servants, for most positions which do not depend on vocational qualifications, a person need to sit a "concours" (concours are rank related exam, where only a certain number of those with the best grades are "admitted" to a particular job/training, etc). The beauty of Concours is that they are anonymous, and so do not discriminate on the grounds of ethnicity of name. If your name is vaguely foreign, especially North African, Muslim sounding, an ordinary application for a job may well find its way to the bottom of the pile, even more so in areas where the Front National has strong support. So the way forward for clever "Magrébins" is to sit a "Concours" where they will be assessed only on their respective merit. Thus it is that my lovely lady at the French Consulate was clearly from a North African background, and that my sister-in law, in Paris has a very good job with the RATP, having been refused numerous other jobs previously in spite of being clearly a very bright (and pleasant, and well-educated) spark! Well, this ironic "justice" in the system makes my heart sing!
On the way back in the train, there was an encounter which I will tell you about later as I now need to go and do a bit of work, make a few phone calls and prepare for my singing to-night...
Meanwhile, may you feel loved and may you have jolly, entertaining thoughts!

Jocelyne

Excuses I have made: a very so-what-ish post

Once when I was teaching in a very rough school in London, I told the headmistress that I was late because it had been my birthday on that day and that I had had to try on my birthday present before coming to school. For my 25th birthday present I had asked for a Snoopy dog soft toy and a pair of roller skates. I don't think I got to work until ten o'clock that day....slightly bruised and very exhilarated. I think that's because my body produces its very own happy drugs whenever I feel that I have bucked the system. I didn't even get a reprimand. I think that M'am was too flabberghasted for words!

This morning, my unremarkable excuse for not getting up in time for the meditation class was that last night's power cut disabled my alarm clock and thus I slept blissfully on until 8.30...

Well at least I wasn't trying on my roller skates!

Ok, so what?

Love anyway!

Jocelyne

Don't feel sorry for me, but.....

I have just realised that I want to be one of the boys...and the chances of that in this lifetime are quite remote. It's because the boys all know what they are talking about, and here I am, stuck in the shallow end, the kid that no-one picks for the team, the kid that I was, walking aroung the playground composing symphonies in my head while the others were playing "tick" and I just wasn't fast enough...(or is it tack ? In French in any case it was called "Le Sorcier"). I don't feel sorry for myself, though, honest! These symphonies were a bit good! Just wish I could have caugh up with the other kids, occasionally!

Reading the blogs of the people I know, I have no reference point for quite a bit of what is being said.

That's probably why I find refuge in my separate, private, blog where I know what is going on!

But I suppose that never being one of a clique has meant that I have led a most interesting if slightly unusual life. Not relying on mass migrations I have visited some remote pastures, more farflung corners on the earth and off the beaten track places, from which I retain those vivid images that fill my head with beauty.

This morning, I was sitting on my own in a dry river bed, picking stones that only I had ever seen in a deserted corner of Africa. I made a pattern with the stones in the sand as an offering to Nature. It was a real place, and it is a true memory. Time there was eternal and I had enough sandwiches and drinking water not to have to worry about eternity. I even -for some very peculiar reason- has my suitcase with me...Then my friend arrived to pick me up in a 4x4 and we resumed a journey to some mine or other, looking for diamonds...How cool was that?

See! I did warn you never to feel sorry for me!

Much love,

Jocelyne

A zillion apologies...

... to anyone who actually enjoys reading what this unreliable blogger has to offer.

Anyway I may just have a little treat for you to-day:

A sky in the blue of India's skies.
A building, ornate and oriental, blindingly white under the sun.
A patchwork of large square pieces of printed cloth drying directly on the parched earth beneath.
A small lawn of greenest grass next to a fountain, with a pale green awning to shield us from the heat, and where we can sit and have a little chat or a dreamy moment.
There is a sacred cow ambling about, looking slightly inspired. Further along, a stubborn camel refuses to move, pulled by a little girl in bright clothes and long black plats which nearly touch the ground.
The air smells of French marigold and jasmin...

It's so good to travel thus from the comfort of my home!

See you later...