Saturday, 3 January 2009

Toulouse, to win, whatever

After several days of increasing stress levels caused by my patience being gradually eroded by my family during Christmas I got to Blagnac airport in Toulouse with over 90 minutes to spare before my flight home to the UK. A sandwich, 2 over-priced beers and many pages of Henry Rollins later I'd allowed my mind to wander, following my eyes as I observed some of my fellow travellers. A few sights brought thoughts that had to be written down in my notebook:

Overweight couple with 2 small kids. When I say overweight I don't mean muffin-tops, I mean weebles. When the bloke walks he looks like he's carrying a huge tray of jelly. How did he get it up? How did she get it wet? How did they manage to reproduce? Tweedledum and Tweedleohforfuckssakegoonadietyoufatcunt.

It's great how in France/Europe you get to be as eccentric as you like and no-one really cares. Anything from crazy to chic, oddball to classic, is ok. There's no obvious feeling of facade, veneer, show - no-one judges because most people are comfortable enough with who they are that they don't feel defensive in the face of eccentricity. (I then started an anti-English-insecurity rant with the words 'Fuck Eng...' but immediately thought of Show Of Hands and stopped)

I see the french girl leaning against her boyfriend using his laptop in the airport and straight away I'm wondering what it'd be like to have a sexy/stylish/eccentric/individual French girlfriend. I'm thinking of her even though I know it'll never happen, but I wish it would.

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