Big Brother is watching

Grammarians, English language wardens I apologise…

I have started reading 1984 a few weeks ago in English. I read it in French at University. I’m sure a lot of people experience the same after learning a foreign language that the original version is always better than the translated one. A movie in the original version with subtitles is better than the French version. I hate French version movies in other languages. I am discovering George Orwell original writing and it is fascinating. I am a watcher, a nosy, a curious. My eyes go back to front. I ask questions. I want to know everything before making a decision. I won’t agree to commit myself without knowing what I am signing for. Yes I am a watcher, but I have been watched too. My performances have been controlled, monitored. My emails screened, eyes are checking on me. At the station, filmed on the platform, on the train, in the street, when I enter the building at work. I clocked in, sign in on my computer, sign out, clocked out. We are watched. Can you believe that all your correspondences, the professional ones or private ones, are read?  It is as if you were naked. Of course, you would like to share different things with others.  Who doesn’t like communicating! For example, you will discuss tissues with X and towels with Y, when you discuss scarves with Z. However, Big Brother grants itself the right to steal your tissues, towels and scarves stories at the same time. The fact is, he doesn’t need all the information: he needs only the socks! He will save the extra information and would perhaps use them when needed or when asked.

Big Brother is everywhere. Little Brother, Big Sister, Little Sister: all his relatives are on the look-out! In some businesses, it is easy to be overwhelmed by the way people act. Don’t expect people to be like you. One this has been understood, life is easier. Each whisper can be harmful, each gossip brings more gossip and you start yourself participating in this culture of gossip. Gossiping becomes the norm. You find good gossips and bad gossips. The ones which could make you cry, others built on lies or so made up, unbelievable but repeated and over repeated.

Are these people real?

You will learn a lot about an individual and sometimes your own words will be spread. How strange to hear someone repeating the words you have used at one point?  You are not only watched by the system or company, your peers will carry on with the monitoring scheme. I am guilty too. I would say it’s good gossiping but what is good for one can be interpreting as bad by others. This is a culture of total control when it’s difficult to think or to have your own opinions. You will be labelled. Going with the fringe, you might be promoted, you can be one of the mob. I would say I don’t like to be watched. I do care however I won’t change who I am. I am an independent ( I like saying that, it’s my brand!). I am me and I won’t pretend. I don’t follow a trend, not a sheep of the herd neither. Thankfully, I still need to know why before acting. If the reason is not illegible or irrelevant I will refuse to act. Am I difficult? Noooo!  Just sensible! “Better to be known as a sinner than a hypocrite”. I found this quote on the Internet and kept it as it summarize the Self (Me). On the “sinner” part I might write on this one day.

I am still on the same page after a week : 1984 by George Orwell. I have been very studious!


Emotions and rain,
Why this door has to be opened?

No knock, one sign.
My heart jumped.
Not today, not this  Wednesday.

Why this door has to be opened?
I whispered.
Emotions and cold.

I postponed it.
My heart tightened
I played,
My mind is all over the place.

Why this door has to be opened?
Scattered movements,
Unclear speech.
Why today, why not tomorrow?

This door has to be opened,
Emotions and sun,
You came back,
Overflowing emotions, my feeling.

This door will open,
Torrents and cascades,
You came back and my heart is tighter,
Scattered movements.

Inertia, mine;
Squared emotions, cubic feelings.
It was meant to be today,
Not tomorrow, not yesterday.

Angels, my heart is painful.
My eyes have swollen,
My head is all over the place
I am without being.

My minds is travelling through months, years,
A decade wandering.
Closed doors, a few I reckon.

Shall I open them?
One by one, a decade passed and the keys are lost.
Old habits, these doors should be opened.

Angels, I open the door.
You were there.
You came back.
I am without being.
Cascades and torrents,
Squared feeling, cubic emotions.

22nd of March is today,
Not tomorrow,
Not yesterday.

My Phobia

​Grammarians, English language wardens I apologise…

A phobia is “an extreme fear or dislike of a particular thing or situation,especially one that cannot bereasonably explained”

Last week I was thinking about what I would write about. What I would share with the world or the few people willing to read my texts, my tribulations.

I came up with my phobia!
Coincidence: my colleague came 3 days after I have decided to write about it with a superb necklace, sparkly green,  so beautiful but so realistic.
I felt strange :  I was between admiration and fear. When the mind contradicts itself.
It was an amazing piece of jewellery. The red eye, magnifique!

I remember when I was little, they were everywhere specially climbing the trees or “sitting” on the house’s ceiling.
Anecdote : my cousins could have been accused of animal cruaulty. They use to rein them and making them carry bottles! It  was awful.

 They used to stare at me. I used to move as quicky I can to be far away; as far as I can.

During the summer they love sunbathing on bridges, like some humans : just getting the right tan before going back to work! I know it’s less futile. Apparently they lounged in the sun to keep warm and  looking fo Vitamin D, like us!

I gave you so many clues, you might have guessed.

I won’t name it right now! People who know me are laughing!
It seems silly! But I’m glad I didn’t pass this to my progenitors. Sometimes an entire familly can have the same fear, it’s not innate for sure acquired, learnt.

My hobby, when I was little : climbing trees. Dancing on trees, defying altitude and force, the higher the better. The highest to pick the last fruits, at the end of the season. 
They were hiding sometimes and would appear suddenly, the fall. Not it but me!  Laughable but painful.
We call them “zandoli” back home.
They can be green, brown, small, big.  They can be nocturnal or diurnal.

I am scared of lizards. I have said it! This inoffensive little creature, so cute for some but just vile for me. Writing this,  it’s as if I have overcomed my fear. It is as if…
I could  touch my colleague’s necklace, I would pick one by it tail and put it on my arm.
I could have one as a pet, wandering with it everywhere.
A few years ago I saw a girl with her pet lizard on the platform : I was on the opposite train. Luckily!
I could climb any tree and greet each one I meet. I could have a conversation with the one sunbathing on the bridges, talking about holidays and plan for next year.

I can appreciate the feelings of  people with phobias like: spiders, feet, socks, rats, dark, work, Mondays, Christmas, names, bridges, lifts, chickpeas, Z, etc.

I would be curious to hear Freud analysing my phobia. I could be Bertha, Emmy or Hans ( Freud’s patients). Olala! I think I am overexagerating.

Luckily where I am now I don’t see them very often except on TV sometimes or on my colleague’s neck.

And why not share your phobia in the comments?

Des rires, des larmes et cetera

J’ai entr’aperçu des voix, des mots s’écraser dans le vide.
Hurlements au-dessus des murmures.

J’ai entendu ce silence à travers le chaos,
Le chahut au-delà des collines.

Mes mains se sont remplies de cette terre rougeâtre,
Chaque grain représentait une vie, mes vies.

J’ai vu des femmes, des amazones comme moi,
Tambourinées le sol de leurs pieds nus.

Almagames d’esprits, alliages de vies.
Souvent un souffle,
Un sursaut, un hoquet!

Rires empreints de larmes,
Larmes remplies de rires.
Des éclats de verres éparpillés, deçà delà, sur ces corps sans âmes.

J’abandonne et arbore cette couronne,
Du coton. Fierté oubliée.
Ce long cou, Amazone, comme moi?

Arbores cette couronne retrouvée,
Sur le sentier des amours, des larmes remplies de rires,
Des rires empreints de larmes.

Donnez-moi mon dimanche!

Placeholder ImageAujourd’hui je fais une ode à tous les travailleurs du dimanche.
Ceux qui se retrouvent  au bureau, dans les couloirs des hôpitaux, aux caisses de supermarché, derrière les volants de trains,camions et aussi au téléphone!
Ok! L’économie a besoin de cette main d’oeuvre!
Mais bon! Finis les Sunday roast ou repas du dimanche en famille, le farniente jusqu’à pas d’heure et la promenade du dimanche.
Certains diraient la grasse matinée, je fais l’impasse.
Vous avez deviné! J’aurais préféré travaillé 9-5h du lundi au vendredi!

Après 8 mois (presque le temps d’une grossesse), toujours cette même souffrance. J’exagère! Il y a pire. Je ne travaille pas dans une mine de coltan ou de mica.
Je ne laboure pas la terre avec une houe!
Je ne transporte pas des fagots de canne à sucre sur mon dos!
Mais quand même, c’est pénible.

Le cauchemar de la semaine 3. Un week-end blanc. Samedi et dimanche 10h-18.30. Je pourrais m’en passer. On pourrait tous s’en passer.
Pourquoi ne pas attendre lundi? Hein?

La cerise sur le gâteau :
Je vais le murmurer, c’est même indicible…je devrais peut-être arborer mes lunettes de soleil…me cacher…
Mais, non je le hurle de préférence :


Du lundi au dimanche, de 7h à 22h pour certains, le même salaire!!!!

Je reviens à ma rhétorique habituelle : il y a quelque temps, dans un passé pas très lointain, je rêvais de pire.

Le passage ou la résidence au Job Center, Pôle Emploi ( ANPE je me reconnais plus en employant ce terme) est plus démoralisant et stressant.

Alors “I won’t complain” de Benjamin Clementine est l’hymne de la semaine 3!

Pas sure de ne pas me plaindre pendant cette longue journée.

I won’t complain I said!


via Daily Prompt: Desire


Ripe fruit, foul smell.
My heart is pouncing
Running, bouncing
Musical chairs,
Djembe of my soul.

Once, I flew!
It was desire, envy.
Scattered minds,
Hostel of love.
Ripe fruit,  sweet smell.

Please, come!
Don’t forget, strange brain.
I remembered once.
Scents of summer,
Young love!

You blossomed,
Years passed, same you.
Stange fruit, unforgettable taste.
It was desire, jealousy.
Ripe fruit, foul smell.

Payday Lie

As I said previously, I might disturb Shakespeare in his long and peaceful sleep.
But, I had to! I must do!

I apologise for any grammar mistakes, bad language etc. I have warned you. It was in French, I know. But it was a warning.

Après toutes ces années en Angleterre, mon anglais boitille! Il souffre, les anti-inflammatoires ou le Paracétamol à 40p ne suffisent pas pour le soulager”

“After all these years in the UK my English limps! It is in pain, it can’t be relieved by any anti-inflammatories and 40p Paracetamol”.

(Apologies my second “M” in “anti-inflammatoires” has been eaten by the dog – I will be more careful next time)

So please be indulgent and kind with my poor English knowledge! Yes, for once, I assumed and will communicate the best I can while searching for the meanings I want to give to this platform. No complex and be ME by all means!

My comment box is open to any suggestions, corrections and thoughts. Please do!

Payday lie! 

Every last working day of each month, something strange happens on my bank account.
By midnight a ghost, a system glitch: an illusion.
Money, pounds arrive on my account and by the end of the day … nothing!
The money disappears.
I have no time to enjoy the sight of it, no time to touch it, no time to dream of it, no time to spend it.
Payday is a lie!
The problem is prior this day, my inbox have been inundated with emails from X, Y and Z.
Commercial emails. Yes, I’ve signed up to a multitude of Newsletters. Why? Maybe it’s the masochist side of Myself.

I am not really a masochist. No, I won’t go there!

So, on these emails you can read for example:

“All the PAYDAY feels “
“Celebrate Pay Day Weekend ”
” Payday power ”
“Payday Pizza Anyone?”

Voilà! Offers, offers and offers!

The Visa is ready and you starting making plans.
You wake up (even if you were not asleep) and a slap in your face!
No, no, no! It’s a lie.

You have been working nearly 200 hours, sweating, aching and YOUR MONEY has been taken away from you by Bills and THE Lender. How is this fair?
It is life, my life and your life! Maybe…
Small jobs, small salary! Life is an everyday struggle for some, for me. But to be fair, this money has been used for a good purpose.  I have paid my mortgage, food and a few bills.

The next day you forgot and start again.  Metro, boulot, Dodo: the same routine! And you just remember, the days when you were dreaming of this routine.

I’m smiling…

Je me lance!

Une discussion de janvier avec ma fille!
Mais maman pourquoi tu ne cherches pas un meilleur travail? Pourtant tu voulais être journaliste?
Moi: je ne peux pas trouver un autre travail. Je suis limitée ici. Je ne sais plus rien faire. Je passe ma journée à répondre au téléphone. Je ne sais plus écrire.
Depuis 6 mois je travaille dans un service client d’une grande société de prêt-à-porter!

Ainsi se sont terminées mes envies de belles lettres, mes envies de peindre le monde à coup d’encres…

Peut-être pas!

Durant cette même discussion, elle m’a suggéré d’écrire un blog!

Avec ce manque de confiance en mes capacités, mes possibilités ou bien l’oubli de ce moi je me suis surprise à dire que je ne peux pas… pas de sujet sur quoi écrire…ma vie momotone n’inspire pas la créativité!

Avec raison, je passe mes journées à répondre à des clients : “où est passée ma commande?” “Il me manque un article dans mon colis”, “je souhaite annuler ma commande” ou bien “OÙ EST MON REMBOURSEMENT?”.

Pas le temps des belles lettres, de belles phrases hein!

Je me lance! Je blogue, je blague, je bug!

Attendez-vous à sauter d’une langue à l’autre : à chatouiller Molière et à maltraiter Shakespeare!

Oui! Après des années en Angleterre, mon anglais boitille! Il souffre, les anti-inflamatoires ou le Paracétamol à 40 pence ne suffisent pas pour le soulager.

J’alternerais. Et surtout je “proofreaderais” moi-même l’Anglais car ce blog est aussi sur tout ce méli-mélo dans ma tête. Ces barrières qui  m’ont mené vers le call-center : microphone sur la tête à répondre à des personnes souvent pas très tendres.

Imbroglio…I am messed up!
Imbroglio …welcome to my life!

Soyez patients, je m’essaie à ces mots perdus! L’écriture ce mets délicieux qui m’a accompagné pendant des années…puis d’un coup s’en est allé.

Lors de mon prochain week-end ( lundi et mardi). Voilà ma réalité! je m’imprégnerais de ces lignes.

Imbroglio, c’est le titre.

J’y raconterais tout ou presque,et surtout rien. Des histoires longues, des anecdotes, des nouvelles, des poèmes et une phrase.

L’inspiration est traitre parfois… donc j’essaierais d’être assidue.

Mon premier poste! Je me congratule! Et tire ma révérence.