This week there have been three strikes. The strikes seem to be another excuse for the french to get together, share food and wine, whilst protesting and reaking havoc in the town centre. Typical of the french, they always find a way of turning any event into an al fresco feast, casually whipping out dozens of fresh baguettes, cheese galore, glasses of wine, patés - cheerfully sharing food, stories - talking and laughing happily. It's very patriotic. I was cycling through town, naive to the strike that was happening a bit further on, until I found myself trapped in the mob of strikers, sirens going off and people shouting into loud-speakers, police cars circling round. Super. Being the only non-striker desperately trying to cycle straight through their protest march without being trampled upon was probably not the best decision, and I emerged out the other side feeling like i'd survived a military coup or something along that line. I need to find a timetable for this strike so I can be more prepared because it will clearly happen again, probably all year if i'm lucky. Sigh.
The university tramp definitely recognises me, I've probably given him many strange looks whilst walking to class, mainly because he carries a cane which scares me a bit. Every time I walk past him I get the strange feeling that he's putting on this 'crazy' front because he looks so 'with it'. Maybe I'll keep a close eye on him and his antics in future.
I've acquired a new love for olive tapenade, it's so good. I keep getting cravings for tapenade, mojitos and, strangely, tomatoes - the little vine ones. I can literally eat about fifty in one go, I don't know what's happening to me but France is definitely having a weird effect. Tomatoes on toast for breakfast, for lunch and dinner? Oui, sure.
