Lost in Translation

Sunday has been interesting.

In spite of sleeping well, I started the day in a real low.  I knew why, and was able to work my way back to normal.

As luck would have it, I’ve been in the final stages of arranging a week away at the end of next month so this morning I was able to make final enquiries and book most of it. Of course this helped lift my spirits.

More good luck! Last week I made an impulse decision to buy a ticket for a show this afternoon at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival , so I was out and busy all afternoon.

The 1 hour 1 woman show was wonderful. Titled “Lost in Translation”; sub-titled “A Bilingual Journey”; roughly summarised (by her) as “What happens in the mind of a bilingual person?”.

It was clever, funny and fun.

Her last show is tomorrow, so I won’t give away too much. She’s French and performs the show in 4 languages - French, Occitan, English and Gaelic.

My elderly landlady in Toulouse (this was the early 70s) spoke both Occitan and French. French was really her “Sunday best” language and (in theory) for speaking to me. When she got agitated (this happened a lot) she mixed the two up, so I only understood half.

Marion mixing the two this afternoon was hilarious for me.

The show was in the Institut Français, and the Blip is the library where I spent a few minutes beforehand.

The Institut is around the corner from the office I worked in from 1988 to 1991. It was a happy time in my personal life, but difficult and frustrating at work. Office politics.

Anyway, Ainslie Place is one of the extras. Those impressive Georgian buildings were offices back then, having been converted from houses at some point. Now many of them have reverted to being houses, including the one I worked in.    

To ensure a good end to the day I went to Fatma (the local Lebanese restaurant) on the way home. It was another smart move - really delicious.

The other extra is my meze starter - foul modammas. Baked beans, but not as we know it.