Back by popular demand

'Tis hard to say if greater Want of Skill
Appear in Writing or in Judging ill;
But, of the two; less dang'rous th'Offence,
To tire our Patience, than mislead our Sense

Edmund Spenser, from An Essay on Criticism

Unsure as to whether to continue torturing this carcass of a weblog, I write on.

Recent months have been eventful. Moving to a new flat in Ealing, combining the pressures of a Masters and a full-time teaching job in a super-academic French school, and trying to squeeze in time for my partner in between short spates of sleep... It's been hectic, horrifically hectic, but oh so fun.

Twenty-eight is an odd year to celebrate, if that's what it is that I've been doing. Spending the evening at home enjoying time with people I really want to be with seems to be a whole lot more fun than going out and painting the town red. Then again, I've always been a bit party-shy. I guess I feel old and young all at the same time.

London life suits me right down to the ground at this stage of my existence. Down to the underground, to be more precise, which is where I seem to spend most of my day, bussing between lessons I teach and lessons I am taught both in and out of academic contexts. I love the hectic, unforgiving, bustle of London now, and no longer see it as a drag, despite the days when it literally drags me downwards by the shoulders (a leftover symptom of September's glandular fever perhaps, or perhaps just a psychosomatic emblem of London's energy drain...). I arrived in the Lycee this morning to see the sun reflecting off the rooftop of the V&A museum thinking yet again that my morning trip to work is a lifetime pilgrimage for so many visitors to the UK. I'm darn lucky to have landed here.

Cédric Clapish made a film a few years ago, the title of which summarizes my feelings about London right now: L'Auberge Espagnole. Like the fabled Spanish taverns, this city brings back to you whatever you bring to it. Be careful what you wish for if you decide to live here.