foire, er

On Sunday I was supposed to have coffee with K, but got a call earlier than expected to come and help with filming interviews at the Foire Celtique out at the convention centre. The vast majority of the show was a commercial debauchery of the theme, but the celtic part itself, confined as it was to a small part of one hall, was entertaining enough. Some weird conversations were had. There was a stall selling exclusively rugby gear but with a TV screening gaelic football - when asked, the girl obviously had no idea why, and offered instead feeble justifications about there being rugby "in" gaelic football, which is as false by evidence as it is (I believe) by origins. There was a welsh-turned-french author who gave a great interview bagging english folk who move to Brittany but refuse to integrate - I couldn't help but think about how these are views are quite acceptable here, but would be dodgy if you substituted Western Sydney for Brittany, and Lebanese/Vietnamese for English. Food for thought. I was going to go listen to some jazz at Henry Cording in the evening, but I was wiped, so I stayed home with stirfry and "A Streetcar Named Desire".

Note: Il y a bien une tentative à un jeu de mot dans le titre, peut-être ratée. Foireux!