Publié le 10 Août 2016

English in a Cup of Tea !

Really fast, quick English in a few minutes a day... in less time than you need to drink a cup of tea...
A short course for all the general English you need in everyday situations...
to support teaching and learning functional English vocabulary, grammar, and phonetics... taking the pain out of gain...
Only about 15 minutes a day will bring tremendous results !

Follow the yellow brick road

http://learningandteachingenglish.com/index.php/category/english-in-a-cup-of-tea/

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Teaching - Training & Coaching in Words

Publié le 7 Août 2016

Living with suicide… leaving life rather living life… my life… having a life…

That’s it too late now… I’m born… a fallen angel into the purgatory of the living… living dead… living death… living death… walking with death… walking beside myself… it’s a fact I’m gonna have to live with… bittersweet obsession that my life will turn out for the bitter rather than for the better… torn out… torn off… ripped from the great magma of life… a life of yonder rather than a life of wonder… I’m off… looking for the other side of life… chipped off the old block…

Living without a will to live… living while leaving a will to die…

Fighting… warding off death from sunrise to sunset… never really living but battling on… watching out for death lurking everywhere… at the ready to jump… creep upon me anywhere anytime… maybe winning another battle but never winning the ever-raging war… cheating for lack of defeating life… stronger because it’s harder to live than to die… just a snap before I even remember holding the scissors… just a chop off before I can even think of picking up the axe…

Whoever… whatever gave me this cumbersome appointment with the living…

Loathing life rather loving life… even at the best of times loving was only an option… infatuation… living on the jumped and never really jumping off the edge… that solitude of never being able to talk about it…

Exorcising life rather than exercising life… never really living never really loving… snatched life for lack of a better idea… always third part to this deal of life I was given… and probably against my will… never finding solace… never finding life where you’d expect it… just a meeting with death…

Everyday I wake up with the bitter taste of life in my mouth… and endeavour and strive to turn the bitter into sweet… but sweet is elusive and bitter is pervasive… never swallowing nor spitting the foul aftertaste of life in my mouth…

Squatting there in the corner of the room… on the floor, on the sofa on the bed… waiting expecting something that is not to happen… everything looks normal… quiet… dead… but that knife could cut my throat… my wrists… and those pills could put me to sleep… for good… for the better…

Way down memory lane… reminiscing on a childhood memory again… silly game we played… not to close our eyes when we were tired… because we thought that we might die… or closing our eyes when we hoped to die… life was much easier and stranger then… as if we didn’t owe it to anybody… still a mystery…

It wasn’t until I had had my stomach pumped three times that I began to understand what and why… all I needed now was the how… how could I have come to this ? Not that I have really ever found the answer… why did I hate life so much ? Why did I hate myself so much ? But then that didn’t change anything… facts are facts… cold heartless facts… no emotions…

Some people commit suicide for a reason… take their own life… in their hands… take it to where… if the only exit… the only destination… the only way out is death ? Walking with suicide is committing suicide for no reason… living for no reason… dying for no reason…

God only knows how I make it to the night… worse still make it through the night…

Like so many unsung heroes I will live to see another day to bring down as I rise… another day another night… living on the death line… fuelled only by the sole energy of hope…

I have come to realise all along my life the squadrons of people who feel that way… many take their own life eventually… so many people who have everything to be happy yet have found life to be unbearable after all… contemplating death all their way to their ashes…

Many people can’t cope… many people definitely on the down slope… take the first step to their last step…

There is no remedy to cure suicidal tendencies… if the prey to suicidal tendencies will take his or her life sooner or later… come what may… yet I’m holding back… postponing… procrastinating… forever holding back… some people may mistake this for cowardice… it’s not… believe it or not… it’s more like waiting to see… expecting something else to turn up… for the better… but never… only further…

Life only leads to death... so why wait ? What’s in life for me if I have to die ? Sooner or later it will be the death of me… of all of us… French philosopher Pascal said the salt of life is entertainment… but not to me… entertainment does nothing for me… for my life… it only takes me back to reality… for a spell…

When I leave this world I want to be cremated… I and my ashes cast to the wind… I have nothing to leave… but this life…

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Littérature - Literature

Publié le 31 Juillet 2016

for Adele

The news was still ringing in her ears… dead… shot dead… dead… dead and… gone… dead shocked…

The situation was beyond repair… no turning the clock back… and she was beyond therapy…

Late… too late… it was too late now… the damage was done… her son was gone…

A mother cannot see her son die…

A mother cannot see her son dead… it’s not on…

She wishes she had gone… instead of him…

She wasn’t called for on time and this wasn’t uncalled for…

They shouldn’t…

They shouldn’t live and die in that order…

There’s something wrong with this… mothers bear sons to take them to the grave… not the other way round…

The news… the enquiry the inquiry the inquest the inquisition and the media did the rest… not their best… far from their best… but in their best interest…

Not a word… not word they printed was true… not one… they had spent hours asking and asking again… rubbing salt in the wound… rubbing deeper and deeper… all to no avail… she would have felt understood for lack of understanding had they told her story… had they told the world what she couldn’t bring herself to say… to tell…

But no… lo and behold… they only had their story told… not their story but theirs !

This had meant so much to her… this was too much…

The police did their best… their job… her husband was a police inspector so he knew and she knew… they knew… and she wasn’t sure it was better that they knew… but you never know… in your job you never think for yourself… you never think of your own… it never happens to you…

This guy had called her son… summoned him to come… to talk… it was about a girl… what girl ? Her son was virtually always home when he wasn’t at college… he was studying… where had that girl come from ? When had she stepped in ? Into his life ? He told them everything… he had never spoken of a girl… that girl that was gonna be the death of him…

But then your children never tell you everything do they ?

He hadn’t come back… he hadn’t walked back… he had been taken… on a stretcher to hospital… Emergency ward…bleeding to his death… never regained consciousness… they will never know…

Stab stab stab goes the beat beat beat of her heart… his had stopped beating forever and hers was barely any better… it was a wonder it was still beating…

She had left everyone… she had even left herself… in her wake… on her voyage… on her road to nowhere… nowhere to run…

Was she ever coming back ? Would she ever come back ?

Could she… ever come back ?

There was no turning back… no turning back the clock… she could only just run… run amok at best…

Tick tock of the clock that won’t stop… even you’re gone her life won’t go on…

That was when her sister came closer… got real close with her… not the best time… but as sisters go good days and bad days come and go… one day love one day hate… but love is always there eventually…

She called when her sister was listening to Adele… Rolling in the deep… and that was precisely how she felt… it was… she was… rolling in the deep… deeper and deeper down to the deepest reaches of her soul…

She called but she couldn’t speak… no words… no words would come out… just tears… of course her sister knew… who didn’t… everybody knew… the whole wide world… but nobody could understand… not a soul… and just as well their lips were sealed… even if her story was on all their lips…

Do you want me to come over ?

Do you want to come over ?

No ? Are you sure ?

Shall we go somewhere ?

Would you like…

No she wouldn’t… she wouldn’t like anything… she wouldn’t like to go anywhere… she wouldn’t like to be anywhere… she wouldn’t… she couldn’t… she wouldn’t come out so she had to go out to her…

She couldn’t be… she couldn’t live… without him… she… just wasn’t meant to be without him… ever… there was nowhere to be… there was no way she could be…

And then… but then… anywhere was better than here… but suddenly thinking she realised he was everywhere… he had taken on a global dimension… he had taken over her whole world… her whole life…

Her sister was lost for words… there was no answer… all she could do was listen… but if you can’t speak how do you listen to someone who won’t speak ?

She would just… be there… just in case…

She couldn’t talk to her husband… she had been estranged even to her second son… second to none nonetheless… but second regardless… her life was seconds now… nothing but seconds… imperfect… imperfection… nothing but imperfections… incomplete… holes… her life had been holed in… holed out… her whole life had been stolen… against her will… hollowed… from inside out… hollowed out…

She would be there anyway…

Depressed people have that vampire power over you… they suck… vacuum your energy out of you… you think you reload… you think you’ll reload… you’ll refuel… fill her up… but in the end you find you don’t… you find out you didn’t… you hope…

You write yourself off to them as they write themselves into you… squat your brain and drain… life out of you… and you think all along you help them… when they take no notice… it’s a perverted reverted process… your own oblivion is in motion…

Words at work… business as usual… work in progress… working process… until they have bled you dry…

We could have had it all…’ Adele was singing on… and the beat goes on… but her heart’s not beating any longer… lock stock and barrel all gone asunder…

They meet and they cry… they cry their hearts out together…

And as her sister sinks deeper she feels dragged into her spiel…

She wasn’t… no she wasn’t… or was she ?

Was she ?

No intent on her volition… no dent in her intentions… depression… out of desperation… separation… not that way inclined…

Funny to see how she was cottoning on to this sister… of all the six of them she’d been the one she’d always wanted to follow her most… and now she was following her… you never know who’s gonna catch on in your life and how you’re gonna go and get on… nobody knows what life has in store for us… and things to come come in many ways but one… and the hardest ones come in many ways but easy ones…

Life may be trying… life may be testing but some tests will just get the better of you…

There she was wondering pondering about all this and life and… when the telephone rang and her sister was on… no nothing was wrong… only nothing was right… there’s no way you come up from the deep when that deep is too deep and you’re way out of your depth… you need a stepping stone but you can’t see for miles… no matter how hard you try the road is just to long…

Alright she was coming right over forgetting herself and her own life to live her sister’s… but if she had been given half a chance to live her sister’s she would have been out of it like a bat out of hell… in a beeline… life rarely gives you a second chance… all you get at the best of times is one deal… no bypass… no buoy… no hunky lifesaver stepping right out of the screen to save you in the closing scene… credits in the backdrop…

Reality’s over the rainbow… follow the yellow brick road… so the story goes…

But down here under the grey skies the storm is coming… under the cover of the quiet before the storm… you never know what’s coming at you…

The ringtone rang out like a wake up call…

That couldn’t be… yes she was… no she wasn’t… she was feeling no better only worse… for better of for worse something had to be done about it…

Go over… come over… to her place… to that den that still served as a house… but no longer as a home… how could one live in such a pigsty ? Her sister had always been a house fairy… come rain or shine day or night you could just turn up on her doorstep and be invited in… eat your food right off the floor… so clean it was… Where had her sister gone ? What had come to her ? What had come over her ?

You don’t turn the clock back and you don’t bring back the dead…

For a spell she had given in to magic witchcraft divining dowsing… you name it she had tried it all and many times over… taken it nationwide… made it worldwide… in her wild will to make ends of sense meet… all to no avail… but she wasn’t giving up… she was broken… and there seemed to be no mending her… she was beyond repair… beyond therapy… had written her own self off…

And she was still there… in pain… in agony… she had to be helped… couldn’t be left alone… on her own… by herself…

But nobody… no one could feel the deep cut of the pain… the wound in her womb… out of the crack the pot cracked… she was losing her mind… she was in no mind… to have a mind of her own… blood runs thicker than water… drowning in her in her sense of vengeance… she was out of her depth… now… no way she could get back on her feet… swim back to shore… safe ground… solid ground… she had run aground… no rising her…

She was over like a shot… only to find her no better… two’s company… sisters in arms… some a pain shared is halved… although it seemed doubled… there’s no killing the pain… it’s only killing the brain… cooking you on a slow fire… burning… simmering… sizzling… charring you gut deep… charcoal night of death… leaving no light to hope by…

They cried… they laughed… they cried… and cried again…

Going through pictures… down memory lane… retracing… reviving… reliving… but there was no tracks leading into the future… nothing on the horizon… the sun might have danced all day and all night it was always dark… too dark…

The curtain of the night is drawn and is too heavy to draw back… the veil of the night is like a sheath on your sanity… a sheath on your insanity… you never wonder whether it protects you or your enemy… that thin line between love and hate… the same passion… the same emotion… the same notion… shadow boxing in the night you’re fighting for your life in the dark… rowing against the current of the light…

It’s not so much how much you miss… how much you’ve missed… how much you’ll miss that matters now… since you don’t know all this… first you feel sorry for the other then you feel sorry for yourself… and you put your pride on the shelf… until the shelf gives way… and your whole world tumbles, crumbles down and you lie in the rubble… your feathers all ruffled… feeling of all sorts feelings of none…

She sees her sister like a total stranger now… she never knew… never imagined there was… there could be so much sorrow in the world… so many tears in the one body… so many… and there is… only she doesn’t know what to do with it…

Her sister wants to talk but she can’t talk… she wants to be talked to but she doesn’t listen… she thinks she should do something but she doesn’t want to do anything… she know something must be done about it… about her… but she doesn’t want to do anything about it and her sister can’t really do anything about her… without her… with her… it’s all a great big mess…

What have they done ?

What have they done to her ? What have they done with her ? Where is her sister ?

For as best as she can remember… as long as she can remember… try as she might she doesn’t remember… she can’t remember her sister to be that woman who is now but the shadow of a woman… the shadow of her man… the shadow of life… deprived of life deprived of shadow… denied a shadow… begging for life… shade shade shade go way little sister wants to play… no wind no rain can bring her back… no babe… rock a bye a baby… she rocks her broken rag doll of a sister lying there listless lifeless in her arms… and it feels like she’s dead… a deadbeat dead body… life lying in ruins…

She tries to hang on… to cling on to rebuilding her story from scratch… but only barely scratches that unreachable itch… awakening the pain… and she believes talking will help… and so she makes her talk and lets her talk… but talk doesn’t help that much and action speaks louder that words… so she tries… she has her moves on into action… but that doesn’t takes her very far… the shark of life had bitten off more than she could chew…

And now they know… they know that what the world knows is not what went on… they had hoped… she had hoped that that when the world knew they would understand… they would sympathise with her… they would bring her relief… but lo and behold they went ahead and publish their story… not hers…

Why the lie ? What did they want to know ? What did people want to know ?

What story did they want to hear ?

It can happen to anybody… it always happens to the best… but then they will never know now what happened to her… we could have had it all…

And so she finds her helpless again… and she finds herself helpless again…

She goes home to find she too can’t bear the stress of life… and she doesn’t know why… for lack of a better idea she calls her sister… maybe it something she said… something they said… something they didn’t say… something they should have said… but nothing… nothing that was said or unsaid… seems to hit home… to ring a bell… for whom the bell tolls…

It’s as if… as if nothing’s gone amiss… as is… and yet something is missing… someone is missing… someone who won’t be replaced… an empty place… an empty space… nothing’s gonna fill… no one’s gonna fill… nothing and no one will replace… a forever empty void… nothing but space and that space seems to be catching on… taking on… taking over the whole place… that stares you right in the face… deadly stare… and now she too can feel it… can see it… there’s no hope… it’s washed over… run over the whole wide place… the whole wild world…

She feels that feeling coming over her… sliding… worming in her…

For weeks now she had been exposed to the virus… it felt like she was immune… like she was safe… like she was saved… she had gotten over… she had made it… who could save her now ? There was only the two of them fighting this battle… the rest of the world seemed healed… the wound seemed sealed… the had healed… before they were even taken ill…

Deeper and deeper lower downhill… rolling in the deep…

From her bottomless pit she too now calls out from the deep… for help… escape… there’s no escape… from this mess… and her sister won’t return her calls… she imagines she’s feeling worse… and that breaks her heart all the more… she can see no way out of there… despair… desperate…

No one… not one person heard her…

No one will hear her now… where she is… wherever she is… but she may be gone forever…

No one saw her for a few days…

And when her daughter found her… she was lying on her bed… totally relaxed… smiling almost… relieved…

Naturally her sister went to her funeral and never looked any better… even if crying to mourn yet another next of kin…

It is as though in helping and departing she had lifted off the weight of her shoulders and taken it away from her…

Adele... so deep... deeper and deeper...

Jesse CRAIGNOU

Continue reading

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Littérature - Literature

Publié le 29 Juillet 2016

Noah’s Ark

On my daily ‘early morning-late evening’ run into out of the city… riding the bumpy overcrowded suburban train in a daze… feeling like death warmed up… we pass a modern building running along the tracks…

Now I liked that building… I couldn’t look at it without thinking Noah’s Ark… a private name a private thought I never shared with anybody… my mum had come over a couple of times to pay visit and stay with me… and one day riding the train into the city… I mentioned that building as we rode by… ‘Yeah, she answered, Noah’s Ark…’ I was lost… lost for words… how serendipitous !

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Littérature - Literature

Publié le 25 Juin 2016

for Razmick

The wheels of the bus go round and round… all day long… the wheels of the bus go round and round all over London…

All his life he had looked up to the sky as far back as he could remember… even now 55 years later… he had looked up to the sky… looked at planes… dreamt about planes… left the earth for the sky…

Then he met her… bubbly blonde sexy bombshell… he only had eyes for her… and she brought him back to safe ground… she grounded him… and the budding aeronautical engineer became a London bus driver… if there’s safety in numbers there’s safety in driving… and the loops going round and round in the air turned to loops going round and round on the ground… no crash… just the crush of love… and so all the rest of his life was spent going round and round London… he had to be careful sometimes as he tended to wander of in daydreams of flying… taking off… bouncing back on the London streets…

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié le 23 Juin 2016

La culture n'est rien...

La culture n'apporte rien... la culture ne rapporte rien... et ne vous faites pas d'illusions... dans le monde de la culture non plus la culture n'existe pas... on vous vend du vent ! Et celle-là qu'on nous prétend culture n'en n'est pas...

Les débats sur la culture font rage et sont légions... pourtant la culture n'est rien... on ne nous la demande ni dans la vie professionnelle ni dans la vie personnelle...
Votre employeur, votre patron, votre employé, votre client... se moquent que vous soyez cultivé ou non... et ne vous demandera rien de culturel... d'ailleurs la plupart ne savent même pas ce que le mot culture veut dire !
Et quant à ceux qui pensent avoir compris, ils vous répondront que c'est peut-être très bien... mais qu'il n'ont pas le temps !
Ils n'ont pas le temps parce qu'ils dépensent leur capital vital en futilités, autres inutilités, devant écran de leur smartphone ou de leur ordinateur personnel en attendant un miracle... qui ne viendra jamais !
Les miracles non plus n'existent pas... pas plus que la culture... on a le salaire et les résultats qu'on méritent... en travaillant son sujet...

Rentrant d'une journée qu'ils croient de rendement... quand ils ne travaillent pas aussi dans un moulin à vent... ils s'avachissent et s'adonnent lamentablement à la facilité de l'imbécilité omniprésente... comme s'ils ne s'en étaient déjà pas pris assez toute la journée, toute la semaine, tout le mois, toute l'année...
Ils n'ont pas de vie privée... ils n'ont pas de vie personnelle... il racontent tout à n'importe qui... et n'ont même pas de vie professionnelle... seulement des heures qu'ils trainent comme un boulet... tout du long... espérant toucher ce qu'ils se croient du à la fin du mois... pour acheter... consommer... même des produits qu'ont leur fait passer pour de la culture... et leur divertissement n'est qu'une éternelle attente d'un train qui ne viendra jamais... ou seulement pour les emmener à destination... mais pas plus loin qu'au cimetière... il ne leur reste que l'espoir de la réincarnation... pour continuer...

Perspective de la culture bien maigre et bien négative en réalité... mais quitte à vivre orphelins de culture... passant à côté de leur vie... ils vont peut-être un jour se rappeler que même s'il ont raté le train de la culture...

Sans culture on n'est rien

Jesse CRAIGNOU

Continuez de me lire

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Politis

Publié le 19 Juin 2016

À l'aube des années 80, la scène musicale de Cologne affiche un nouvel groupe : Gina X Performance...

Le quatuor aurait pu être l'enfant illégitime de Kraftwerk et d'Amanda LEAR, les cousins de Taxi Girl ou la tante d'Étienne DAHO... ou les copains d'école des Britanniques Thompson Twins... quelqu'il fut la célébrité et la gloire les ont laissés dans l'impasse... entre romance et décadence...

Gina X Performance était produit par Zeus B HELD... qui produisait par ailleurs le groupe Fashion...auquel Gina Kikoine (chanteuse et parolière) prêtait sa voix sur l'album Fabrique... qui malgré 3 45 tours s'en est aussi allé...
Gina X Performance, tout comme Fashion avait de quoi plaire... des textes intelligents, quelquefois provocateurs, et des music pop... comme les gens les aimaient déjà l'époque... même si l'accent anglais ne les aurait pas poussé dans les pays anglophones... tant d'autres pays auraient pu les accueillir...

4 albums

  • Nice Mover (Crystal Records/EMI, 1979) : le plus musical et le plus sombre... pour moi le plus abouti...
  • X-traordinaire (EMI, 1980)
  • Voyeur (EMI, 1981) : tous les 2 plus gais/gays et pop... très agréables...
  • Yinglish (Statik Records, 1984) : plus un projet solo de Gina Kikoine mais très intéressant... avec la célèbre reprise de Birgitte BARDOT et Serge GAINSBOURG Harley davidson et Dirve My Car des beatles...

La gloire est capricieuse et son injustice est aveugle...
Je les écoute encore régulièrement avec plaisir... et les recommande fortement au moteurs du genre...

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Musique - Music

Publié le 18 Juin 2016

Je n'ai jamais été possédé par cette impulsion de vouloir me reproduire à toute fin... et de laisser un trace génitale de mon passage !

et même si j'adore les enfants... je crois que la planète est largement surpeuplée (et pas des meilleurs individus !)... et pense que la Terre ne se portera jamais aussi bien que sans l'Homme !

Les temps anciens voulaient que la 'normalité' de la vie (supportée par la religion) que l'on soit hétéro, marié et parent... l'expérience m'a confortée dans ma conviction qu'il y a un autre mode de vie...

Je comprends que l'on puisse ne pas vouloir d'enfants (quelle qu'en soit la raison !)... et je comprends que l'on puisse avoir un travail (puisqu'il nous faut généralement en avoir un) qui nous plaise... mais je trouve carrément aberrant que l'on puisse croire mener de front famille ET travail ! C'est une injure faite aux enfants !

Les enfants ont besoin de leurs parents pour grandir et s'épanouir... c'est également une insulte à l'intelligence que de vouloir le faire croire... et il faut arrêter de croire que l'on est capable de gérer les deux !

Les femmes qui travaillent confient leur progéniture à des nounous, des parents, des associations ludorécréatives... et ne sont pas des mères ! Être mère ne s'arrête pas à pondre des enfants !

Pire encore... les mères qui travaillent souvent vendent leur vie au travail... un travail qui ne les satisfait pas... qui les font culpabiliser (parait-il) de ne pas être avec leurs enfants... pour au final dépenser plus d'argent en futilités qu'en besoin... et ne voir leur salaire que partir en charges diverses liées à leur maternité... quand l'enfance de l'enfant est passée il n'y a rien qui puisse la faire rattraper !

Il y a encore des familles qui ont compris que la famille prime... et qu'un seul des parent travaillant suffit à nourrir la famille...

Le système est complètement perverti en France... où les deux parents travaillent en général ET en plus perçoivent un tas d'aides... ce qui est totalement suicidaire !

Tout comme je suis le pourfendeur du mariage ! Laissons les gens vivre comme ils veulent et avec qui ils veulent...

Jesse CRAIGNOU
Continuez de me lire

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Politis

Publié le 17 Juin 2016

On The Radio rassemble et rappelle les plus belles chansons de Donna Summer... la partie européenne jusqu'au retour en Amérique... période à laquelle la diva s'est lancée dans une quête éperdue d'un public américain qui n'avait jamais vraiment été là (Le disco n'est la musique préférée des Américains)... au prix du tout et du n'importe quoi...


Donna Summer a gaspillé sa voix et son talent dans des tentatives désespérées... avec quelquefois un succès mérité... mais sans jamais trouver son public américain... pendant qu'elle perdait son public européen... dont il reste de beaux titre tels She Works Hard For The Money ou State Of Independence... ou encore Dinner With Gershwin... mais hélas un filet trop mince pour retenir sa chute... le fameux duo écrit par Paul Jabara la rapprochant de Barbra Streisand y figure... et offre aux deux divas un morceau de choix comme à la compilation...

On The Radio reste un classique de Donna SUMMER à mettre entre toutes les oreilles des fans ancients, des nostalgiques et des des plus jeunes...

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Musique - Music

Publié le 13 Juin 2016

for Linda and Tricia

One of my colleagues, Peter English, fancied one of my friends… and so I offered to introduce them… and the funny thing is they already had the same name… English…

So I arranged to me at the pub after work… and introduced… Peter English meet Patricia English… Patricia English meet Peter English… they laughed… and greeted one another…

‘Do you leave in Littlehampton Patricia ?

  • Yes, as a matter of fact I do… in Christchurch Road…
  • Christchurch Road ? I don’t believe it ! I live in Christchurch Road too ! Number 22…
  • Number 99… we’re neighbours ! Let’s drink to that…
  • Married ? Any kids ?
  • Divorced two kids… you ?
  • Divorced… two kids… laughs…
  • And you know this is serendipitous my ex-husband is called Peter…
  • And my ex-wife’s called Patricia… more laughs… what are your kids’ names ?
  • Kevin and Sean…
  • Oh no ! My sons are called Kevin and Sean !
  • They both go to Saint Mary’s College…
  • Some do mine… what a match !
  • Yeah we couldn’t have had it better !’

Incidentally that was my last day at work and I moved away that weekend… I never heard of them again… I sometimes think about them and imagine them happily married… a match made in Heaven…

Jesse CRAIGNOU

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Rédigé par Jesse CRAIGNOU

Publié dans #Littérature - Literature