Monday, June 27, 2011

DSC_3300 - RightistEt maintenant mon, euh, landlord et sa nièce est dans la cuisine. Ils parlent en français avec beaucoup des rires. J'entre. Il y a silence. Il y a une remarque. Il y a des rires. Mais je la comprends. Je n'aime pas mon landlord.

If you're going to talk about someone behind their back in front of them in a foreign language do try to pick one they've never learnt, however badly. You managed it perfectly well with the stray Italians you picked in the street and then let sprawl for days.

Except that's not such a good thing. Even with the other flatmate there's a sudden silence aborting the laughter when they hear my door or the stairs creak, as both suddenly remember they have things to do.

The only good thing about to paranoia is when it is.


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