Tuesday 10 June 2014

Leg day

Every day is leg day here, because I just love running. I'm also not sure how one goes about doing weights and things without an actual set of them, and I'm not so bothered about that to be perfectly honest. Give me stamina! Give me swift legs and slightly less of a tummy!

So that's what I'm getting. Very slowly; I shaved another second or so off my pace today, so that's pleasing. We did intervals today; 90 seconds of walking followed by 60 seconds of steady running making a total of 20 minutes exercise, plus a 5 minute jog as a warm-up. All very pleasing indeed. I'm teaching tonight too - more Lord of the Flies, more creative exercises and a long walk back because buses apparently don't run after 7.30 in the evening. Ho hum.

My dissertation has hit a rut (sort of) in that I have to pause when reading books or watching interviews to yell at fat white French guys who are convinced that women covering their faces victimises them. While they make the occasional good point - a full-body, full-face covering does have some potential security issues - their main one seems to be "...and what if I want to engage 'er in conversation? I cannot see 'er face! I am ze victime, it is not French, it is not in ze French soul to cover ze face..." and it's all utter wankery. I am rather afraid my conclusion is going to piss off a lot of French people, because it essentially boils down to "be more like America in this one thing."

Not in any other thing. Because that would be obscene.
You are not the victim because you are not entitled to see anyone's face. You are not born with this right. It is strange and alien and thus uncomfortable to you, like black people with the vote and gay people marrying and, I imagine, black gay people marrying and voting. But you have to get over it. Because what you thought was your right was actually your privilege, and that's being chipped away. Suck it up.

Hey look! I've got a conclusion. 7,950 words to go and I can call it a day. Easy.

That's all for now folks. Tomorrow: my first experience with a Russian textbook. Gulp.

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