Courage we are Thursday

I love foreign accents for their musical tones; I love emails from foreigners who know speak few words of English for the beautiful surprises of our language that they reveal. You can imagine my delight at receiving the following news today circa noon:

My mission is accomplish. I negociated my winter holidays and I can leave between 19 november to 16 december for one week of course with two or three days more. You can choose the best time for us and after we can decide where and how.

Ah yes. Fortunate not to have committed any excitable bookings last Friday amidst that ocean of spiraling incomprehensibility. But now the task of selecting the week of least firm resistance this far out shall be interesting. All of a sudden Istanbul appears atrociously close.

One of those beautiful Thursdays in Halifax: full sun setting and all that breaks between the pale blue sky and the full blue sea. Impossible to adhere to any vows or pledges, on such a night as this. You see yourself being taunted by fate and instinct and for revenge you simply roll with it with all the more enthusiasm. And the fans of such assured impossibility everywhere need look only at the miraculous Scottish victory in Paris last night as confirmation of fickle Lady Fortune's penchant for the wonderous and the beautiful.

Post-lunacy analysis: "Where does James McFadden rank in the pantheon of Scottish heroes?" asks Jon Cummins. "Surely he'll be the subject of Braveheart
2?" "I'm cracking open a celebratory four-pack of Tennants Super and off to sing
badly in the nearest gutter," adds Simon Poots. "Can you e-mail my boss and tell
him I've been kidnapped by Arsene Wenger?" Sure thing, Simon. And finally Dennis
O'Neill writes: "Sacre bleu! Formidaaaaable! Sacre couer!! Je ne le crois pas!
Ce n'est pas possible! (Loosely translated as YEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!)" I
broadly agree with your sentiment, Dennis, because it's what the M Factor is all
about. Jings, crivvens, help ma boab indeed. Maybe France should stick to
rugb... no, hold on. Actually, I can't write any more, my brain's totally
addled. This is ridiculous. Of course they'll still not qualify, but who cares?
Nighty night!

Jings indeed. But we hope against hope that they will have just enough to qualify. You know it.