The Weekender

A hectic week just flew by. Work and evening classes swirling in the air like a huge whirlpool. I came through in one piece though…

A peace pact was made between two egoistic humans (aren’t they all?): my immediate boss and a colleague N. My boss was never going to admit her error. What surprises me was N protecting her - another bootlicker?

I got a tall lady from Britain with a heavy accent as my lecturer for my new class. I was kind of disappointed with her performance: no connection with the students, you could hear the drop of a pin.

Mr Kawabata’s The Lake hangs in the air at its end – lingering, as if never finished. The fireflies’ event described is simply lovely; Mr Kawabata is one sentimental guy. And I tear as the pages ran through To Live; I am only human. What truly matters is to live through the hard times together with your family. But then, I watched as Fugui’s family falls apart, one by one taken by sickness and tragedy. I was there and will always remember his young son, Youqing. The trail that he ran to school – shoes in hands - shimmered as if sprinkled with salt in the moonlight. The silver lining appears in the cloud as Fengxia, their mute and dumb daughter, gets married.

The beanpole, Peter Crouch, must be one busy man, working on his heading to finally gain direction in it. Then again, Andorra is no soccer power. Steve McClaren manages to inject the pace and urgency solely lacking in the last World cup, relying on two fleet-footed wide wingers as the main attacking threat; that way, Crouch benefits most. Gerrard, as usual, was at his battling best. And Owen Hargreaves looks totally at ease as an established international. Lampard was strangely subdued though.