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“Did Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir know each other?”

*sits back and waits for well educated, middle class feminists and/or intellectuals to sniggle (that’s a conflation of snigger and giggle)*

So my education was pretty haphazard, I certainly was never pushed to read anything that didn’t immediately draw my attention.  Without a mentor waiting in your zone of proximal development how can you ever learn about the things you don’t know you don’t know? Even if I had gone to school, I’m sure this question wouldn’t have been addressed at an all girls comprehensive in South East London.

But yes, as it happens, they did know each other. I suppose one would have to be fairly close to someone to end up in a grave with them, but if there is one thing I have learned it’s that you can’t make assumptions. I couldn’t be sure that those two didn’t just cross paths one day and say “you know what will really shit everyone up? If we get buried together when we die…” and then never chance upon each other again.

“Why are there metro tickets on the grave of Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir?”

Actually, I spelled her name wrong but fortunately Google rather helpfully and patronisingly told me that it would also include the results for the thing I probably meant to search for. How kind.

As it turns out, not such a stupid question. Many people have asked before me and the only satisfactory answer I could find involved the support of action following price rises for the Paris metro, where people stole metro tickets and gave them out for free (I just need to take a moment to document my adoration of the French people – a nation who doesn’t let something as mundane as having a job get in the way of enjoying themselves).

“Aquaintanceship”

When I used this term recently, I was informed I had just invented a word. Much to the merriment of those who are familiar with my particular brand of social retardation, I refer to my “aquaintanceships” where others might misguidedly refer to their “mates” – you know, not quite friends but not exactly people you’ve never heard of.  Something akin to someone you’ve actually met but now only know about via the social media website of your choice. As it turns out, the internet beat me to it, it’s out there already.

“Why do French supermarkets smell of dead people?”

Google didn’t really have anything to say about this one, which is unfortunate as it has been the most pressing of late.

Points: So…I can’t be bothered. My life is not what you have been led to believe. I am no longer organised, I don’t get out of bed that early anymore, I haven’t exercised for ages, and all three (I think there were three) of my NY’s resolutions are in tatters. I do have a camper van though. WIN!

Lyric of the Week: Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
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