A Matine à la Télé

A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Ma coquette belle coquinettte,
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Bélinette belle à béliner.

Une grippe espagnole, qui s'en va qui vient qui vole,
Deux petites Tour-Eiffel, en pâté de tourterelle,
Trois chaussettes en bois ma mie, mignonne mignonnette,
Quatre assiettes en bois ma mie, mignonnette jolie.

A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Ma minette belle môminette,
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Bélinette belle à béliner.

Quatre paires de grolles, bien pouraves et tartignoles,
Trois soupes à la sauterelle, en portion individuelles,
Deux bidons de phénol, pour décaper les bagnoles,
Une croisière à Sarcelles, animée par Jacques Chancel,
Dix sucettes en bois ma mie, mignonne mignonnette,
Vingt serpettes en bois ma mie, mignonnette jolie.

A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
A matine à la télé, qu'as-tu vu ma mie?
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Ma conette belle coninette,
Qui t'a faite embobino-biner,
Bélinette belle à béliner.

Quatre jeux de casseroles, que le fond attache et colle,
Trois patches à la cannelle, pour devenir mince et belle,
Deux têtes de Saint-Paul, dans des bocaux de formol,
Un chimiquier-poubelle, merci la Cie Shell,
Dix casquettes en bois ma mie, mignonne mignonnette,
Vingt trompettes en bois ma mie, mignonnette jolie,

Et une perdriole, qui s'en va qui vient qui vole,
Et puis deux tourterelles, la seconde est la plus belle,
Trois ramiers au bois petit, qui volent à la volette,
Trois ramiers au bois joli, qui volent au vent joli?

The Tekong Fortnight

And it so came from the OC that we can talk any cock outside about this preceding fortnight, as long as we stay away from the details, which was a little hard in thinking exactly how detailed I can get here. All the same, I think I can throw in the details like the expressions on the sergeants' faces when they fire the machine gun blanks all over the basketball courts like nobody's business.

Us recruits had some issues with this camp because
No bathing for the whole time until day 6, otherwise use the powder
Combat rations that you can bury in the soil for a year without it turning bad
The camp straddles Saint Valentine's Day
You can't call back home
You can't call your girlfriend
You sleep in the forest

It was okay though because I don't have a girlfriend and I don't need to worry about my family and I can eat anything that's food and I like the powder and if I find a good spot to lie on the forest floor it doesn't have much further to go to make a bed.

Might be said that day 8 was the first time in my enlisted life I felt really tired
because we had something called Exercise Thunderstorm which can be said as a Commando version of the Amazing Race. It started at midnight when the company was sleeping at the courts. Then came the loud noise, the floodlights, the ersatz grenades flying all around, the machine gun firing blanks, the madman expressions on the sergeants' faces who were firing blanks and running around etc. which managed to wake us all up. And for the subsequent hour came the POW treatment and extreme physical training and by far the most memorable part of day 8.

The rest of the day was a revision of all we had learnt for the whole time, plus a test for teamwork. By this time we have had more time to rest before marching back to the jetty for 7km.

I would have guessed that 7 kilometres are no big deal because I walk around all the time outside, but the heavy pack and rifle and hot sun made some difference. And two days later today we had some more marching. Hell, I didn't like to have to depend on my detatchment mates, but I was heaving like a truck stuck in mud and having a whale of a time trying to catch up with the others.

I might say more but my shoulders are aching and I need to rest my feet where blisters have found their home. Never mind. You might find me in better times ahead, and I can tell you about life in the wild and hope you get used to NSman drivel.

Watch my punctuation

The Neography Journal

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A tribute to the obscure art that has occupied perhaps more of my time and dedication than drawing, painting, design or animation or all of the four put altogether.

It's neography, the art of constructed writing systems which can be used in anything from logo design, codemaking, sci-fi and fantasy fiction to fine arts. Traditionally, craftsmen of this trade are driven by a fascination of different cultures; and the creative process occur (by custom) during long lessons when minds start to wander.

I start the Journal with the entry on Osteoglyphy, the harrowingly beautiful and spiffy writing designed for writing Finnish, but there are more to come, scripts I have made, even way back in 2004.

A huge compilation of con-scripts, by different neographers, can be found here.

Tout le jour on se crève la peau

The title is a line from the merchant shanty Sur la Fosse au Boulot and it says something along the lines of the skins on the hand getting weathered all the day as the crew man their ship with ropes and everything. Guess only Tri Yann can sing hardship into merriment this way.

Tout le jour on se crève la peau,
Et quand vient le soir on se brûle les boyaux:
Le vin, le rhum coulent à flots
Dans tous les caboulots.

I don't know what this means entirely, but the tune and lyrics stick to my tongue like tar and I sing this song (and Aloïda) on the long route marches when the beautiful countryside scenery turns boring.

It's these harder times I enjoy the most because whenever I think of the times I have absolutely nothing to do, I do not want to go back.

And it's not true you go brain-dead during National Service at all, least of all among Commando trainees; I rather feel you have to use more of your brain in your time here, learn things quickly, trying not to get yourself killed and suchlike. You might feel university is a little hard to adjust when you come back, but that's because you've learnt different stuff.

And what determines if you are weak or strong is all in your mind, which you can change.

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All credits to the Lord for letting me have a good time in camp.
I haven't forgotten Him either and it's good I stil go to church whenever I have a chance on Sunday.
Lord bless my platoon mates my company mates and the folks in my bunk and our instructors I know what our fears are and our weaknesses are; so please give us your strength so that we can overcome them together. Amen.

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So far I am doing pretty very well not blogging about military life at all, instead writing whatever I need inside a diary, where few inquisitive eyes would reach. Blogging at this point though is comparable to crossing a field of rattlesnakes at night, but I guess I'm careful.

Today was the day I can do 7 pull-ups again, and my platoon mates' cheers have never felt so warm and satisfying. It felt just like JC. Either my hands are ripened over the weeks or they didn't polish the darned bars the night before.