Cauterets-Pont d’Espagne: a return to the mountains in demand for the Ascent

"Sine die": the chronicle of confinement by Eric Chevillard. Days 11 and 12

[The writer Eric Chevillard held for “Le Monde” the column “Sine die”, the first three weeks of travel restrictions.]

What else is this thing? I caught myself thinking out loud this morning, pulling from the cupboard at the entrance a most bizarre object, indeed.I looked at it for a long time in perplexity without managing to determine its use or allocation.If it was a frying pan, it did not seem very practical, not really round, pierced everywhere.A sieve perhaps? But to sift what, please? Do I sift? Do I ever sift? Let's be serious.A drainer? A banjo? A shoehorn? None of these hypotheses stood up to scrutiny.

And then, little by little, from far away, memories came back up: a dull sound, first, a yellow ball and fluffy like a chick.A tennis racket! My tennis racket.Not three weeks ago, I had struck with one of the most beautiful smashes of my career.How could I not have recognized it? Funny thing in this doldrums, Kylian Mbappé (with whom I have corresponded by email since the beginning of the confinement), to which I sadly told the anecdote, answered me not to worry, that it was him exactly the same thing happened with a soccer ball.

Can someone tell me what a wheel is for? As for me, I don't need a wheel to go around in my living room

But when you think about it, this is quite normal.No one can imagine a clifoire today, a game very popular with children in the 19th century.Which is no longer of any use to us for our work or our doomed to oblivion.

Posted Date: 2020-07-16

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.