Deeply, madly and truly enervated; that’s me today. I rarely find a use for the “e” word as, happily, I am, for the most part, happy. At the moment, however, I am often not which is why I’m so utterly enervated. Many years ago, in Covent Garden, it was my pleasure to take a drink or three with a celebrated Australian photographer who, being an alumnus of Geelong Grammar, spoke English. He enjoyed asking me the meaning of English words not because he did not know their meaning, because he always did, but in the hope that I did not. “Enervate” was such a word. To his delight, a delight that was as restrained as the gentle drops of extreme hysteria concomitant with the three very large and alarmingly dry Martinis that we had each already consumed, I had fallen, metaphorically at this early point in the proceedings, at the first hurdle.
“You dumb cunt” he joyfully cried, in pitch perfect received pronunciation, all vestiges of Australian submerged beneath a tsunami of delight at an Englishman’s failure to master his own tongue seasoned with subliminal memories of Geelong thrashings on those occasions of slippage into the vernacular “how could you think that enervated means to be excited, how could you?”
And to this day I have not been able to answer that question and because of it I’ve had to take extreme care in choosing the sort of Australian with whom I now break bread or glasses; preferably one who hasn’t been to school. Which brings me back to my current enervation. I’m just so fed up with being fed up with my fellow man’s delight in doing and believing in things to which I am totally opposed. For most of my previous life, let us say “before France” life, such things didn’t bother me as I was rarely conscious of current affairs because my time was taken up with vocabulary and drinking whilst trying to remember the vocabulary whilst drinking….and some photography. However, now that I have time to take notice, the radio, my constant cooking, writing and photography companion, does not cease to remind me of the ineptitude and mendacity of those who are responsible for our well being…….so I turn the radio off and concentrate on turning a plump Toulouse sausage which sizzles happily in a favourite frying pan. A fresh baguette waits in the wings ready to play an important role as a roll in this exciting production of a Sausage Sandwich which will run and run and run.