Petit concours

C'est assez connu, voici une lettre (en anglais) adressée à un instituteur... mais par qui?

He will have to learn, I know, that all men are not just, all men are not true.
But teach him also that for every scoundrel there is a hero;
that for every selfish politician, there is a dedicated leader...
Teach him for every enemy there is a friend,


Steer him away from envy, if you can, teach him the secret of quiet laughter.


Let him learn early that the bullies are the easiest to lick...
Teach him, if you can, the wonder of books...
But also give him quiet time to ponder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky,
bees in the sun, and the flowers on a green hillside.


In the school teach him it is far honourable to fail than to cheat...
Teach him to have faith in his own ideas,
even if everyone tells him they are wrong...
Teach him to be gentle with gentle people, and tough with the tough.


Try to give my son the strength not to follow the crowd
when everyone is getting on the band wagon...
Teach him to listen to all men...
but teach him also to filter all he hears on a screen of truth,
and take only the good that comes through.


Teach him if you can, how to laugh when he is sad...
Teach him there is no shame in tears,
teach him to scoff at cynics and to beware of too much sweetness...


Teach him to sell his brawn and brain to the highest bidders
but never to put a price-tag on his heart and soul.
Teach him to close his ears to a howling mob
and to stand and fight if he thinks he's right.


Treat him gently, but do not cuddle him,
because only the test of fire makes fine steel.
Let him have the courage to be impatient...
let him have the patience to be brave.
Teach him always to have sublime faith in himself,
because then he will have sublime faith in mankind.


This is a big order, but see what you can do...
He is such a fine fellow, my son!

Dans la guedouw...

Comme dirait Jane Birkin, la guedouw, la guedouw, la guedouw... mais où ça?

Du Festival de Dour, pardi.
Comme vous pouvez le constater, très sagement, j'ai mis mes bouchons... Et je n'y ai quasiment pas scaffoté.

Papa a essayé de me faire écouter du reggae, mais je n'ai pas du tout accroché, un truc nommé Rod Taylor and the Positive Roots Band... question "positive", j'ai pas trouvé, et quand papa a proposé de changer de crèmerie, je lui ai dit "ça, c'est une bonne idée, papa"... Alors, on a pris la direction de la Cannibal Stage. Je rassure tout le monde, à la Cannibal Stage, on ne mangeait personne.

Je me suis ré-ga-lé... avec un groupe de Hollandais qui remuaient de la tête et des pieds tout en sautant en rythme (?!)... Textures Awake
 Puis, j'ai senti que j'avais bien fait de garder les bouchons... Textures Singularity

De retour dans la section VIP, j'ai essayé d'appeler Marc Lavoine, le chouchou de maman, ou (à défaut) marraine, car Sexion d'Assaut allait passer sur la Main Stage et il fallait à tout prix empêcher cela. Peine perdue. Ils ont joué quand même.

Balade en Champagne

Quelle joie d'arriver au sommet de l'escalier... un petit pas pour l'humanité, mais un grand pas pour moi.

Vu que mon papa a changé d'appareil photo, le reste du week-end en Champagne aux Fêtes Henri IV suivra... selon son bon vouloir.