Blowfish in a plastic bag.

At (and on) some stage during the last three days I was in turn

a spy,

a person spied-on,

a lover newly fallen in love,

a lover facing farewell,

several dancers,

one key of a piano,

different kinds of shellfish,

half a sea turtle,

half a jellyfish,

half a blowfish,

seaweed,

waves,

a tree,

a hippie,

a gold-digger,

a puppet,

a puppeteer,

a civil servant,

a worker on an assembly line,

an egg that was thrown against the wall,

a stock broker.

And I actually had a good time. Which is quite a revelation for me because I normally hate both all things sport-related and all kinds of activities where you're supposed to perform at someone else's will, coerced to join in a game, dance or competition and generally put on the spot. This trauma goes way back to kindergarten and one evil kindergarten teacher who made me take part in a game even though I was very obviously and purposefully hiding out in a hollow tree... Sad story indeed. (Thank goodness we now have a psychoanalyst in the family...)

Anyhow, it was a compulsory course - a cooperation between the sport university and the music department: "Acting, Movement and Music" - that was not only about to take up all my weekend but also took place at the sport university itself (me, anywhere near the sport university, the very thought!) at the back of beyond, so I prepared to be well and truly annoyed by anything they would make me do once I finally got there.

But oh, what a let-down! What a blow to my well-nurtured trauma: I had fun! I might have to consider giving it up altogether.

Now what?

* * *

P.S. Finally my in-depth knowledge of Finding Nemo, Being John Malkovitch, Spooks and every single sappy period drama paid off. It all adds up now. Just keep swimming!

* * *

P.P.S. Muscles I never knew I possessed are mocking me big time! So I better do some more Spooks-watching and not move a single one of them for the rest of the day. That'll show them...