I am still recovering from a nightmare vision of what awaits interpreting-kind in another world - an eternity of xxxx in the xxxx! Not that it was particularly hard, rather that it plumbed new depths of agonizingly elaborate pointlessness. The star attraction was the chairman, who, rather like some demonic Rumpelstinskin in reverse, contrived to spin endless bales of straw out of gold. Well, on reflection, use of the word "gold" in this context is way too generous, more the "bleeding obvious". Those who had the ill-fortune to be there will never forget the rampant vegetative growth which resulted from his desperate attempt to explain how a one-and-a-half-hour lunch-break works. Indelibly imprinted on the mind are the prolix arabesques generated by his exegesis on the language regime. Working with N. and G., we succumbed to a full-on "fou rire", and, hysterically trying to hold it together, I had to send Guy out of the room! The lenteur of the proceedings was at times physically painful. It reminded me of a passage in Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris and London", where he describes the unalleviated dullness of life as a tramp: "Boredom congealed in the veins like cold mutton fat." At one stage I almost fell asleep while I was interpreting, like falling asleep at the wheel. The whole proceedings evoked an atmosphere of artful contrivance devoid of real content- a pretendy meeting pretending to discuss the preparation of future pretendy meetings!
Bring on the week-end!