This is obviously very silly. It is a mock-mock-heroic poem written in a bar in Lausanne commemorating the night I got utterly arseholed, fell in the lake and irreparably buggered up my ankle. I was about 20-years old, visiting a friend studying abroad in Lausanne. We had a day and a night on the wine, most of which I can’t recall. The last thing I remember with any clarity is trying to get a tram to drive us somewhere we could buy more wine. Yes, a tram. Those things fixed to their tracks. It was that kind of night.
Behind the Words: Lac Leman
Behind the Words: Lac Leman
Behind the Words: Lac Leman
This is obviously very silly. It is a mock-mock-heroic poem written in a bar in Lausanne commemorating the night I got utterly arseholed, fell in the lake and irreparably buggered up my ankle. I was about 20-years old, visiting a friend studying abroad in Lausanne. We had a day and a night on the wine, most of which I can’t recall. The last thing I remember with any clarity is trying to get a tram to drive us somewhere we could buy more wine. Yes, a tram. Those things fixed to their tracks. It was that kind of night.