Finale. Much to H’s annoyance, it is not the norm to kiss everyone on sight, especially not all the pretty girls. So, as he says, ‘to kiss or not to kiss, that is the question.’ As with all things, especially when playing snooker, you must take your cue from the French themselves.
When first introduced to an adult, do not
faire la bise (kiss) on sight. Listen carefully, H. If a woman expects you to kiss her, she will offer you first her cheek, then if you are lucky…….But remember, men kiss women and women kiss women but men do not kiss men, unless they are very very close friends or called Mark. The kiss is placed high up on the offered cheek, never directly on the mouth. For women, especially, it’s not really a kiss, merely a light brushing of the cheeks. Of course there are always the extroverts of both sexes who plant great wet smackeroos on each side of the face several times. But this is not to be recommended, especially not on first acquaintance.
‘But, which cheek should I proffer first?’
Difficult to say. As with all things, observe what the locals do, as the custom apparently varies from region to region.
‘How many kisses are
de rigeur?’
In our region we discovered that three is the custom, much to H’s delight. I had heard that Thomas Cook had actually published a kissing guide, though I had never discovered it in any of the local newsagents. It allegedly states that a single kiss is the norm in the Charente-Maritime region, two kisses are normal in the east, west and extreme south, three kisses in the mid-west and southern central regions and four in the north. ‘When can we move to the north?’ Grr.
Mulling again about that emotive word sex, I thought about the French women I had met so far in this strange alien world. French women don’t seem to have heard of Germaine Greer or feminist mores, enjoying being the object of desire of every passing Frenchman. I remembered a story my mother told me at a time in England just after the war. There was apparently a run on a book entitled ‘What every married woman should know.’ It was eagerly anticipated by girls like her, who had been brought up in a Victorian atmosphere where the word sex was never even mentioned, let alone written about. However, imagine the disappointment on eagerly opening the book to find that all it was was a book on cookery and how to manage the home!
In striking contrast, here in modern-day France all the lingerie stores sell matching bra and thong sets as standard, no Frenchwoman worth her salt feeling dressed without the fillip of wearing expensive, desirable silk underwear. Irrespective of what is worn on the outside, the inner confidence that comes from wearing silk matching underwear is undeniably evident on the self-confident faces of so many Parisians. They like nothing better than to flirt at every opportunity, every girl progressively practising her art to a state of perfection as she matures. For a Frenchman to have a mistress is in itself a status symbol, the absence of which leads to many question marks about his virility, so it is said. The story goes that when a widowed man marries his mistress, this then creates a vacancy!
And French women, too, seem to think it’s
comme d’habitude to seek lovers, the very act confirming her desirability on the world’s stage. I have certainly noted that French men think they’re God’s gift to women and often seem steeped in a permanent state of unbridled eroticism.
And now, la piece de resistance:Could it be, though, that a Frenchman in bed is in truth rather like the French navy: relying much on hearsay, tradition, pomp and ceremony, but when the chips are down, never comes when needed?
P.S. Next Sunday a brand-new serial.
