Fifty shades of grey? Fifty shades of nothing, say the French. E. L. James' best-seller has now been translated into French, but literary it is not. Connoisseurs of the arts are horrified. What do you do when sleaze apparently outsells Shakespeare? It's grunge v the opera, graffiti v Renoir. This week I read that Pippa Middleton was advanced hundreds of thousands for her completely juvenile, illiterate book.
A sign of the times, I suppose. Makes me wonder why I continue to struggle to achieve something literary in a world where perversion is news and being famous is more important in a writer than the beauty of the written word. Good job Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Shakespeare aren't about to submit their manuscripts today. None of them would count for much in the looks department!
I was saying all this to a French friend the other day. She had recently read a French novel, the writing of which had brought tears to her eyes. The James' saga couldn't happen in France, she said, promising to read one of my novels and even to translate it into French! Worth a try, I suppose, but I'm still sceptical it'll achieve anything positive in today's world of cash-strapped literary editors and publishers.
But, anything that will lighten my gloom would be a glimmer of hope as I contemplate the stirrings of a new novel in my fervent brain. One thing's for sure: this may be France, but the Marquis de Sade I'm not!
28th October 2012
An unsettled week - in mind and body. Following our neighbour's faux pas in calling the police on us, we watched as a steadily-growing heap of leaves and branches rose next door. Sure enough, last Monday the unmistakeable smell of pungent smoke. Our hypocritical French neighbour had lit his own fire! 'Momzer' shouted Him indoors.
To take my mind off things, I decided to watch the Miranda programme on TV. She's a tall, ungainly English comedienne, whom everyone tells me is just like me! Every time I watch her, all the inner gaucheness and inferiority of my youth come to the fore. Arriving at a grand occasion in posh wrap-around gown, she slammed shut the taxi door, a bit of the dress caught and the taxi drove off with dress flying along with it - leaving her just in her underwear. My worst nightmare.
So, TV was no good. I know, I'll hang up our new curtains that good friends had made up for me. The rail was too high, so I fetched the step ladders - ensuring the lock was tight - and proceeded to climb up. Said step-ladders must have been faulty, ladders and me collapsing in a heap on the floor. Now bruised not just in pride but body also.
Meantime, Him indoors - still smarting in mind and nostril - marched down the garden to confront the neighbour. Having just read about the classic Dreyfuss affair, and feeling confident about French history, he shouted what sounded like 'Jack Hughes, Jack Hughes!' What? What? Oh, you mean that condemnation by Emile Zola 'J'accuse'. Said neighbour continued blithely on with his gardening.
To take my mind off things, I decided to watch the Miranda programme on TV. She's a tall, ungainly English comedienne, whom everyone tells me is just like me! Every time I watch her, all the inner gaucheness and inferiority of my youth come to the fore. Arriving at a grand occasion in posh wrap-around gown, she slammed shut the taxi door, a bit of the dress caught and the taxi drove off with dress flying along with it - leaving her just in her underwear. My worst nightmare.
So, TV was no good. I know, I'll hang up our new curtains that good friends had made up for me. The rail was too high, so I fetched the step ladders - ensuring the lock was tight - and proceeded to climb up. Said step-ladders must have been faulty, ladders and me collapsing in a heap on the floor. Now bruised not just in pride but body also.
Meantime, Him indoors - still smarting in mind and nostril - marched down the garden to confront the neighbour. Having just read about the classic Dreyfuss affair, and feeling confident about French history, he shouted what sounded like 'Jack Hughes, Jack Hughes!' What? What? Oh, you mean that condemnation by Emile Zola 'J'accuse'. Said neighbour continued blithely on with his gardening.
21st October 2012
So the Scots are to have an in/out referendum on being part of the UK. I fear this is the stepping stone towards one for the UK being part of the EU. We all know what the answer to that one would be. I remember a certain phrase from the past: Maggie, Maggie, Maggie - out, out, out! In times of uncertainty, people cling to their own little tribe - a warm, cosy unit where we all feel safe. But, politically, it's an illusion. Things have changed.
As an ageing expat I realise that the England I miss isn't really the one I left behind. The England of my youth seemed so much better than the England of today. Fond memories of respect for our elders and authority, coupled with the absence of global TV, meant that our ignorance was bliss. But now no-one wears rose-tinted glasses any more: the harsh reality of life is laid before us every minute of every day. Today's British youth have never experienced the appalling casualties of war - and the ones who did are now almost gone. We must never forget - ever. The recent Noble Peace Prize awarded to the EU is very timely. Current EU inequalities, with some democratic tweaking, can in time all be ironed out. For centuries life in the old tiny, nationalistic countries proved disastrous. So, if we get an in/out referendum on the EU - vote IN, loud and clear.....much better than the alternative.
As an ageing expat I realise that the England I miss isn't really the one I left behind. The England of my youth seemed so much better than the England of today. Fond memories of respect for our elders and authority, coupled with the absence of global TV, meant that our ignorance was bliss. But now no-one wears rose-tinted glasses any more: the harsh reality of life is laid before us every minute of every day. Today's British youth have never experienced the appalling casualties of war - and the ones who did are now almost gone. We must never forget - ever. The recent Noble Peace Prize awarded to the EU is very timely. Current EU inequalities, with some democratic tweaking, can in time all be ironed out. For centuries life in the old tiny, nationalistic countries proved disastrous. So, if we get an in/out referendum on the EU - vote IN, loud and clear.....much better than the alternative.
14th October 2012
No smoke without fire.....
We've had some lovely warm days lately, so even I was tempted outside. When's the best time to light a fire? I asked Him indoors. Always a difficult question, as the French law seems so unclear. Each departement has a different code. Some say a garden fire is o.k. if it's at least 200m away from the nearest house, others say more than 50m, whilst some areas have no discernible law at all. Some expats on bonfire night each year invite people around (including the Maire!), and light a huge bonfire. All year we regularly see fireworks exploding in neighbouring gardens - presumably for family celebrations.
.....so we both agreed - should be o.k. to light a fire; do it during the day so we can be sure to put it out before nighttime. Soon a plume of sweet, grey smoke was blowing lazily sideways right at the bottom of our very long garden - well away from any houses. I resumed my weeding until Him indoors shouted 'The police are at the gate!' You're joking? For once, he wasn't. 'We've had a call. You must put the fire out', they said. 'Who on earth called you?' They looked sheepish.What kind of person calls the police on a neighbour? In my book you should never, ever make an enemy of your neighbour. They are often the nearest person to help in times of crisis. I'll never understand the French mindset.
We've had some lovely warm days lately, so even I was tempted outside. When's the best time to light a fire? I asked Him indoors. Always a difficult question, as the French law seems so unclear. Each departement has a different code. Some say a garden fire is o.k. if it's at least 200m away from the nearest house, others say more than 50m, whilst some areas have no discernible law at all. Some expats on bonfire night each year invite people around (including the Maire!), and light a huge bonfire. All year we regularly see fireworks exploding in neighbouring gardens - presumably for family celebrations.
.....so we both agreed - should be o.k. to light a fire; do it during the day so we can be sure to put it out before nighttime. Soon a plume of sweet, grey smoke was blowing lazily sideways right at the bottom of our very long garden - well away from any houses. I resumed my weeding until Him indoors shouted 'The police are at the gate!' You're joking? For once, he wasn't. 'We've had a call. You must put the fire out', they said. 'Who on earth called you?' They looked sheepish.What kind of person calls the police on a neighbour? In my book you should never, ever make an enemy of your neighbour. They are often the nearest person to help in times of crisis. I'll never understand the French mindset.
7th October 2012
One of the first things I did when we arrived in France was to buy a giant English:French dictionary. It's not just the words I needed to know, but the phrases. But for Him indoors, all he needs is the free catalogue from Brico Depot. Armed with this and the phrase 'avez-vous quelque-chose comme ca?', he's happy. One of the reasons he liked this house in the first place was its proximity to this store. Our railings and gate were rusty and badly in need of freshening up so last week we set off to buy some blue paint. Now, you'd think that because so many houses in the Midi-Pyrenees region have blue shutters, this colour would be easy to find. Wrong. Even Brico didn't have any, but what they did have was this amazing, computerised mixing machine. I'd never seen one before, but it seems they take a tin with some sort of colourless liquid inside, put it into a kind of kiln, type onto a keyboard a magic reference code, and voila - out comes a tin with blue paint. Back home at chez-nous, the job was going well until Him indoors tried to fix the tin to a hook on his ladder....you guessed it, the tin fell, and a pool of bright blue paint went all over the concrete in front of the garage!
Neither he nor I needed a dictionary or the Brico catalogue - the language was already blue! Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'the job needed doing badly'......
Neither he nor I needed a dictionary or the Brico catalogue - the language was already blue! Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'the job needed doing badly'......
30th September 2012
Allons aux barricades. No, it's not 14th July - it's the neighbours who're revolting! Something'll have to be done, but what? Regular readers of this post will guess what happened recently. Yes - Bruno again. After his second episode of climbing the fence and attacking the neighbour's chicken, we resorted to attaching him via a long rope to our terrace. Sounds cruel, but it wasn't. It was long enough to allow him to go under nearby bushes or to come into the house to see us. He's very much an outside dog and much prefers being in the open air. Then, when we brought him into the house, we would unclip the rope and shut the doors. This worked very well until the day we forgot one of the windows was open. He heard the crack of a nearby hunting gun (grr) and jumped out. The problem with the neighbours is that they have poulets tondeuses (chickens bought to run over the grass) as well as geese. But, this isn't the countryside - it's a town. And the chickens provoke our chasseur dog by pecking near the fence. Well, the neighbours drove round to our front gate. I didn't let them in. They waved a letter and threatened to call the Gendarmes. I said I would pay one more time - but think they're diddling me by demanding I buy 6 more chickens when only one was attacked. Enough's enough. No more. Friends say have we tried electrocution. I say, what the fence? Him indoors says, no, the neighbours....
23rd September 2012
If only......
Yesterday French President Hollande and his German counterpart Angela Merkel celebrated an important anniversary. 50 years ago Charles de Gaulle made a speech to German youth that marked the start of the two countries' close relationship, sealed by signing the new Friendship Treaty with Adenauer. Yes, despite all the hate that Hitler had shown and the appalling atrocities against their own innocent countrymen, the Frenchman found it in his heart to tell the German youngsters that theirs was still a great country. Even more amazing considering that De Gaulle was the only senior French officer never to accept the terms of the June 1940 armistice nor the Vichy regime following France's defeat by the Nazis. It was that speech that set the scene for an amazing reconciliation between the two countries that would have been inconceivable a decade before - yet still persists today.
Fast forward to 2012: where are the statesmen willing to do what De Gaulle did? Why can't someone have the guts to talk to the youth living in Muslim countries around the world. Tell them that, despite the past, theirs is still a great country and we would like to sign a friendship treaty with them.
The enemy may have changed, but the hatred persists. So, do something.
Yesterday French President Hollande and his German counterpart Angela Merkel celebrated an important anniversary. 50 years ago Charles de Gaulle made a speech to German youth that marked the start of the two countries' close relationship, sealed by signing the new Friendship Treaty with Adenauer. Yes, despite all the hate that Hitler had shown and the appalling atrocities against their own innocent countrymen, the Frenchman found it in his heart to tell the German youngsters that theirs was still a great country. Even more amazing considering that De Gaulle was the only senior French officer never to accept the terms of the June 1940 armistice nor the Vichy regime following France's defeat by the Nazis. It was that speech that set the scene for an amazing reconciliation between the two countries that would have been inconceivable a decade before - yet still persists today.
Fast forward to 2012: where are the statesmen willing to do what De Gaulle did? Why can't someone have the guts to talk to the youth living in Muslim countries around the world. Tell them that, despite the past, theirs is still a great country and we would like to sign a friendship treaty with them.
The enemy may have changed, but the hatred persists. So, do something.
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