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Où un ami bienveillant l'alerte sur ce vers quoi il s'engage :
"My good friend Chris told me not to come to France. Great lifestyle, he said, great food and totally unpolitically correct women with great underwear. But, he warned me, the French are hell to live with.[...]
His theory was that the French are like the woman scorned. Back in 1940 they tried to tell us they loved us, but we laughed at their accents and their big-nosed Général de Gaulle, and ever since we've done nothing but poison them with our disgusting food and try to wipe the French language off the face of the Earth. That's why they built refugee camps yards from the Eurotunnel entrance and refuse to eat our beef years after it was declared safe. It's permanent payback time, he said. Don't go there.
Sorry, I told him, I've got to go and check out that underwear."
Où Paul West découvre les joies de la grève ... à la française :
"The Paris transport workers went on strike.
And what was this strike about ? Job cuts ? Safety standards ? No.
The unions were furious that the government had been rumoured to be thinking about considering the possibility of maybe looking into the purely theoretical concept that it might one day (not now but in, say, 80 years' time) be less able to pay for transport workers to retire at 50.
Wow, I told myself, let's go to the transport company HQ this very instant to get a job application form.
Dammit, though, I couldn't get there - there was a transport strike."
Où il est important de distinguer Casino et casino ... Eh oui à l'oreille la différence ne s'entend pas et pourtant dans l'assiette !
" Instead of heading all the way back into Trou, we stopped off at Monsieur Augème's house and I dashed through the rain with a map to ask him whether there was a country auberge nearby. [...]He wasn't too sure about auberges, but finally prodded at a town a few kilometres west and said that we could get a meal at the casino there.[...] "What did he suggest ?" Alexa aske
"My good friend Chris told me not to come to France. Great lifestyle, he said, great food and totally unpolitically correct women with great underwear. But, he warned me, the French are hell to live with.[...]
His theory was that the French are like the woman scorned. Back in 1940 they tried to tell us they loved us, but we laughed at their accents and their big-nosed Général de Gaulle, and ever since we've done nothing but poison them with our disgusting food and try to wipe the French language off the face of the Earth. That's why they built refugee camps yards from the Eurotunnel entrance and refuse to eat our beef years after it was declared safe. It's permanent payback time, he said. Don't go there.
Sorry, I told him, I've got to go and check out that underwear."
Où Paul West découvre les joies de la grève ... à la française :
"The Paris transport workers went on strike.
And what was this strike about ? Job cuts ? Safety standards ? No.
The unions were furious that the government had been rumoured to be thinking about considering the possibility of maybe looking into the purely theoretical concept that it might one day (not now but in, say, 80 years' time) be less able to pay for transport workers to retire at 50.
Wow, I told myself, let's go to the transport company HQ this very instant to get a job application form.
Dammit, though, I couldn't get there - there was a transport strike."
Où il est important de distinguer Casino et casino ... Eh oui à l'oreille la différence ne s'entend pas et pourtant dans l'assiette !
" Instead of heading all the way back into Trou, we stopped off at Monsieur Augème's house and I dashed through the rain with a map to ask him whether there was a country auberge nearby. [...]He wasn't too sure about auberges, but finally prodded at a town a few kilometres west and said that we could get a meal at the casino there.[...] "What did he suggest ?" Alexa aske
