Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Radio 4

One of my most guilty pleasures here, somewhat bizarely, is radio. No,not drink or drugs, not even gambling, but lovely, lovely radio 4. I have it on now burbling away about some form of new credit card security, a bit like tomorrows world, but on the radio.

I always feel I should be listening to France Culture instead to improve my french, and of course I should be, but I found Radio 4 very comforting and I'm a little under the weather at the moment.

Anyway, before Xmas there was a very amusing edition of 'Foreign Correspondant' from an Englishwoman living in Paris and by happy chance someone sent me a copy of the transcript.

Enjoy....

Mastering French manners, the hard way

By Caroline Wyatt
BBC News, Paris

The title, "A history of politeness in France", might strike the uncharitable as being a very short book indeed. But Frederic Rouvillois' definitive study of manners through the ages in France weighs in at a crushing 550 pages. It joins Nadine de Rothschild's best-selling bible of politeness in offering advice to those in need of guidance on how to behave in that oxymoron, "polite French society".
For this season of festive meals can be a minefield for those uneducated in French ways. Oh, if only I had read their advice before venturing out to my first Parisian dinner party. I had arrived punctually at the chic Parisian flat on the Left Bank, on the dot of eight o'clock in the evening, as per the invitation, bearing flowers for my hostess.
I wondered why she seemed slightly put out. I realised, when the other guests - politicians, a philosopher, a banker or two and their wives - finally arrived an hour later. The conversation was in rapid-fire French, no allowances made for the only foreigner in the room.
So, to make myself feel more at ease, I reached over to a bottle of wine, to pour myself a second glass. The entire table suddenly fell silent as the wine emerged loudly, and in slow motion, into my glass.
A deep froideur descended as 10 pairs of steely Parisian eyes turned to stare. I smiled weakly and remained quiet for the est of the meal, fleeing as soon as I politely could. Clearly, I had committed an unforgivable faux pas, although what it had been I wasn't sure.
Cardinal sins
It was only this week that I discovered just how many terrible solecisms I'd committed under the strict laws of French etiquette. My lesson came courtesy of Constance Reitzler, director of La Belle Ecole - "the beautiful school" - which aims to give Parisians and foreigners alike that special polish. It teaches the "arts de vivre", that uniquely French concept which encompasses everything from how to appreciate your wine and food, to whether to eat your sorbet or ice-cream with a
spoon or a fork.
It's a fork, for those who want to know. And never spread your foie gras on your toast. Eat it with a fork, and the toast separately.
Constance patiently explained that a lady never, ever grabs the bottle of wine to pour her own drink. She must wait for her host or another man to pour it for her. And more than one aperitif before dinner is considered the sure sign of an alcoholic, or an Englishwoman. We are, after all, a nation renowned in France for 'le binge-drinking'.
And I had compounded the offence by wishing those at the table "bon appetit", before noisily expressing my appreciation of the food. Both, apparently, cardinal sins in the Bible of French etiquette.
"Wishing someone bon appetit is seen as very vulgar in polite circles," Constance explained, as I realised to my horror that I must have wished almost every French person I have ever met at a meal "bon appetit".
So why didn't the BBC send me on this course before I began my job in Paris? And apparently in France it's good manners to keep your elbows ON the table, and your hands visible. The custom dates back centuries, to when noblewomen did so to display their dazzling rings, to show off their husbands' social status. Keeping your hands above the table shows that you're concentrating on your meal. And, I thought unworthily, that you are not using them to get to know the husband next to you rather better than his wife might like. I, of course, had politely kept my elbows off the table, and my hands beneath it while not eating - goodness only knows what all the wives had thought.
But I wondered who was ruder: myself, for not understanding the local customs, or my hosts, for making me feel so ill at ease.
The phrase, "the customer is king", has clearly lost something in translation. Or perhaps the French think it a reference to the Revolution, a chance to cut the customer down to size It's not that the French are necessarily rude - but Parisians certainly can be.

A psychiatrist has coined a term for its effect on Japanese visitors to the city: "Paris Syndrome". Every year, several Japanese tourists have to be repatriated from Paris after falling prey to severe culture shock at the hands of the less than polite Parisians. Waiters who fail to understand their order, taxi drivers who take them to the wrong place and
then charge double.
All this is too much for some to take, as their dream of the city of light crumbles into a nightmare of darkness, creating a sense of rejection and paranoia.
Yet I know exactly how they feel after my encounter at a dress shop last week. I picked up a skirt to try on, and as I took it to the changing room, the shop assistant shouted out across the crowded room: "I wouldn't bother if I were you - it'll never fit!"
The phrase, "the customer is king", has clearly lost something in translation.
Or perhaps the French think it a reference to the Revolution, a chance to cut the customer down to size.

Madame La Guillotine may no longer be available, but a sharp tongue can do the job just as well.
Perhaps Constance can help both sides. As I rose to leave the Belle Ecole, she politely handed me a two-page guide to etiquette, with an expression of sympathy, though whether for my past and future hosts or for myself, I wasn't sure.

I glanced at it. It could have been tailor-made for the oafish, drunken Englishwoman who came to dinner. "Never down your drink in one", and "ne jamais ecraser le buste vers l'assiette" or "don't put your bust in your plate" and "never make noises of satisfaction at the dinner table".

And never, ever say bon appetit.

So now I know. And in spite of that, I'd like everyone across Britain to join me now in wishing all in France a very bon appetit indeed this Christmas.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

...So my mum knows what a bouffon looks like....





Thursday, January 25, 2007

Quelque chose un peu plus abstracte

I've done quite well with my new years resolution to spend less time on the internet, hence the silence, less well on the diet hence the cheese and wine tonight at W***'s birthday drink.

We have entered into the mad world of the buffoon and everyone is going a little insane. We spent last week rolling around the grand salle in hot white 'bodies'. We were given the brief to change our body shape, to produce a white body puffed out with foam into some abstract but somehow humanness (otherwise it would be impossible to move in) shape. This week the forms were given clothes.

The idea seems to be, (though I am very lost with all of this) that the buffoons are strange creatures from another world who observe humanity with all their failings and weakness' and worries and find them hilarious. They dress up like the stupid homo sapiens and take the piss without any reservations because they have no social niceness or rules, in fact, they think all those silly rules and routines that we've created are the most amusing thing of all, and don't disguise our animal passions for power, money and lust at all.

So, for the first time our autocours don't have or need a nice, neat beginning, middle and end and we are all in the shit. I was reduced to hysterical laughter quite a few times this evening. I have NEVER, not even in the 'Solitude in the city' week, been at a point on Thursday night when we have had nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared to show.

My only, and very small, consolation is that everyone appears to be in the same boat, though often when people claim to have nothing they then pull out a three act masterpiece the next day. There's a difference between nothing and noooottthiiiinnnng and my group have the latter.

L**** quotes Thierry from last year who apparently used to say of a Friday, beer in hand, when they had nothing to show, 'Ca va, t'inquiet pas... On va faire quelque chose un peu plus abstracte, quoi...'

And God bless him. Anyway that's what I've been saying all week. And may God have mercy on our souls.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

The sad, sad world of the blogger

I've just wasted about half an hour clicking on the profiles of people who have the same favourite books and films listed. If you click on the book or film it brings up a list of the other people who have also listed that book or film. The result is strange and frightening. Of course I think that people will realise I'm trying to be amusing and ironic when I put my interests as napping and stripey baby clothes, but really to I am just another sad blogger.
Someone listed sighing, breathing and running in the wind as interests and someone else put diet coke.
I think perhaps I should just stop now and start doing something more useful with my time like rearranging my pencils.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Solitude in the City

The 176 takes longer each day.
'...And then I said to im
fuck you, I said funkincheek,
funkin right its funkincheek
woz ee liyke, I meane...'

Eek out the time over the
'Standard, get your Standard here'
cryptic.
'Last stop ladies and gentlemen,
Last stop please'.
Funkincheek.

The sky glows yellow with
city night-time never blackness.
The night air still somehow cool
excitement. A peepshow of
lighted windows pass

she kisses his cheek, he turns,
mother tugs the racing car curtains
shut. Hands chop, slug red wine
each bright story told in silence.

The key grates in the lock
forces back and forward.
Upstairs the radio blares and
nearby an unmistakeable
rhythmic thudding...
'and also tonight we'll be talking to..'

Can't be bothered to cook tonight.
I’ll just open a can.
'Last stop ladies and gentlemen,
last stop please'.

The Pub Quiz (or bad losers)

I can't believe it's taken me this long to write about the pub quiz. As we are of course all aware it's the cultural activities outside school that are so much more important than what we actually came here to do.

Just around the corners from A***'s by metro St Paul on monday nights (8.30/9pm) the pub quiz takes place, a bastion of all things british in the midst of Paris - cheese and onion or salt and vinegar crisps, beer and proper english tea. (You look behind the bar. There are plastic boxes marked 'french tea', 'proper tea (tetleys)' and 'posh earl grey'.)

At the moment at school we are all pretending to be children between the ages of about 3 and 7 years old. As you can imagine, this is hillarious. It's also lovely to see everyone in brightly coloured, sensible clothes. All our mum's can breathe a sigh of relief to think that our kidneys are all nicely covered with thick tights and wooley jumpers. Joss was talking today about the hierachys in the playground. In fact all the teachers have been talking heirachy all week. - Which child is the leader, which is the informer, which is the sucker-up and which is the competitive.

I had another Lecoq moment of self revelation when I found myself playing une deux trois soleil (grandmothers footsteps to the anglophones among us) to win!

And this is the one problem with the otherwise delightful pub quiz. We always do respectably, but we never win. And I want to WIN. What fun is playing if we don't actually win?

So, a call to arms. Come on everyone. Join us. Together, all 33 of us around a pub table for 4, we can win!!!

Thursday, January 04, 2007

And the two stars of my Xmas - Mary Kindy Kaba and Jacob Hioti

Lecoqoscope

New year, new resolutions.

Well actually new year, exactly the same resolutions as last year. Loose weight, learn french, finish the novel, get fit, blah, blah blah.

Thanks heavens I can look to the stars for cosmic guidance...

Capricorn (Dec 23-Jan 19)

Still plodding away there, eh, Capricorn? Ah, the little goat has many mountains to climb before it can find it's dream, and this year starts with foam related ones. No, not FAME... FOAM. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!


Aquarius (Jan 20 - Feb 19)

You're are sparking on all 27 of your creative cylinders at the moment and are fearsome to behold. Just be careful not to trample others in the process, but this should be a great year for you. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Pisces (Feb 20 - March 20)

Something seems rather fishy. Yes, fishy. Something, somewhere is not quite right and it's up to you to find out what. You have a lot to do, but don't do anything yet. Bide your time and all will become clear over the following weeks. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Aries (March 21 - April 20)

There you are, floating around dreamily again. Stop it! It's time to come down to earth, smell the coffee and start listening to other people's ideas in autocours. Ok, we all know you're the next Peter Brook or Paola, but just for the moment remember that other people sometime have good ideas too. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Taurus (April 21 - May 21)

You will meet your match this year whether in love, work or the realm of the spirits. Prepare yourself for a big cosmic punch as the planets collide over Mauri 7 and start raining down men. If you're still smoking stop now before the ban comes in. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Gemini (May 22 - June 22)

You're being pulled in all directions and are not quite sure which one to go in. Stop take a breath and try and think of yourself for a moment. Rushing headlong into decisions after presure from others won't, ultimately, help you or them. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Cancer (June 23 - July 23)

Scuttling along happily we've hardly noticed how far you've got, Cancer. Now is your time to take the spotlight and accept the due praise for your actions. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!


Leo (July 24 - August 23)

Oh Leo, Leo, Leo. What are we going to do with you, you big bully? Calm down and remember that sometimes other people are right too! Ok, we know it's usually you who wins in the end, but all that confidence can sometimes hurt peoples' feelings. Be careful. No matter how well padded they seem this term you can still cause a dent. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Virgo (August 24 - September 23)

Phew!! You are hot and sexy at the moment, and it's only going to got hotter in the coming months with the new moon circling your planet. If you want it, or him/her, you can get it. Nothing can stand in your way. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Libra (September 24 - October 23)

Stop having sex with strangers! That's all I have to say. Just stop it.
Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Scorpio (October - November 22)

This year will be a tricky one for you Scorpio. Sometimes it will feel like you're not getting anywhere, in work, in love, in life. You'll feel like you're just treading water - and often your feelings will be quite right. Just remember though, horoscopes are a load of bollocks. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!

Sagittaruis (November 23 - December 22)

Navel gazing again? Thought so. Well, a little gazing at one's belly button can be forgiven from time to time. Just remember though, there is a world out there and perhaps it's a little bit more interesting from time to time than your belly. Prepare to get hot and sweaty this term!
Hicham Aboutaam
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