So here we are gourmet cooking

Doing without Delia by Michael Booth

In a nutshell: food crazy Brit who is tired of Jamie Oliver style 20 minute feasts decides to move to Paris and join the Cordon Bleu school of super classic French cookery. Trials, tears and some excellent foodie hints.

The blurb: written in a personal, blog-ish style, mister nice-mike the bumbling brit, joins one of the most prestigious cookery schools in the world. There is a lot of "me me me" here, how well he intergrates with the market folk, how good he is at school, how upset he is at boiling lobster when pregnant and alive (the lobster, needless to add...). That said, it is full of behind-the-scenes funny anecdotes and this book is well worth reading if you are a serious food and cook fan as it is packed full of useful hints (from how to make a decent stock reduction to how to chop, from great recipes to a lot of "cutting the bullshit" explanations). On a more serious level it also deals with the central issue of whether a career in food is adapted to all gastronomes/gluttons.

IMHO this book has its place between Bourdain's "kitchen confidential" and Reichl's "comfort me with apples". Less abrasive and hilarious (and probably honest) than the former, less openly sentimental than the latter, it has its good moments and more to the point some great food and cooking advice. Want to know how to make a good nantua sauce while reading about the ultimate cookery course (without paying the 8000 euro fee)? This is the book for you.

So here we are looking strangely similar

Laurel & Hardy reincarnated as Xavier Bertrand and Nicolas Sarkozy!

So here we are being a francophobe cretin

This article appeared on the Guardian's comment is free page. I have no idea who James Bennet is, but I would certainly piss in his drink at a party.

Below is his incredible article, as found on http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/aug/23/french-holiday-lazy-work; below that is my response, found on page 4 of the comments if you're interested. Happy reading.... cocksucker....

"Every day's a holiday, if you're French" by J Bennet.
"I love France. I'm half French and bilingual, have a French mother and dual nationality. Every summer we travelled across the channel on the ferry to France to see my relatives in a beautiful time-forgotten Burgundy village, where everyone knew each other and life tasted as a sweet as the freshly baked bread my grandmother sent me to collect every morning. It was the best childhood anyone could ever imagine. As I said, I love everything French.
Or rather I did. A week after coming back from my first holiday in Normandy with my wife, her two sisters and their four children, my affection for the country has been forever tarnished. Why? Because the French almost ruined it for us all, that's why.
Despite the country posting a slight recovery last quarter, France is still well and truly mired in recession. Its unemployment rate is currently running at 8.2%, one of the highest in western Europe, and is expected to go above 10% by the end of this year. And yet among all this financial misery and economic turmoil is a country in which people have rapidly descended into a state of supreme bone idleness but who equally demand second-to-none social welfare, lower taxes, benefits and a high standard of living.
Ever since the 35-hour working week was adopted in February 2000 under prime minister Lionel Jospin's socialist government, France has become a nation of languid retailers, invisible tourism employees and workshy shopkeepers. Try and find a cafe open in peak tourist season on a Monday, Wednesday or Sunday in Normandy and I'll break into the Louvre and deliver the Mona Lisa to you by hand. Even if you do manage to catch someone selling something in a shop or restaurant in France, they'll probably turn you away as they shirk off for a two-and-a-half hour lunch break.
Since the turn of the millennium, France has been on permanent vacances. So much for the 35-hour-week plan devised as a means to reduce unemployment and yield a better division of labour. It had more holes in it than a slab of Gruyere cheese. The then government had envisaged that a 10% reduction in the hours extracted from each worker would theoretically require businesses to hire more workers, and that as a result productivity would rise in line with more personal and family time for workers and an enhanced quality of life. In late March 2005, a glimmer of hope appeared when French MPs voted to relax the 35-hour limit, allowing private firms to increase working hours. But employers at the time all too quietly murmured that it had failed to create jobs and was uncompetitive and the new law failed to destroy what had now become a way of life.
But this was before world markets collapsed, previously resilient global currencies plunged and many thousands across the continent faced mass redundancies. Instead recruitment has fallen faster than the Maginot Line, per-hour production quotas have risen and many firms have in general avoided hiring new workers because French workforce regulations make it difficult to lay off workers during a poor economic period.
Only one man and a handful of his party faithful appear to have tried to shake the French from their slumber. Ever since becoming president, Nicholas Sarkozy's slogan of "work more to earn more" has earned him more enemies than admirers. The Catholic church is forever calling for the preservation of the balance between weekdays, devoted to work, and Sundays, devoted to family life, sport or "cultural activities", while members of his own party, despite assurances that it would improve the economy, have fiercely resisted reform, filing thousands of amendments to the president's original version of the law.
But the battle appears to have been worth it. Following more than 100 years of somnolence, last Sunday (August 14) marked the day finally France woke up. Well, partially. Sarkozy's law narrowly squeezed through the national assembly by a vote of 282 to 238 and now permits shops, department stores and shopping malls to open on the Sabbath in 20 zones of what are called "exceptional commercial" centres in and around three of the country's largest cities, Paris, Marseilles, and Lille. Additionally, 29 areas involving about 500 cities and towns will be added to the list of tourist areas, which already allow some economic activity on Sundays.
In less than a decade France has undone more than half a century's worth of work and gone from being one of the most popular tourist destinations in Europe to a nation of comfortable and lazy individuals. Thanks to a bizarre twisted socialist-era government law coupled with a backward-looking Catholic church and a weak-willed public and private sector, a mindset of "work less but gain more" was created and influenced almost every worker in a population of more than 61 million.
If France really does want to recover it has a much longer and more painful journey ahead than the rest of us, and it only has itself to blame.

Enchanting, and highly researched. My comment:

I don't usually but today I feel compelled to answer; what a strange.... rant. You say the French are lazy but that sounds a bit rich when you condemn French society and culture just because you had a bad holiday in Normandy. Have you ever worked in France? Or lived here apart from happy summers in Burgundy? Où est votre argumentation? The plural of anecdote is not data!!
First things first: are you criticising the 35 hour week or shops not opening on Sundays? and how do either make us lazy? Concerning the former, you might be surprised to learn that the 35 hour week is not the norm, any cadre (equivalent of a managerial position) or for that matter artisan boulanger could tell you that. Equally, for those it does concern what exactly do you have against having an extra afternoon/morning off a week, or a couple of extra days off a month? There are some things money can't buy, and spending time with your kids on a wednesday afternoon or taking a long weekend to visit the family are obvious examples. It might even be because of a certain equilibrium between work and leisure that French workers have the highest hourly productivity rate in Europe, something you forgot to mention when qualifying us of lazy. It's not all about length I guess, quality does count.
As for the catholics being behind the plot against Sunday shopping I find that very strange, the main argument against it being, as far as I can tell, that it is the most vulnerable workers (women working part time, pour ne pas les nommer) who would be working that day (for no extra pay I might add), when they would normally spend it with the family.
Again, it all boils down to the question of whether a strong(er) economy, fueled by more consumption and more working hours, is really what makes a society happy and healthy. We have good, free, schools, an excellent health service, and awesome transport. Who cares if the train driver works 35 hours a week when you can go from Paris to Marseille in under 4 hours?
France has its problems, no doubt. As you say, high unemployment, sluggish economy , massive debt, (hang on a sec, aren't you also British?) crappy universities, abominable prisons, social and racial inequality, etc. But there is also much to be proud of, not least the fact that we cling to the belief that we are not just labour, but human beings.
Last but not least: waiters will never refuse you for lunch to take a two and half hour lunch break. they geneally eat at about 11.30, before the first rush, or at 3 after the second. In fact the 2 and a half hour lunch beak is a myth today, and when it does last more than an hour, it's not so bad because we usually leave the office around 8, rather than head off to the pub at 5...

So here we are eating stew

Yes, it's summer, yes it's the heatwave and the temperature in Paris hit 38°. But why not eat stew? Cos it's too hot and stodgy for such weather that's why, but god it was good.

Summer beef stew
Serves 4.

600g stewing beef (for bourguignon for example)
3 large tomatoes, 2 carrots, 2 floury potatoes
300g fresh beans in their shells (borlotti, white)
300g mushrooms
6 fat cloves of good garlic
1 large or two small red onions
3 small fresh white onions
at least half a bottle of dry white wine
a few sprigs of parsley and a bouquet garni
a bit of flour, 2tsp paprika, a sprinkle of hot chilli powder, a large pinch of saffron.

1) Heat a couple of glugs of olive oil in a big pan (low to medium heat) and add meat so that it starts to brown all over. After 5 mins or so add 2 finely chopped garlic cloves, stir and let cook for another 5 mins. Do not let garlic burn. Season with salt and pepper, and stir in 2 tsp of flour, stir in and make sure that all the flour soaks up some fat (there must be no more visible).

2) While meat is cooking prepare vegetables: put tomatoes in boiling water for 30 secs, remove skin and white stalk inside and most of the seeds. Peel garlic cloves. Peel and chop carrots and potatoes into half-thumb sized chunks. Chop mushrooms, white and red onions to same size and pod the beans.

3)When meat is ready put in this order:
a)tomatoes (stir), paprika, about half the wine, bouquet garni, chilli powder, onions, 4 whole garlic cloves. Let bubble and stir for a few minutes until the alcohol burns off.
b) Add carrots, potatoes, beans, mushrooms, parsley, saffron and enough wine to cover it all. Stir. Let some of the alcohol burn off again.

4) Leave it for at least 4 hours, simmering gently with lid on, and occasional stiring or it will stick at the bottom and burn. Add more wine if it looks to dry, or boil it up if it looks too wet.

5) Serve on bed of raw baby spinach leaves (soup plates recommended).

So here we are thinking about what we are 'due'

I was sitting by the canal the other day having an early evening drink with some friends when I mentioned that I was now officially unemployed until September 14th, date at which my new contract starts at the language school. I was about to launch in to how I would spend this free time (namely start my new business) when all three quipped, almost in unison, "So, have you got your unemployment benefits yet?". "No", I answered, "I've got a job lined up, I live practically rent-free, have an allowance, was paid generously when my contract finished and have got plenty of money in my (three) accounts, I don't think I need it." Stunned silence. "But, but, you've cotised" they explained, as if to a jungle-resident who has just landed in the welfare state.

These three friends have a point. As a French employee, a generous hunk of my salary goes to the State: 327 euros a month to be precise, i.e. around 25% to 30% of my gross salary. In fact 33 euros a month have gone to the unemployment benefits vault and, true, I could claim around 500 euros a month until September (though I have only cotised around 270 euros). The way they see it is this: you've contributed to the kitty, you are entitled to the kitty. End of debate. Is it though?

These friends consider themselves fiendish left-wingers. One of them has already voted communist at a Presidential election. They think the right-wingers (dangerously close to the evil droite néo-libérale anglo-saxonne) are selfish, individualistic exploiters who like nothing better than sending the prolétariat down the mines so that they can afford a fourth annual holiday in the Maldives (a little exaggerated, but that is the gist.) Yet here they are saying that I should milk the State for a bit because, clearly, if I am entitled to it, then it is my due.

I also consider myself a rabid left-winger, but this has left me pensive. Thinking about it, it occured to me that here we have two very different views of taxes and the State. I adhere to the concept of redistribution, you take money from those who can afford a bit to spare and expect everyone to have a slice of it when required. This is true especially when it comes to health and education, but also unemployment benefits, especially when there are 800 000 extra unemployed - mainly unqualified industrial jobs, with mortgages to pay and children to feed - because of the financial crisis.

But there are very finite and limited ressources to share out, so what will there be left for those who need benefits if those who don't use up the money? The French debt and deficit are enormous, increasing and unsustainable. The Social security balance is so deep in the red that there is a serious debate about when the system will crash.

For me, not taking benefits is solidarity; I don't mind paying for those who need beneits and, the other side of the coin, do not expect people who don't need them to profit from them. My friends take a different view: the law says you can, so you should. But this seems to me very close to the pay-as-you-go individualist concept of welfare that is estasblished in the USA: put your money in then take your money out, regardless of whether others need it more, which they rightly criticise and consider non-humanitarian. This is the worst kind of non-individualism: when you see things through the prism of the State and no longer act out your views because you don't consider your individual self to be an actor in the scheme of things.

My moral to this anecdote is this: your views should not change according to whether there is a law in place or not. If you believe in redistribution and sharing out of wealth, you should be prepared to accept that some of the wealth you have is given out. The law is there to give you a right, not an obligation, to have support, and it is up to your political consience to determine who deserves it most- those entitled to it or those who need it. And then act accordingly. Amen.

So here we are indebted to pleasure

The Debt to Pleasure by John Lanchester

In a nutshell : Tarquin Winot is our epicurian, gentleman dandy narrator who, via seasonal menus, gives us a scattered autobiography, food memoirs and a million throaway opinions and comments on life, art, l'art de vivre etc etc etc.

The blurb : quite dense to read- do not be fooled by the fact it is only a couple of hundred pages long. Tarquin is an incredible narrator, erudite and with a poor opinion of his surroundings (exept good food, southern france, good art and the occasional beautiul woman) and launches in to a monologue on all of this. It does however become increasingly clear that he is completely mad, as he carefully builds up confessions to - haha!- and generally makes clear that he is a megalomaniac, schizo genius. He is oblivious to his own faults and the opinions some may have of him, making him a rather credible character, and it is great (on rereading the book, which is a must) to understand the gap between his opinion of himself and what he actually is.

IMHO this is a brilliant book which needs to be read and reread. Tons of facts on pretty much everything - though mainly food (of course), art, history and travel. In every paragraph he wanders off down another thought path. Taken all together it is a very funny and witty, amazingly constructed, book, that draws you in to the strange mind of the Tarquin Winot and slowly sheds light on what he is really getting up to... Highly recommended.

So here we are drinking with Wilberforce

The Irresistible Inheritance of Wilberforce by Paul Torday

In a nutshell: a backwards book that starts with the end, whose main character Wilberforce is a wine-lover (according to him), a hopeless alcoholic. The question is how, and why, did he become so?

The blurb: the book's opening scene introduces us to Wilberforce stepping out of a taxi and about to spend thousands of pounds on Chatau Petrus 1982 in a fashionable restaurant. Soon we understand that he is a wine-lover, and then rapidly realise it's a bit more than that. What is so fabulous about this book is that it is written backwards. Divided into four parts and four years ('vintages' Torday cheekily calls them), the book starts in 2006 and goes back to 2002. As the book progresses [backwards] we go from Wilberforce's terminal alcohol problem to its origins, spanning work, love, family, friends and [still backwards] his terrible decline. Written in the first person narrative, we witness the terrible confusion, paranoia and self-justification of the alcoholic, though progressively slip backwards to discover another character- a shy, nervous man in quest for origins and a circle in which he can belong. Though this is a serious, heartbreaking subject and story, there is a always a wry sense of humour thoughout the book: it is like watching a man who slips on a banana skin only to die of a broken back.

IMHO this is a wonderful, intense, thought-provoking book. Wilberforce's character starts as a big man, a little arrogant, self-assured, similar to John Lanchester's Tarquin character in the Debt to Pleasure (read review here), though clearly haunted by memory flashes of different times. Little by little we learn to distinguish the man from the drink and discover the genesis of the flshback snippets. After Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (read review here) which was simultaneously funny, bittersweet, moving and dark, Torday conjures up another orginal style and story in a similar clean prose. Very highly recommended -more than that!- and Torday is now on my list of favorite contemporary writers.

So here we are testing our Europhilia

Turns out I'm a left wing pro-European (yup). In French but a nice little test from www.touteleurope.fr!

So here we are tickling a slow loris

So here we are celebrating Labour day

May 1st, Labour Day, was on a friday so we had a lovely long weekend. Protest on the friday and picnic on the saturday, good stuff! Here are the highlights in pictures.

What is so totally cool about French protests are the slogans, which are usually rude, subtle and/or funny.

A personal favorite: This is a play on words on "Gone with the wind" (Autant en emporte le vent in French) with the first word a homonym of OTAN- Nato. A lot of French people are pissed off with Sarkozy for making France rejoin its integrated military command, which it famously left in 1966.




Protests in France are for all, of every age. This little girl, who had been casually left sitting on the reycling bin, had a sign that read: Nobody should let themselves be walked over, not even Carla! referring of course to France's first lady.





You could hardly move for these posters, the "Casse toi pov' con" ones. This means "sod off you sad bastard" and was famously said by Nicolas Sarkozy to a guy who refused to shake his hand.at the Agricultural Fair, and caught on video.





Another fave: "Couilles en or", or Balls of gold is slang for someone very rich. This says that as long as there are golden balls, there will be steel blades...


Karcher, Taser, Charter: the State's sponsors. Karcher is a brand of industrial hose, which Sarkozy poetically said he would use in the suburbs to flush away all the undesirables. Taser for the increasingly violent police methods. Charter for the 30000 expulsions of illegal residents


Outside the Republican guard.







Everybody had something to protest about: here the Tamil community marching about the current situation in Sri Lanka.




Paris, Notre Dame, the river... and politics.









These were plastered all over to Paris to represent the 28000+ people who have been deported.









It all ended at la Bastille, the symbolic location of popular uprising. Another protest started at Hotel de Ville.


One of the joys of living in Paris is the picnics by the Seine. In the summer it can get a bit crowded as the parisians squeeze on the riverside flagstones. But in Spring, on a chilly night, it was great!

Aaaah! Paris!











before...and after













As we were walking home, we crossed the Town Hall. In protest to the Pecresse Law on Higher Education and Research, professors, librarians and researchers have been walking in a circle for, at that point, 972 hours!! Not the same people obviously.

So here we are in an electoral dilemma

So the campaign for the European elections has finally kicked off with, as usual, no fuss, no debate and little information. It's not easy being a conscientious European citizen and not only for the above reasons. The real challenge is to understand what exactly one is voting for and, in parallel, how the vote is perceived.

On paper, there is little doubt: on June 7th, France will be voting for the parliamentarians who will have a seat at the European parliament and technically the lucky ones will represent the European people and elaborate and vote for laws that concern all 492 million of us Europeans, according to their political beliefs. Easy peasy, let's vote left wing and get it over with. Unfortunately the reality of politics means that nothing is so straightforward. In fact, most national politicians would say that the election of the MEPs is just a bit of a strange side-effect of this election, which they consider a barometer of their popularity.

In 1980, Reif & Schmitt, two political scientists, coined the term "second order national elections". With this they explained that since the European vote has little bearing on national policy making and none on the current leadership, the voters will tend to vote with their hearts (or with their boots), knowing that voting for the local communist geek won't mean having to suffer the risk of a communist government actually getting sworn in. Hence the relatively huge difference in the smaller parties' results in the EU elections compared to the presidential, national parliament, or local ones.

So on the one hand, politicians see the European election result as support or condemnation of the current leadership, while it should really be about who and what you want represented in front of the world's biggest supranational legislative institution. On the other, voters vote for improbable or unreputable candidates to show they are pissed off with the big parties usual faffing around. In my case, the guys I would vote for on a European level are idiots at a local level, and the guys I like on a national level I think would be crap at an EU level. An electoral dilemma.

In more detail: the European election 2009 candidates in my constituency (the region of Ile de France) are (so far) 10 different parties. Once we have eliminated the extremes and weirdos- the NPA (new anticapitalist party, run by charismatic trotskist hamster Olivier Besancenot who is one of France's most popular politicians), the FN (ultra nationalist anti European), MPF-CNPT (alliance of nationalists and hunt'em shoot'em fish'em) and Debout la République! ('Nuff said), we are left with:

UMP: right-wing, includes Sarkozy, his government and a lot of parliament. Main candidates are Michel Barnier (agriculture minister) and Rachida Dati (justice).
PS: currently ridiculous Socialist party. Main candidates, Harlem Désir (founder of uber-symbolic anti racism organisation who has long since entered politics), Pervenche Beres (respectable current MEP) and Benoit Hamon (current MEP, opportunistic little twat who probably isn't sure where Brussels is).
The Greens: good old Ecologists, led by charismatic Daniel Cohn Bendit, a huge symbol of '68 France and Eva Joly, who used to belong to the Modem.
The Modem: poor François Bayrou's party, somewhere between the left of right and the middle of nowhere, led by Marielle de Sarnez (FB's faithful companion and current MEP).
The Front de gauche : communists- never heard of them.
Lutte ouvrière: a party as old as the world, more communists.

I have de facto excluded the last two, because despite my minimum wage status and my current respect for all things equalitarian, I don't actually want them to represent me in the EU. Modem: like(d) Bayrou for a while and would like to support him at a national level but at a European level I'm not sure about Marielle de Sarnez
The Greens: love the DCB character, am OK with EJ, but am extremely wary of my local green municipal councillor, and refuse to validate him at a local level via the European vote.
The PS: Jesus, my obvious choice but they are so fucking pathetic at a national level and I loathe and detest Benoit Hamon. This last fact could be overlooked if they weren't so hopeless, but they are.
UMP: I like MB, who actually knows a bit about the EU, but hate the current government and despise Dati.

That leaves... nobody, or abstention. And abstention is the same as not giving a fuck, so... damn, it'll have to be the Greens. But, I don't like you Mr Guadi!

So here we are turning the other hand

The Other Hand by Chris Cleave

In a nutshell: in accordance to the blurb on the cover which gives no information on the plot and asks one to do the same, I will keep this nutshell to a minimum - two very different 21st century women with opposite backgrounds are reunited as both go through life-changing times and events.

The blurb: An interestingly constructed book as each chapter alternates the two women's very different narratives. The real story- this book recounts its consequences through the eyes of the protagonists- happens three years previously, when the women meet for the first time in extraordinary circumstances. When the book starts, we follow one of the women and meet the second, and slowly their common story, and its aftermath, unfolds. 'Nuf said.

IMHO this is a little jewel of a book. Knowing nothing about the plot, one is captivated as one tries to understand why the women are where they are, and what binds each to the other. As the truth slowly leaks out, a grim tale emerges that makes one question a plethora of assumptions, from responsibility and politics to what constitutes friendship and humanity. Given the serious nature of many aspects of the story, it could have been a rather stark book, but the incredible, funny, poetic voice of the main protagonist makes it as light as a romantic comedy, which it almost isn't. A lingering book, very highly recommended.

So here we are saying Merci (les Bobos)

Aaah, the Bobos! This new species was first described in David Brooks' analysis of the new social elite, in a book aptly named "Bobos in Paradise, the new upper class and how they got here", that came out in 2000. In the not too distant future I'll write a rave review of this book, but in the meantime I'll just stick to the day's subject: a new shop, unique in its kind in France, called Merci. The link between this and the Bobos? Well, hang on a sec, let me explain.

The Bobos, named after a combination of "Bourgeois and Bohemian", are as contradictory as their name would indicate. To caricature them would be too easy, so here goes: the Bobos think that TV is terrible (mainstream propaganda and brain-washing programs) but have the latest 40inch flat screen in their living room. They have kitchens which "look like an aircraft hangar with plumbing", but leave cooking to the pros as they feast on raw fish and macrobiotic soya sprouts. They are enviromentally conscious and buy hemp shopping bags from famous designers, but have giant bathtubs with multi-jet massage sprays, 4x4s, and love to import strawberries from Peru in December, to go with the homemade granola sorbet they produced with the help of their eight door superfridge.

Needless to say that, ten years after the term was first coined, there are many variations on the theme, as explained in this excellent article, and the original expression used to describe a certain slice of American culture has been exported. Parisians are often accused of being Bobo: with a left wing mayor and full of '68 speeches about a new equalitiarian society, while thinking nothing of spending a fortune on rent, appearance, food and entertainement.

Though I myself could easily be described as a Bobo (I live in trendy central Paris, drink authentic prol drinks like pastis in fashionable bars, am left wing but still don't want my taxes pushed up), my heart shuddered today when I visited Merci, this new shop in the cool 11th arrondissement.

Merci is, unbelievably, France's first official charity shop but any ressemblance with the scruffy Oxfam outlets full of attic-dusted trinkets and dodgy clothes you would find in England ends there. Merci is a huge, 1500m² reconverted loft on three floors, full of light rom the ironwork glass ceiling and with split levels. the idea is that all the stuff is donated and the money made form sales is sent off to help women in Madagascar. It so happens I have a theory on why this is: Merci was opened by the Cohen family which among others founded Bonpoint where I worked for nearly a year a few years ago. Bonpoint is the ultimate in Bobo baby & childrens' clothes: beautiful, funky, trendy original outfits where a shirt goes for 60€ and a pair of trousers more than double that. For children. A lot of the stuff is made and/or embroidered in Madagascar so I magine they want to give something back.

Anyway, this place is just incredible: architecturally it borders on perfection and is full of varied things from second hand books (see pictures of it here) to clothes, there is a perfume workshop and two cafés, and a entire floor dedicated to furniture. But here's the catch: apart from a few scruffy second hand books, everything is tearjerkingly expensive. A T-shirt specially made by Isabel Marrant is 90€, a tin cup 6€, a scented candle 29€, an armchair 1200€, a plain glass plate of the type you would get 10 for a quid in a Shelter shop goes for 8€. This is expensive charity. And on a Saturday PM we got a good idea of who goes there: the Vuitton dressed, bicycle using Bobos of the Paris' fashionable areas. We bought 7 books and spent 17€, but in the queue ahead of us a guy spent over 200€ on a couple of T-shirts, and another chick 300€ on a bag.

True, they would spend that kind of money on the same stuff anyway, so they might as well do it here, between a cup of organic coffee and a fennel carpaccio, but it still seems to me that there is something tasteless about spending 1400€ on a crystal vase to save the poor destitute mothers of Madagascar. Boboism at its best?

So here we are reading a secret history

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

In a nutshell: At a university in Vermont a small group of eccentric Classics students, fascinated by ancient Greek culture and in search of moral boundaries, murder one of their own.

The blurb: This book is written in the first person by Richard, a middle class newcomer from California who joins a group of five high-society, intellectual and Epicurean students of Ancient Greek. We learn in the Prologue, page one, that they will murder Bunny, a jovial and boisterous member of this select group. The pacing and pattern of the book are what sets it apart: at first, we follow Richard's arrival in Vermont and discover with him the different characters that make up this strange fellowship, and the reason for the unavoidable murder unfolds; it is like reading a fast-paced thriller, only looking for a motive before there has been a murder. In the second part we sink into the bleakness that settles as the characters deal with the consequences of their action. As we follow everything from Richard's point of view, what and how we understand the various events that unfold are linked to his own physical and psychological state, and his own perception of what is happening. The result is an unsettling psychological thriller, set in a modern campus, infused with an ancient and eery sense of doom.

IMHO this is an awesome, extremely accomplished novel. The main characters, from Henry who lives in a world between Vermont and ancient mythology to the victim Bunny, are gripping and, as Richard, we follow them deeper and deeper into a world of ancient beliefs and betrayal. This is a book about the fall from innoncence, friendship and its costs, finding refuge in alternative morals, and its price. A book full of erudition and ideas, memorable characters and a very strong plot. Very highly recommended.

So here we are dying with Jade Goody

According to Yahoo news this morning, Jade Goody has 48 hours to live, if she's "lucky". A 27 year old mother of two dying of cervical cancer is a tragedy in itself, and in my case one that rings close to home as she is my age. Though this is undoubtedly, unfortunately, not a unique occurence of a life cut short, of children orphaned, of cancer triumphing over modern treatment, what does make this story unique is of course the character of Jade Goody herself.
For those who know nothing about her, Jade Goody is a British woman who reached a particular kind of fame in 2002, the kind associated with reality TV, which emerged in the late Nineties. I remember reading an article (in 1999?) about the uproar caused by a new TV show in Holland, where people were locked together in a house for 90 days, filmed, and the resulting images transformed into entertainment via careful editing and a weekly TV show. I remember when Big Brother arrived in the UK, and then in France, under the slightly dodgy name of Loft Story.
I never followed BB in England but just by living there you had to follow a certain amount just to be allowed to have a conversation at the pub. As a result, my knowledge of Jade Goody is vague, but here is what I know. JG entered BB in 2002, an overweight, loudmouthed, vulgar chav with a ghastly family background and zero knowledge of anything that wasn't binge-drinking-linked. Infamously, she said she thought that Cambridge was in London, and when informed that it was located in East Anglia, deduced that it was abroad (in a country called East Angular in fact).
In BB she was portrayed as a fat, bullying, ignorant cow/pig hybrid, with a basic vocabulary of 30 words (including fuck, fucking, fucked, fuckoff and so on), which to be fair, she completely deserved. Her sophisticated side even led her to the first grope in the BB house, a drunken fumbling with a guy called PJ , which the nation criticised with glee. Othe JG moments include calling an Indian girl Poppadum in a later edition of BB, and getting the trademark Burberry print tattooed on her arse. The Indian episode led to 50000 complaints in England, and Jade made several grovelling public apologies, pleading stupidity over racism which in her case was probably true. In any case, the Indian episode led her to join the cast of the Indian version of BB which is where she learnt, on live TV as the concept of the show would have it, that she had cervical cancer. After repatriation to England, the initial survival rate she had been given, of around 60% was reduced. The cancer then spread to anus, bladder and liver, and it soon became clear she was in terminal mode with only months to live.

Overnight, fat, ignorant, lower class bully Jade, the daughter of handicapped drunk and a heroin addict (her father died after she reached fame, keeling over from an overdose in a public toilet), became the nation's favorite tragedy. The tabloids that had criticised her with malice and joy during the BB years were now running healines like "Brave Jade pledges to wed love" or "Big Brother legend Jade Goody talks of heartbreak". Now that she is dying, Jade is a hero, a brave soldier and loving mother, crippled by the unfairness of life. Humanism demands that we feel very sad about this woman's life, and forthcoming death, but the hypocrisy and voyeurism displayed by the media is breathtaking. Tha satirical newspaper Private Eye ran a "before and after" column, comparing descriptions of Jade in the tabloids before and after the news of cancer. The result is quite shocking.

Though one can hardly blame Jade, who has decided to die in front of the cameras ("I lived in front of them, I will die in front of them") and is milking the media for every penny she can, one can only wonder what the hell the media are up to. Jade got married a month ago the her imprisoned boyfriend and sold the pictures for a million pounds. Until recently she was giving press conferences and being paid for interiews. one TV channel is filming her last days and, a priori her last moments. She justifies this by saying she isn't spending the money on houses or cars, but to ensure her sons' future, which seems rationl enough. The media however can only be accused of profitting from this woman's personal tragedy and the public of morbid fascination. Jade will be dead in a few days, if not hours, and I predict there will be a flood of debates bringing this up. In any case a new media page is being turned. Ten years ago people were saying that the Big Brother concept was too much, crossing the thin line of good taste and what was tolerable. Now someone is dying and the cameras are rolling, and that debate seems pretty tame. The question now is, what next?

[Post scriptum : Jade Goody died, off camera, on Sunday 22nd of March - Mother's day]

So here we are on Friday 13th

I know, I'm a bit late. The year 2009 is only just over three months old and we have already had 2 Friday 13ths, and I should really have blogged this earlier. Still, in the history of humanity there will be plenty more, so I guess this is timeless, really.
In most (western) cultures, Friday 13th is synonymous with bad luck, a superstition that ranks up there with passing under ladders (associated to the hangman's gallows) and crossing black cats (linked to witchcraft). The reason for this could be anything, though the people who are interested in such things seem to agree it could be for two reasons. First, the massacre of the Templar knights was planned for a Friday 13th, and Jesus was crucified on a Friday, after the last supper where the 13th man (Judas, 12 disciples plus Jesus) betrayed him.
In France however, Friday 13th is considered by many as a day of luck. This is partly due to a brilliant marketing ploy launched in the early 90s by the boss of the française des jeux, the national company that runs the lottery. On this day, lottery gains are humoungous and tens of millions of people play, and ads for the loto play with the luck/bad luck associations people have with this day.
And in case you were wondering, the power of Friday 13th is not just about getting people to gamble. There are also severe pathologies linked to a phobia of this day, as real as clautrophobia, arachnophobia or others.
And yes, it does have a name: paraskevidekatriaphobia, from the Greek for Friday, 13 and fear!

So here we are protesting in Guadeloupe

After more than 40 days of protests and violence, the French island of Guadeloupe has been granted a salary increase for the least well paid. But is this only about the money? Or does the unrest betray a much deeper mal être in the French Carribean?

Guadeloupe is a butterly shaped paradise island located in the Carribean and holiday destination of well-off French people as it is officially part of France. Like Martinique its island neighbour, French Guyana - a small territory in the north-east of South America- and la Réunion, in the Indian ocean, Guadeloupe benefits from DOM status, that's département d'outre mer, and on paper is just another bit of France. For more than forty days and nights, until last thursday, the Guadeloupéens were on strike (told you they were French). The reason? A combination of being fed up with exorbitant prices, especially those of petrol and basic necessities, low salaries and the amplification of these with la crise, all tinted with a feeling of modern colonialism.

Elie Domota has emerged as the natural leader of the strike, which blocked the country for a total of 44 days and turned a little sour when a trade unionist was shot dead a couple of weeks ago by the police. The son of a carpenter and a cleaning lady, he is at the head of LKP, the "collective against profiteers", and represents the black population- the vast majority- of the island, who are denouncing a neo-colonialist system where the békés, the white descendants of the slavers, own and exploit the island's wealth, tourism and trade leaving only the menial jobs in the banana plantations and the factories for the blacks who are, of course, French citizens in equal right. There was a whiff of independence in the air as Domota talked of the "foreign press" to describe the journalists from Paris and as tens of thousands of Guadeloupeans sang "Guadeloupe is ours not yours" day after day outside official buildings.

It's true that they have something to complain about. As the island is part of France, it has the same wages and laws as metropolitan France. That said, prices are much higher : a quick comparaison showed that for the same goods, sugar was 98% more expensive, and milk and pasta 50% more. Petrol was also much higher and despite Guadeloupe being an island with a huge fishing industry, fish in the Caribbean markets costs the same as in Paris supermarkets. Those who own supermarkets and so on say that it is down to import costs and taxes, but for many it is simply exploitation of the ethnic population native to the island by the béké oligarchy. Oil was further poured on the fire when a prominent, rich béké said on TV that there had been no interbreeding in the last 250 years to preserve "the race". Ouch.

The population of Guadeoupe is just over 400 000, and had the same proportion of metropolitan French demonstrated, there would have been 15 million people in the streets. It took Sarkozy a while to realise there was a problem (I draw a parallel to bumbling George W. who took a good week or so to realise that Katrina was a bit worse than just a few blacks in trouble). He memorably didn't mention it at all in his TV speech on the crisis, despite the troubles having started a week before.

After many negotiations with the French business lobby and the government have decided to grant those with the lowest salries (up to 1400 euros a month) a 200 euro pay rise. Is that really enough though. It may help Gualdeloupeans feed their children a bit more and has crucially stopped the strike, which had schools, offices, factories, distilleries, supermarkets, post offices and so on shut for 6 weeks, but given the cries against exploitation and the white elite, it may not be enough. The crisis has spread to Martinique, where they seem to be more radical, and la Réunion, and Elie Domota has been accused of "incitement to racial hatred" since this morning.

rance has always prided itself on the DOM's management; a successful decolonisation where the colonised became equal french citizens. What the last six weeks have shown is that this is a myth and that the black population of the island is fed up. With the crisis, France's help is no longer seen as useful, and 200 euros seems too little for people to forget this.

So here we are celebrating the Millenium (II)

The Girl who played with Fire by Stieg Larsson

In a nutshell: A couple is found shot in a Stockholm flat and Lisbeth Salander is accused of murder. We follow the investigations of the police, the journalists and those close to her to reveal the mystery and find those really responsable, and their relationship to the main protagonists.

The blurb: this second part of the Millenium trilogy is set around a year after its prequel, the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (read review here). We follow the investigations into the murders of a journalist/researcher couple, who were set to denounce the Swedish sex trafficking industry and incriminate high-placed public figures. Like the previous book, what caracterises volume II is the intricate weaving of many storylines around the central plot, namely the diappearance of Lisbeth Salander who is now public enemy number 1. We follow the investigations from several points of view, the various police officers involved, Mikael Blomkvist, journalist and friend of Salander's, the bad guys, Salander herself and so on. As the inquiries develop, we discover more about Salander's history and a story of corruption, violence and political deceit unfolds.

IMHO, this book more than lives up to volume 1. Again we are skillfully plunged into each character's world, following the revelations subtly and gradually as we shift from protagonist to protagonist (without it ever being obvious, as we are always in the third person) and are sucked into the world of media frenzy, political corruption and journalistic investigations. Unlike the prequel it is not a book that takes time to warm up and the suspense makes it very diffuclt to put down. Excellent, sophisticated, intelligent reading. Be warned though, volume 3 of this wonderful trilogy has yet to be translated into English, and GPF ends on a real cliff hanger.

So here we are reading the Poisonwood Bible

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

In a nutshell : an American baptist minister, his wife and their four daughters leave 1960s USA to live in the Congolese jungle in an attempt to convert the locals. This poignant history of a dysfunctional family is set against the background of 30 years of Congo's history and politics and its terrible fight for independence.

The blurb : written from the point of view of the mother and the four daughters, it starts as the day to day description of life in the Congolese jungle. The father's fanatical views become increasingly damaging to the family and their attempts to "settle in" and the hardship of the everyday gives way slowly to an incredible analysis of Congolese politics and culture. About halfway through the book time speeds up and twenty years of Congolese history and its bloody fight for independence are told through the eyes o those living it, whether they are part of the action or seing it from afar. Beautiful pace, incredible descriptions and real food for thought as it throws all our western references out of the window to describe the hardships of life out there.

IMHO this is one of the best books ever written. Good anytime any place, it is a heartbreaking story of a family but also a lesson in tolerance and politics. It covers religious fanatism, cultural racism, ethnocentrism, and is a mix of anthropology, history and fiction. Must be read !

So here we are at Mudbound

Mudbound by Hillary Jordan

In a nutshell: In 1946, the McAllan family move to an isolated farm in the muddy fields of Mississippi, where the "Negroes" are violently discriminated against and life is hard for everyone. In parallel, two young men linked to the McAllans, one white, one black, return from the Second World War.

The blurb: This book is written in first person narrative from various points of view- the wife who hates the muddy farm, the husband who loves it, the charming brother-in-law who has difficulty coping with his memories of the war, the black sharecropper/midwife, the black soldier who, having liberated Europe, is still just a "nigger" when he returns, and so on. We follow love and betrayal, friendship and injustice, and see a damning account of how black men and women were treated at this time.

IMHO this is simply yet well-written book that reads easily and deals with several themes: rural life in 1940s rural Mississippi, the treatment of black farmers, racism, and the power and risks of certain friendships in such a context. The most interesting part of the book deals with the treatment of the young black war hero who returns home and the bigotry of the locals. There are in fact many subplots that culminate to a violent and somewhat predictable denouement and the book seems a little too short for one to be able to appreciate it. Though we get good portraits of the characters, and follow several paths, it all seems a little light and rushed with a change of narrator every ten pages or less. As a result it reads like a cross between the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (read review here) and Little House on the Prairie. A good book, but a little short.

So here we are celebrating the Millenium (I)

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

In a nutshell: Mikael Blomkvist, disgraced journalist, goes to a small Swedish village to work for Henrik Vanger, a rich industrialist and patriarch of the bizarre Vanger family, who is obsessed with the disappearance of his niece forty years earlier. Blomkvist investigates, helped by Lisbeth Salander, a delinquent hacker who follows no rules but her own...

The blurb: This is a very intricate book, and many storylines are neatly entwined around the main plot, which is the strange case of 16 year-old Harriet Vanger, who disappeared 40 years previously from an isolated island. Around this are many distinct, yet connecting, characters and stories, such as Blomkvist's career, families, financial corruption or physical abuse, which are thought-provoking and gripping. Salander's caracter is especially fascinating and complex.

IMHO this is a intelligent, addictive and multi-layered book that sucks you in gradually like a intricate game of chess. It is actually quite "slow" for about two hundred pages, but suddenly the characters and the settings click and the thriller part of the book begins. Part sophisticated thriller, part whodunnit, part exploration of a darker side of society, highly recommended.

So here we are celebrating Darwin

Charles Darwin was born 200 hundred years ago today! To celebrate and commemorate the father of the theory of the evolution of species who published On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or The Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life 150 years ago in November, here is a small selection of things that I think are relevant.

So here we are detecting in Victorian England

The suspicions of Mr Whicher by Kate Summerscale

In a nutshell: Part social history, part biography, part depiction of Victorian England and part whodunnit, this book deals with the early days of detection though the prism of a true murder committed in Road in 1860.

The blurb: This multi-layered book starts with the true story of the murder of Saville Kent, the youngest member of a middle class Victorian family. This is the whodunnit part of the book : a murder, a large household and a house locked from the inside. We then follow the investigations and suspicions of Detective Jack Whicher, one of the first London detectives, at a time when detection was a new science that had the nation in the grip of 'detection fever'. In this respect, this book is also a social history of the time, cleverly showing the side effects this gruesome- and mystifying- murder had on literature (with the emergence of a new type of novel) and the attitude of Victorian society to the case and the methods used to solve it.

IMHO this was an interesting but not particularly gripping book, definitely not a page turner. It was not written as a whodunnit so, despite not knowing who the murderer is until late on, there is none of the satisfaction of detection in your armchair. Then again, this is a true story, and therefore not as well crafted as a good Agatha Christie. That said, it sometimes seems a little confusing as we skip from Whicher's detection to broader descriptions of society at the time, from trials to flashbacks, from mini-biographies to the influence the case had on Wilkie Collins and Charles Dickens, amongst others. It works out as an interesting history of early detection and investigation methods, and a pretty mediocre whodunnit.

So here we are in Sarkozy's economic crisis

About ten days ago, an estimated 2 million French workers went on strike and marched through the streets of France's cities. They were not protesting specifically about job losses like in England, nor only from the public sector which is often the case. This strike was about a more abstract sense of fear and helplessness due to the crisis and a hefty dose of anger directed at Nicolas Sarkozy. This was about the country's relationship with its president, the man who won the election on the promise that people would work more to earn more, that he would boot up people's disposable income, that he would modernise the French economy by basing it on a more flexible anglo saxon model, complete with low unemployment.

In retrospect, these election pledges seem both awkward, absurd and hilarious. Unemployment is soaring; purchasing power is collapsing; the French car industry, which indirectly employs 1 in 10 French workers, is close to collapse; and the banks have had to be bailed out. This last point has gone down especially badly with the French. As they struggle with inflaion and stagnant wages, reducing consumption in many cases to bare necessities, the government managed to magic up billions for the banks, seen by the population as inefficient, dangerous and corrupt. Despite Sarkozy's characteristic hyperactivity- he has been running around France giving huge conferences every two days on average- his now-ludicrous promises and idiotic remarks ("Hoho! Now when there's a strike in Frane nobody notices" he said at a public meeting, which was seen a pure provocation by the unions) have made him a resented and distrusted figure.

All he could do was respond. So he decided to give an interview, that would be shown on 3 channels simultaneously, in his offices at the Elysée. The two journalists, which he chose, are the newsreaders of the leading private and state channels, bit they didn't reallydo much, just let Sarkozy talk.

Sarkozy looks a bit older and more tired, and certainly wasn't as arrogant and lively as usual. He was, as always, fidgety but his voice had a grave and softer tone. On the crisis, he solemnly announced that this was the worst crisis in living memory and that there were no easy solutions. Not exactly the reassurance the population was after. He justified his plan to help the economy through investment and companies, rather than by encouraging consumption, which is what the UK have done by lowering VAT (and which the French socialists would like to do). He justified bailing out the banks because French savings were at stake, not the treacherous banks, which he is furious with. He went off into a little spiel about how he had "summoned the G20 to refound world capitalism" which sounded a little bigheaded. He then dropped a couple of shock factor proposals. First to arrange a huge meeting on the 18th of february with the Unions, the different interest groups and so on where they would discuss, among other things, cutting taxes for the poorer slices of the population (50% of French workers don't pay taxes already) and getting rid of the taxe professionnelle, which represents 30% of companies' costs (but is also what funds local collectivities).

But behind the gravity and proposals, it was impossible not to notice a kind of megalomania: as well as the "I summoned the G20", there was also "I am your President, it is my role to protect you", "I went to wherever and did this", "I decided this and it was done". Amusingly, only when he suddenly came under fire for an unpopular measure unrelated to the financial crisis did he suddenly start saying that he didn't work alone, that he had a full council of ministers working round the clock and that he was absolutely not responsible alone for anything.

What came out of this was very little concrete measures. People had been expecting some emergency solution like Obama's $1000, but what they got was justification for saving the banks and helping companies, and a lot of Sarkozy saying that he would take on the crisis single handedly and not to worry. People are worried though. In the poll published today 52% of the French were unconvinced by his statements.

So here we are in London and an Egyptian tomb

Chook and I went off to London for a birthday weekend and it wa sabsolutely great. We saw the Rothko exhibition at Tate modern, ate pub lunches and English breakfasts, saw my family and met up with some old uni friends for a couple of drinks. We went to the Britsh museum and plodded around in the snow which fell in abundance in London and the South East on Sunday and Monday.


We had an amazing time and one of my highlights was visiting the new Egyptian gallery in the BM. I've always loved their Egyptian wing and when I was a child would spend ages with my poor suffering mother looking at the Rosetta stone and animal mummies, the dried out corpse of Ginger and other slightly gruesome displays. Later I also started to appreciate the statues and artefacts, pottery, jewellry and so on, and know a bit more about Ancient Egyptian history and archeology.

This new gallery is like nothing I have ever seen before. It is a actually an average sized room that is solely dedicated to the tomb of an temple accountant who lived three and a half thousand years ago. The famous Egyptian tombs are typically royal ones : from the valley of the Kings to Tutankhamon's, or the even more ancient pyramids. The lives and deaths of the everyday Egyptians are comparatively unknown. A few years ago the Louvre had an exhibition on the people who made the pyramids, not slaves as it turns out(contrary to popular belief) but highly skilled craftsmen, experts in stone cutting, woodwork, engraving, painting and so on. It looked in to the lives of the Egyptian working classes, neither pharoahs nor farmers nor slaves.

In a similar way, this tomb is the tomb chapel of Nebamun, a "scribe and counter of grain" who died in around 1400 BC. His tomb chapel was discovered in the 1820s by a Greek grave robber who later sold the incredible paintings that are on display. Though we know the tomb was located near the city/temple devoted to Amun, where he worked, in Thebes (today Luxor),the exact location is today lost. Though it is a tomb, the paintings are a celebration of Nebamun's life, with paintings glorifying his everyday activities, from fishing to family and his job. The eleven large fragments, which have been restored and preserved over the last decade, are beautiful in colour and the level of detail in each one is captivating; the artist is unknown but has been called an "ancient Egyptian Michaelangelo".

One painting shows a young Nebamun fishing on the marshes and surrounded by spieces of birds and reeds and fat fish. Amongst the reeds his cat is somersaulting and hunting. The different species symbolise life, rebirth and vitality which is what the painting inspires.



In another, we see Nebamun at work. His name literally means "he works in the service of Amun", to whom the temple which employed him was dedicated. Here he is counting and inspecting cattle, who have been painted in such a way that you can hear the clatter of their hooves and the shouts of the servants driving them.



In another, slave giirls entertain at a banquet: a display of luxury, sensuality and wealth.


The exhibition also has a terrific 3D video that explains the tomb chapel's probable location and layout, and has some nice artefacts such as toys, jewelry, games and preserved offerings. The explanations are great and fascinating (such as the fact that the word "Amun", present everywhere in the hieroglyphs, including in Nebamun's name, was smashed centuries later) and to top it all the whole gallery, like the rest of the museum, is free.

So here we are talking about science

Science and scientific methodology vs beliefs and emotion. Ten minutes long and excellent presentation!

So here we are reading the book without end

World without End by Ken Follet

In a nutshell, this is exactly the same book as Pillars of the earth (read review here) by the same author, only it is set 200 years later and is a bit shorter I think. Aliena is called Caris, Jack is called Merthin, William is called Ralph, the cathedral is a bridge and there is the plague.

The blurb: Follett sold and made millions with PoE so he kept exactly the same formula for this "sequel". Not so much a sequel as it does not take up where the last left, nor does it give any info on the characters of its prequel. Instead we follow the descendants of PoE's heroes (which can justify the very similar characters) much as we did their ancestors. The backdrop, depending on where you are in the book, is the building of a bridge, the social and economic devastation (and opportunities) linked to the plague and the usual politics of religion and power, only this time in the 14th century. Again we span 50 or so years of British history, from the invasion of France to the horrors of the plague, and from every point of view- nuns, evil knights, heartbroken builders, farm labourers and so on with a hefty dose of sex, rape and violence.

IMHO this book would have been OK if its prequel hadn't been almost identical. My mistake was probably reading Pillars of the Earth and World without End one after the other. Serious overdose. Again, the book is characterised by rather 2D (albeit enjoyable) characters, debatable historical accuracy and insane ups and downs in the people's lives. Fair enough, a couple of (sub)plot lines are original, but it's not really worth trawling through 1200 pages of WwE to get 90% rehashed PoE (already over a thousand pages). If you liked PoE definitely wait a while before reading this or it will all seem too familiar. If you didn't like PoE, then forget it. if you haven't read PoE, start with that.

So here we are laughing in French

Funniest joke of the year so far! Translation below.

Lorsque Dieu créa le monde, il décida de concéder deux vertus aux hommes de chaque peuple afin qu'ils prospèrent.

Par exemple il rendit :
-Les Suisses précis et pacifistes
-Les Anglais flegmatiques et ironiques
-Les Japonais travailleurs et réalistes
-Les Italiens joyeux et humanistes

Quant aux français, il dit :
"Les français seront intelligents, honnêtes et sarkozistes."

Lorsque le monde fut achevé, l'ange qui avait été chargé de la distribution des vertus demanda à Dieu :
"Seigneur, tu as dit que tu octroyais deux vertus à chaque peuple, mais les Français en ont trois. Est-ce pour cela qu'ils se placent au dessus des autres ?"
Et Dieu répondit :
"En vérité, Je te le dis, chaque peuple a deux vertus y compris les Français, car chacun d'entre eux ne pourra en posséder que deux à la fois.
Ce qui veut dire que :
-si un français est sarkoziste et honnête, il ne sera pas intelligent
-si un français est sarkoziste et intelligent, il ne sera pas honnête
-si un français est intelligent et honnête, il ne pourra pas être sarkoziste."


When God created the World, He decided to provide the men of every nation with two virtues so that they would prosper.

For example, He endowed

-the Swiss with pacifism and precision
-the English with composure and irony
- the Japanese with realism and the value of work
- the Italians with joy and humanism.

As for the French, He said:

-May they be honest, intelligent, and Sarkozy supporters.

Once the World was created, the Angel in charge of the virtues' delivery asked God.
"My Lord, why did you provide the French with three virtues when you said you were giving two to each people? Is that why they feel so superior?

And God answered:
In truth, believe me, the French, like all the others, will only possess two virtues, for they cannot possess more than two at a time. This means that
- if the man is honest and supports Sarkozy, he is not intelligent
- if the man is intelligent and supports Sarkozy, then he cannot be honest
- nd if he is intelligent and honest, then he cannot support Sarkozy!

So here we are fiddling the immigration figures

When Nicolas Sarkozy was elected President in May 2007, he included in his government Brice Horetefeux at the head of the newly created Ministry of immigration, integration, national identity and co-development. The creation of this Ministry had been an election pledge and was designed to attract the far-right voters and butchly address the illegal immigration issue in France. There has rightly been a lot of fuss over this Ministry's policies and actions, and especially the "quota policy" instaured. In a nutshell, in 2008 the precise number of 28000 reconduites à la frontière (escorts to the border) were to be done. To do this, there has been a massive increase of random police checks for identity papers which has led to shocking news items : an old Chinese man arrested outside his granddaughter's school in full view of the children, several suicides by defenestration when people have thought the police were coming to get them in their homes, people with families (and children born in France) and who have been working here for decades suddenly back on the plane to Africa. People who do not have the magic papiers live in fear of being caught randomly in the streets (it is compulsory to carry ID on your person at all time) while they go to work or collect their kids from school.

This was all true over a year ago (see post here)

That's it for the background, so did Brice Hortefeux make it to 28000? Well yes he did, and more; the Minsitry and the Minister are congratulating themselves for having reached the figure of 29796 reconduites. Not only that, but they are applauding the fact that just over 10000 of these, so around a third, were voluntary.

This is where we pause. Not for subjective moral issues about repatriating almost 20000 people against their will but for accountancy reasons. This figure of 10000 voluntary repatriations needs to be a little more analysed. Indeed, it seems that a pretty hefty proportion of these (I'm not sure anyone has the real figure) are EU citizens. This does not concern carts of Brits departing from the Cote d'Azur, but mainly the Roms, the (semi) nomadic gypsies settled mainly in Romania and Bulgaria which, since January 2007 have been EU members.

This means the Roms can travel freely in the EU. "But!", one could argue, "why would they depart voluntarily, especially if, as it seems, all they do is come back?" Because, believe it or not, the French state gives a repatriation bonus to all those who leave voluntarily of around 300 euros and provide transport back. It would seem, that a vast amount of the "10000 voluntary repatriations" involve busloads of EU citizens being given 300 euros andcarted off, after which they simply return to France and do it again. There have been journalist investigations into this and human rights organisations are denouncing it, but that's about it, and certainly no sound from the government. Weird or what?

So here we are mourning the veggie box

Bloody farmers.
I will not launch in to a long rant against french farmers (oh go on then) who since the post war period, when parts of Europe were starving, have benefitted from enormous encouragement from the French state and the European Union. The common agricultural policy, of which France has long been the main beneficiary, is the main common policy to have survived and was designed at de Gaulle's insistence. Whatever, the bloody French farmers are used to healthey subsidies and tipping pig manure on the steps of the town hall but right now that is not why they are so annoying. Loic, the farmer who provides us with the vegetables we collect every saturday for the veggie box has decided to pull out, despite our signing elaborate contracts and paying him in advance for vegetables until March. After putting up with his muddy chard and mutant celeriac, HE has deided that our AMAP is not big enough and that we don't help out at the farm enough... Bloody hell, we are paying for the kolkhose. So hopefully we will get our money back and find a new veggie box distributor, one that doesn't require us to spend our January weekends digging up onions.

So here we are on the Oregon trail

A small part of history by Peggy Elliott

In a nutshell : In 1846, the extended Springer family join the Oregon trail - a collection of 20+ families who decide to go westwards from Missouri to start a new life in Oregon. Written from the point of the view of the women on the trail we follow the hardships they encounter as their wagons cover over a thousand miles of inhospitable lands, with all the trials one can imagine on the way.

The blurb : This book, which was inspired by a book called "Women's diaries of the westward journey" by Lillian Schlissel, is written exclusively through the eyes of the women who followed their men on these incredible westward journeys. Through first person narrative, diary extracts and third person omniscient narrative we are given an account of the journey that is more concerned with the practicalities of keeping families together -and alive- rather than the technical aspects of the trail. A sticker on my edition says "guaranteed to break your heart" and the huge difficulties accompanied by the massive deathtoll of those involved remind us of the truer story of the romanticised "pioneer 'n eldorado" accounts of the trails to the Pacific.

IMHO, this is a very interesting, albeit very chick-litt and sentimental novel. For those interested in the 19th century conquest of the American west, this women's account of an often male-angled part of history, is fascinating. The main interests of this book are seeing the neat separation of men and women's roles in society and in the household, and the gruesome realities of the trail: pregnancy, accidents, illness, friendships through necessity, grim conditions and so on make it run like a soap opera. That said, it reads well and the level of detail is captivating : despite being fiction this author has done her research and we imagine travelling alongside the wagons through the plains, lava deserts and mountains. This book is good for people who would like to read an adult version of "The long winter" by Laura Ingalls Wilder, who like this historical period and, though I hate to say it, are female.

So here we are reading the pillars of the earth

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett

In a nutshell : This book is a little over one thousand pages of small print long so the nutshell is going to be quite meaty. Ok, here goes. In mid-twelfth century England a builder dreams of building a cathedral. He and his complicated, extended family settle in the south of England and the story of the cathedral over the next 50 years is recounted through the stories of all the different people involved, from monks to peasants, landowners and knights.

The blurb : this epic monster of a book spans half a century of turbulent Medieval English history and a cast of a dozen or so main characters spanning 3 generations and every social rank. The building of the cathedral is the background of the story and provides the reason for following monks, priors and bishops, stonecutters and masons, earls and knights, market traders and farmers against a backdrop of Civil War. It is a huge tapestry of a book with many connections between the characters and a nice amount of detail (those 1000 pages had to say something!) and by following half a dozen or so characters throughout their lives you have a good sense of time passing. Follett is a thriller writer and he uses time in a interesting way, speeding up some of the more important events (attacks, quarrels, walks across Europe) and slowing some of the more descriptive bits. This gives an interesting twist to the suspense, especially as Follett uses a lot of rape, violence and plain ol' nastiness to hook you.

IMHO this is a cool, addictive read. The characters are sometimes a little absent or incoherent, the dialogue is nothing ground breaking, the historical accuracy is debatable, the anacronysms blatant, the descriptions of medieval England are interesting but no more and the pace of the book sometimes feels a little odd but it is still an addictive whopper. The likeable/hateable characters are good, the plot charges around and people go from riches to horror and back again . The religious/royal politics described are gripping and the whole thing has a satisfying ending. That said however, ironically for such a huge book, the end feels a little rushed but the first 800 pages or so were very hard to put down. Recommended holiday reading.

So here we are thinking about numbers

Happy new year 2009! I am feeling happy we have left 2008 for 8, while being a favorite number in Chinese culture, has never really appealed to me : a fat little man who has no direction except in the face of infinity. 9 however... 3 to the power of 2! and, even better I turned 27 a couple of weeks ago, which of course is 3 to the power of 3, and 3 being my favorite number, well...

Paul Auster personnalises numbers, and puts it beautifully : "... each number has a personnality of its own. A twelve is very different from a thirteen (...) Twelve is upright, conscious, intelligent, whereas thirteen is a loner, a shady character who won't think twice about breaking the law to get what he wants. Eleven is tough, an outdoorsman, who likes tramping through woods and scaling mountains; ten is rather simpleminded, a bland figure who always does what's he told; nine is deep and mystical, a Buddha of contemplation (...)"

Some of this is cultural of course : thirteen is the traitor Judas and ten is the kid at school who always got top marks. But some numbers possess the extraordinary qualities and this is when we leave the biased lands of cultural associations and disappear down the rabbit hole of the study of numbers and their properties, which started with Pythagoras ("numbers are everything") and continues today to fascinate mathematicians and amateurs. Let's go back to twelve, Auster's natural leader. Twelve is a very useful number, as it can be divided by 1, 2, 3, 4 and 6, but that does not make it perfect mathematically. For this, as defined by the Pythagoreans, a number must be equal to the sum of its divisors. Six is the first perfect number as its divisors (1,2,3) add up to 6. Twenty eight is the next as its divisors (1, 2, 4, 7, 14) add up to itself.

Numbers which are equal to a power of two (4, 8, 16, 32, 64 and so on) are never perfect, but the sum of their divisors is always equal to the number minus one. For example : 2 to the power of 2 is 4 but its divisors (1 and 2) add up to 3. 2 to the power of 3 is eight but eight's divisors (1,2 and 4) are equal to 7. 2^4 is 16, whose divisors (1,2,4 and 8) add up to 15. Euclid established a link between perfect numbers and the number 2. It showed that every perfect nmber (6, 28, 496) is the product of a power of 2, multplied by the next power of 2 minus one.

ie 6 = 2^1 x (2^2 -1)
28 = 2^2 x (2^3 - 1)
496 = 2^4 x (2^5 - 1).

A cool derivation on perfect numbers are what Fermat called friendly numbers, of which he discovered 2 pairs: 220 and 284. the sum of 220's divisors add up to 284 and vice versa. In 1636 he discivered the pair 17296 and 18416. Same goes for 1184 and 1210, discovered by a sixteen year old Italian called Paganini, two hundred and fifty years later. Descartes discovered a pair in the 9 million region and Euler compiled a list of sixty two.

And despite 2009 being neither perfect nor friendly, I wish you both and more this year: Happy New Year!