How to tell if you’re French
There have been many things to adapt to for me since moving from France to Australia, and this is the beginning of an attempt to explain.
Since moving to Melbourne I have noticed some interesting things about me. Namely, that I am more French than I ever realised.
Which sounds silly since I very much knew I was French before moving here. But what I didn’t realise was how much it was at the very core of my person, this Frenchness. I have just made up a word (according to spellcheck at least) but it is the best way I can describe it. It’s not patriotism (or not completely), it’s not arrogance (again, not completely), it’s something else and it makes me well, me. A 30 year old French girl with a name I have to spell a lot.
Some books may have been written on the subject (some of them making me very angry indeed, but that’s a story for another time), but ‘How to tell if you’re French‘ has to be the most accurate and funny account of ‘Frenchness’ I have read in a while. Read it and tell me if you are more French than you thought.
To Coco, with love from Sabine
I find him and his hair mildly frightening when I’ve had whisky, but I love him all the same. And I will keep on loving and watching him no matter which network he is on. I am totally with Coco.
You can join the Coco movement on Facebook, and too many other places to list. Some days I really love the internet :)
Saturday correspondence
Dear hair: why so dry? I seriously am on my way to looking like a crazy witch.
Dear Angus and Julia Stone: why so mumbly? I thought you were talking about Dustin Hoffman having a tantrum in your song ‘The Beast’ (‘stomping Rainman’??), instead of understanding your sweet poetic reminder to have your life under control (‘don’t be running late’)*.
By the way, I love your music.
Dear weather: why so hot?
Dear France: why so far?
Dear Bonsoy: why so full of iodine you had to be recalled? I cannot live without you, and have had to do without my drink of choice for the last few weeks. Not cool.
Dear teeth: why so sore? You are not only still killing me, you are sharing your pain with my right eye and ear. Why?!
Dear Lucas Paw Paw ointment: why made primarily from petroleum jelly? I thought you were good for me. You bastard.
Dear sugar-free vegan dark chocolate: hello.
Dear Christian and Mira: let me kiss you on the nose. It will make me feel better. I know neither of you like it much, but please take one for the team (ie, me). Much appreciated.
*If you think this is funny, consider this other musical misunderstanding of mine: ‘Hey now, you’re an oyster’.
(Image is from here).
Paris sous les eaux
100 years ago Paris was flooded. And quite severely according to these pictures.
Go here to see more (and who doesn’t want to see moustache and hat wearing French men climbing ladders to deliver groceries, or giving piggy back rides to their buddies so they don’t wet their shoes?).
(Libération via Frogsmoke.)
PS: You can read more about the flood here and see postcards and landmarks here.
PPS: In 1999, the Seine rose again to dangerous levels. There were massive impressive storms for days, just after Christmas. I know because I was soaked during one of them ;)
10
10 years ago, I met Christian on New Year’s Eve. I had no idea that less than 10 months later we would get married. No idea that 10 years after we would be living in Melbourne, drinking James Squire Golden Ale while eating sugar-free chocolate to celebrate the end of the decade.
This is me slightly tipsy about 10 minutes ago (and discovering the joy of Photobooth on my laptop). I am incredibly happy, a bit overwhelmed and most of all grateful like there’s no tomorrow (for Christian, for my puppy Mira, for my family, for my friends, for being 30 and healthy and for feeling like grabbing the next 10 years with both hands).
Happy New Year everyone, and lots of bisous!
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