Transcontinental Birth Trauma

Now, oy 'twas bawn inna Horsetraila...well, Australia, actually, with the emphasis on the Ozzzzzz....  Thereto, I consider myself extremely fortunate; and extremely unfortunate.  How so, I hear you say?
Well, to many people who have to struggle for survival under the various hideous conditions foisted upon folk by the 'gods of the underworld' (otherwise known as the 'econoninnignomes' who pull the strings of, sorry, 'manage' the 'GFB - Global Financial Bloodbath' - one step back from a GFC) Australia is, of course, an incredible paradise.  And it is; although one much more so that of the Aboriginal Dreamtime, except, with a 'monkey on its back'.
Pour moi, the major misfortune in regard to my birthplace is, that it wasn't the French who colonised this country (and yes, I am aware of the negative aspects of colonialism on many peoples, but there have been some benefits here and there too).  As much as my Brit sprits have paved a gentler path for me, 'tis fairest Brittany 'twouldest I yearn to belong to, and definitely not that of the Spears variety, as fecund as she may be.
Australia??!!  French??!!  You may snigger in your Tooheys-Carlton-Cascade, or savignon blanc if you're that way inclined.  However, Snowy-Blacky-Bluey (ah, how linguistically inventive Australians used to be), the reality is we came thisclose to being daughters and sons of La Belle France.  If 'Nappie' hadn't been roundly beaten around the ears by Waterloo (and not that emanating from certain Swedish songsters - though I suppose one consequence of being a French colony is that there probably would not have been any 'Muriel's Wedding') we probably would have wine, cheese and truffles pouring from every orifice - daily.  Still think 'I'm dreamin'' - take a look at how many sites around Oz have French letters to their names!  Well, some, anyways!
So, in recognition of these glorious phantasmagorical croutons that I am about to toss into my French onion soup, I say not cheers, but salut, mate!
And I'll Endeavour to Baudin yer d'Entrecastraux in forthcoming dalliances.

France On Ten Pounds!!!

Unbelievable??!!  Certainly would be today!  However this little quote (with mayhap more to come here and then) is from the Ten Pound Series by Sydney A. Clark, France on 10 pound, published in 1934 by Ivor Nicholson & Watson Ltd:

"Our impossible trip to Paris proved to be the best third-class trip I have ever taken in Continental Europe.  We had a new and spotless car, generously upholstered in leather, with huge plate-glass windows of the Swiss type - and a radio in every compartment.  Admitting that our luck was better than average on that occasion, I am nevertheless convinced that somebody should shout the truth about French third-class.  Every year thousands of persons who could afford to tour Europe (in third-class coaches) are kept from going at all because of an absurd fear generated by such talk as that of our purser.  (Apparently their ship's purser had told a timid young traveller: "...it's impossible to travel third in France...no one ever goes third...you people are the only ones.")

But more anon on that subject.  Just now we are emerging from the portals of the Gare St.-Lazare into the very centre of the metropolitan roar of Paris - and we have ten pounds in our pockets.  How shall we get settled quickly, comfortably and - underline the next adverb - cheaply?"

These days of course, for that amount of money one would have to consider - nearest local park, suitable comfortable bench seat, preferably near to a water fountain, and, most importantly, after having collected a dense pile of old newspapers.  Sounds perfect.  Ah, Paris dans le printemps, l'ete, l'automne et (brrr!) l'hiver!!!

Psychose des oiseaux

Would M. Alfred be amused or not?  What do you think?

(Graffiti snatched from the Rue de Mouffetard, Paris February 2010)

Mon petit ventre, console-toi...

Fifty years ago in la Belle France, there was a great liking for ashtrays bearing piquant inscriptions.  They could be found in cafes and restaurants everywhere, as well as often in private homes.  Sayings such as:
'Mon petit ventre console-toi, tout ce que je bois c'est pour toi' ('My little belly, console yourself, all that I drink is for you alone').
'Quand ton verre est plein, vide-le; quand il est vide, plains-le' ('When your glass is full, empty it; when it is empty, pity it').
'Love makes time pass, time makes love pass'; 'One is always twenty years of age in some corner of the heart'; 'There are no lost women: they always find themselves again'; 'Don't make love on a Saturday afternoon or you'll have nothing to do all Sunday'.
These little sparklers of worldly-wisdom were 'rediscovered' by moi in a sweet little tome by a Monsieur. Robert Gibbings entitled 'Coming Down The Seine' written in the mid-Fifties.  The practice is enchanting pour M. Badinage, I consider it high time for a small resurrection.  The old synapses will have to be wound up to produce something as whimsical, but, it must be, dear friends. So, all hands to the gramophone crank handle and see what sweet sounds pour forth.  Voila!

Bonjour mesdames et monsieurs

This is the first, or perhaps the last, laugh from M. Badinage.  I have chosen to impart to you some of my bon mots.  Along the way, I shall introduce you to some of my fellow compatriots, the inhabitants of 'the French Quarter'.  People like Madame Blanche d'Almonde, M. Tandem Bicyclette-Double, and Mademoiselle Flamboyante 'Fla-fla' Gateaudoublecreme who have been my faithful friends in this bohemian and exotic world of sound and light we dwell within.

I shall also throw in some quotations of a few 'comrades de badinage' such as M. Moliere, M. Pierre de Beaumarchais, Mr. Mark Twain, Mlle. Aphra Benn, Mr. Groucho Marx and Ms. Parker, if I may. Many of their 'witties' and 'ditties' float far above my meanderings, so I may add their words for just that extra little layer of 'bling' in my blog.  Hey, sounds like a line for a song.  Something like: 'I'm blinging in my blog, just blinging in my blog......'
.....Hmm, perhaps not!