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The year does not begin in January. Every French person knows that. Only awkward English-speakers think it starts in January.
The year really begins on the first Monday of September.
This is when Parisians get back to their desks after their month-long holiday and begin working out where they’ll go for the mid-term break in November.
It’s also when every French project, from a new hairdo to a nuclear power station, gets under way, which is why at 9 a.m. on the first Monday of September, I was standing a hundred yards from the Champs-Élysées watching people kissing.
My good friend Chris told me not to come to France. Great lifestyle, he said, great food, and totally un-politically correct women with great underwear.
But, he warned me, the French are hell to live with. He worked in the London office of a French bank for three years.
"They made all us Brits redundant the day after the French football team got knocked out of the World Cup. No way was that a coincidence," he told me.
His theory was that the French are like the woman scorned. Back in 1940 they tried to tell us they loved us, but we just laughed at their accents and their big-nosed Général de Gaulle, and ever since we’ve done nothing but poison them with our disgusting food and try to wipe the French language off the face of the earth. That’s why they build refugee camps yards from the Eurotunnel entrance and refuse to eat our beef years after it was declared safe. It’s permanent payback time, he said. Don’t go there.
Sorry, I told him, I’ve got to go and check out that underwear.
Normally, I suppose you would be heading for disaster if the main motivation for your job mobility was the local lingerie, but my one-year contract started very promisingly.
I found my new employer’s offices—a grand-looking 19th-century building sculpted out of milky-gold stone—and walked straight into an orgy.
There were people kissing while waiting for the lift. People kissing in front of a drinks machine. Even the receptionist was leaning across her counter to smooch with someone—a woman, too—who’d entered the building just ahead of me.
Wow, I thought, if there’s ever a serious epidemic of facial herpes, they’ll have to get condoms for their heads.
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. What are the French really like?Paul West, a young Englishman arriving in Paris to start a new job, is about to find out. _________________They do eat a lot of cheese, some of which smells like pigs droppings.They dont wash their armpits with garlic soap.Going on strike really is the second national participation sport after petanque.And, yes, they do use suppositories. Less quaint than A Year in Provence, less chocolatey than Chocolat, A Year in the Merde will tell you how to get served by the grumpiest Parisian waiter; how to make perfect vinaigrette every time; how to make amour - not war; and how not to buy a house in the French countryside. What are the French really like?Paul West, a young Englishman arriving in Paris to start a new job, is about to find out. Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9780552772969
Book Description paperback. Condition: New. Language: ENG. Seller Inventory # 9780552772969
Book Description Soft Cover. Condition: new. Seller Inventory # 9780552772969
Book Description Paperback. Condition: New. BRAND NEW ** SUPER FAST SHIPPING FROM UK WAREHOUSE ** 30 DAY MONEY BACK GUARANTEE. Seller Inventory # 9780552772969-GDR
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: Brand New. 384 pages. 7.80x5.00x0.91 inches. In Stock. Seller Inventory # __0552772968
Book Description Paperback / softback. Condition: New. New copy - Usually dispatched within 4 working days. Paul West, a young Englishman, arrives in Paris to start a new job - and finds out what the French are really like. Less quaint than A Year in Provence, less chocolatey than Chocolat, A Year in the Merde will tell you how to get served by the grumpiest Parisian waiter; Seller Inventory # B9780552772969
Book Description Taschenbuch. Condition: Neu. Neuware -What are the French really like Paul West, a young Englishman arriving in Paris to start a new job, is about to find out. _________________They do eat a lot of cheese, some of which smells like pigs' droppings.They don't wash their armpits with garlic soap.Going on strike really is the second national participation sport after petanque.And, yes, they do use suppositories. Less quaint than A Year in Provence, less chocolatey than Chocolat, A Year in the Merde will tell you how to get served by the grumpiest Parisian waiter; how to make perfect vinaigrette every time; how to make amour - not war; and how not to buy a house in the French countryside. 382 pp. Englisch. Seller Inventory # 9780552772969