Vehicle-free zone in Paris

In Paris, air pollution is 60 times more deadly than road accidents. Every year, 2,500 Parisians die through having been exposed to atmospheric pollution, caused mainly by automobile exhausts. And that explains why the municipality of Paris is immensely proud to have announced today a new law that will transform permanently the roadway alongside the Seine into a vehicle-free zone.

This will rejuvenate the magnificent City of Light... and make it more like what it used to be when I arrived here in 1962.

Meanwhile, a fellow named Georges Pompidou arrived on the scene, and decided to transform the banks of the Seine at Paris into a highway for motor vehicles. Talking about Pompidou, I remember finding myself just behind him in the queue in a tobacco shop in Houdan around 1968. He appeared in front of me so quickly that I didn't even think of taking a selfie. But how could I? Back in those ancient times, selfies hadn't even been invented. We lived in a peaceful old rural world.

French police records

In colloquial French, a simpleton is said to be "neuneu".
The expression "Je suis neuneu" evokes "Je suis Charlie".

But the police don't necessarily see things in that light.

In French, a card created by the police to identity an individual is called a fiche. Recently, a much-talked-about new kind of police record has come into existence. It’s referred to as a fiche S (S-record), where the letter S stands for « sûreté » (security) as in the expression « atteinte à la sûreté de l’Etat » (state security threat). To call a spade a spade, while simplifying the situation abominably, anybody with an S-record is “largely” on the way to being looked upon as a terrorist threat… where the sense of my last remark depends greatly on the meaning associated with the “largely” adverb. Theoretically, an S-record should be created by French authorities for anybody who might have behaved as if he were a potential terrorist. But the inverse is not true. The fact that a certain individual is associated with an S-record does not indicate that she/he is a potential terrorist. It merely means that this person interests the police, for any of many possible reasons.

Consequently, the subject of S-records must be handled in an extremely subtle manner… which is not easy for the Australian-born author of the Antipodes blog, who knows next to nothing about French police methods. Meanwhile, the general public in France hears a lot about this new variety of police record, and it’s easy to imagine that one knows what it’s all about. But we don’t really understand anything at all, because the basic idea of sound security methods consists of making sure that they remain as enigmatic as possible. And that’s my final word on what I intended to say.... which I wish I'd never started.

Selfie imbecility

These people are turning their backs in order to take selfies with Hillary Clinton in the background. If you want my opinion (which you probably don’t), I look upon such folk as harmless idiots. I often wonder what they do with their shitty photos. I suppose they would show this selfie to equally-idiotic friends and say: “Look, that’s the closest I ever came to the wife of Bill Clinton”. I hope they’re happy to be able to survive with such shitty thoughts. If ever I were to learn that Trump started his presidential career by taking selfies of this kind, that information would provide me with a deeper understanding, both of the candidate and of American politics.

Maybe I should coin a new term: self-idiocy.

BREAKING NEWS : The more I look at this silly spectacle, the more I realize that it was no doubt Hillary herself who either organized, or agreed upon, this ridiculous demonstration of self-idiocy. In other words, Hillary is as stupid as the kids. Probably more stupid still. Media professionals in France were shocked by this silly show of backsides, and believe that it might have negative effects upon the candidate.

Gamone Press books delivered to my doorstep

The mail-woman has just delivered to my doorstep the three copies of A Little Bit of Irish that I ordered recently. Really, the self-publishing solution offered by Ingram is perfect. Bravo!

Back to Brittany

Nantes, last Saturday. Several thousand marchers were crying out for the reattachment of the Loire-Atlantique department to Brittany. [AFP] Here's an extract from Wikipedia:

Loire-Atlantique is one of the original 83 departments created during the French Revolution on March 4, 1790. Its name was changed in 1957 to Loire-Atlantique. The area is part of the historical Duchy of Brittany, and contains what many people still consider to be Brittany's capital, Nantes. However, when the system of French Regions was reviewed by the Vichy Government, the department was excluded from the Region of Brittany and included in the newly created Pays de la Loire Region. Whilst these administrative changes were reversed after the war, they were re-implemented in the 1955 boundary changes intended to optimize the management of the regions. Regular campaigns reflect a strong local mood to have the department reintegrated with Brittany.

Two big poplars at Gamone

The autumn light at Gamone is not ideal for taking a photo of trees. My old Nikon and my eyesight problems don't improve the result. But you should be able to identify the two tall poplars alongside the road leading into my property. [Click the photo to enlarge it slightly]

Often, when I gaze at those gigantic poplar trees, the terrible words of Billie Holiday flash back into my mind:

Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees

The only nasty fruits that hang from my poplar trees are heavy branches that might be blown down onto the roof of my wood-shed or even my house. Consequently, I have decided to call upon a local specialist to remove these two trees, as soon as possible. It's possible that this operation might also destroy my letter box and/or my old cherry tree. But that's neither here nor there...

Clever fat clown

The French actor Gérard Depardieu is certainly not a fat clown, even though his bulging body often evokes a clownish sadness. I see him as an extraordinarily brilliant fellow, whose talents as an actor reflect the clarity and depth of his thoughts. Of his inherent cleverness.

Improvement of French social security

On the surface, the forthcoming improvement of the French social security system doesn’t look like a momentous achievement. But, for French citizens, it’s great news. It means that huge money-saving efforts have paid off, and that we can now live in peace, protected by this wonderful service. Thanks, Marisol Touraine, for your fine work.

I like this question

published here

Mongrel genes

Every family has a few black sheep, either in the present or in the past. Most often both. And a family historian, believing that every effect has a logical cause, is inevitably inclined to start looking around for mongrel genes: biological factors that gave rise to the existence of such-and-such a black sheep. Now, in such research, there can be both a bit of good and a lot of bad.

The very notion of a certain black sheep in the family can be frighteningly fuzzy. Relatives might think they’re acting objectively when they stigmatize a particular individual as a black sheep. Or decide rather, for that matter, to praise an exceptionally snow-white sheep. But are the relatives themselves pure merinos with an error-free sense of judgment? As for me, I prefer to believe that the supposed existence of a black sheep in the family must always be taken with a grain of salt. Maybe it’s right… but maybe it’s wrong.

The case of alleged family defects such as alcoholism is worse still. Does such-and-such a past or present member of the family drink because of inherited defects… or simply because he/she happens to have easy access to dangerous beverages? It’s far too easy and too silly to declare that there are, or have been, alcohol problems in the family. If the family historian is not perfectly sure of what is being said, then she/he should simply shut up, because false declarations are worse than no declarations at all. [The current Skyvington family historian is proud to declare—just for the record—that he hasn't tasted a drop of alcohol, or even been vaguely interested in doing so, for well over a year, since falling down the stairs at Gamone and bumping his head.]

To me, one thing is certain. Whenever family members start searching for inherited defects, they should look carefully into the terribly common phenomenon of nasty bumps to the brain. Since falling down the stairs, it has taken me a long time to get back to a state that I myself judge as normal.

At the present moment, I’ve been greatly affected by thoughts about an infamous Skyvington black sheep: my paternal great-grandfather, the crazy fellow who called himself “William Courtenay”. See my blog post here. Over the last few days, I’ve received new information from England revealing the admirable character of this fellow’s father. That renders suspicious the mad fellow’s mother, Mary Ann.

Would that poor girl, who died in Yealmpton [Devon] at the age of 21, have been responsible for the introduction of mongrel genes into the Skyvington line? That idea, though theoretically plausible, is quite unlikely, for Mary Anne Jones belonged to an honorable family of Devon, in which no known cases of insanity have been recorded.

Whichever way I look at things (and I’ve thought a lot about that mad ancestor), only one explanation satisfies me fully. Unknown to archivists in general, and Skyvington family historians in particular, my ancestor William Skyvington [1868-1959] probably ran into the same kind of accident as his future great-grandson, also known as William Skyvington. He fell down the stairs and bumped his head. If that was really what happened (and why not?), then all I can say is that I got off better than my mad ancestor. If only God existed, I would promptly thank him.

Road on top of the Great Wall of China

I've never had an opportunity of visiting the Great Wall of China. If I did, I might be surprised to find that a modern concrete roadway runs along the top.

In many modern cities, concrete has been Man's best friend, giving rise to architectural splendors. In other places, an abominable enemy.

You Want It Darker

Last Wednesday, on Leonard Cohen's 82nd birthday, he announced the forthcoming arrival of a new album, You Want It Darker, produced by his son Adam Cohen, 44. The title song is superb.

Click here for the words (with French translation)

Church Night

Pleasant US satire. It’s so well done that it could be real. The title, Church Night, is ingenious.

Belgian street art

Brussels is world-famous for its ancient Manneken-Pis.

A bigger sample of prick art has appeared recently on a Belgian wall.

Funnily enough, people apparently walk past this masterpiece without noticing it. My personal explanation is that a prick is so boring that our human visual system simply fails to acknowledge its presence.

Publisher receives copies of his book

This morning, the Choranche postman (who's replacing Martine for a while) brought me a big bag.

Inside, I found three immaculate copies of my book They Sought the Last of Lands. I had ordered them recently through the Internet from the Ingram Spark printing platform in England.

Their technical qualities are perfect: beautiful hard cover, fine illustrations (photos and ancestral charts on nearly every page), heavy paper, excellent printing. They cost me 43 euros per copy, delivered to my doorstep. That price takes into account the fact that I'm the publisher, Gamone Press. Most people would pay a little more. Regardless of the price, for people seeking solid information on the Skyvington family, my book is a convenient economic solution.

Crazy Christian

Christine Boutin is a right-wing French politician. Yesterday, she published a ridiculous tweet:

She had surely received the news of Chirac's death from some kind of divine messenger. As we say in Australia, the woman is clearly as mad as a cut snake. Up until the present moment, she doesn't seem to have provided any kind of explanation for her madness. It might be a good idea for this lady to retire from politics, or from the Holy Spirit, or maybe strong alcoholic spirits...

Dates

• Wednesday 21 September 2016 was the first day of spring in Australia.

• Tomorrow, Thursday 22 September 2016, will be the first day of autumn in France.

• And Saturday 24 September 2016 will be my 76th birthday... in both Australia and France, of course!

India buys French Rafale fighter planes

India has confirmed the purchase of 36 Rafale fighter planes, totally made-in-France by Dassault. Details of the deal have not been made public, but it's probably in the vicinity of 8 billion dollars.

Vatican's latest saint

Click the comic strip to enlarge

Nice tweet

I like this tweet from

@boldatheism

Morandini in police custody

The well-known 51-year-old journalist and TV producer Jean-Marc Morandini has been in police custody since 9 o’clock this morning, in the context of an inquiry into the corruption of youth.

Flash is about to disappear

Once upon a time, Flash was the coolest kid on the block. I worked hard to master it. Most of my old websites of which I'm most proud today were created in Flash. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined for an instant that all these websites would disappear in the near future, simply because no navigator was prepared to display them.

I've just heard that, soon, neither Safari, Chrome nor Firefox will be prepared to display Flash websites.

Theoretically, I might be able to retrieve images from my Flash websites, before they disappear forever, and then rebuild them in HTML 5. I plan to examine this idea, but I'm not sure that it's both easy and worthwhile. Here, for example, are several typical French/English websites that are due to disappear: Master Bruno.

A similar calamity occurred with the Apple Pages tool, which subsided into a brain-damaged state a few years ago, losing many of its major capacities, because its owner wanted to propose a common denominator of talents that could be demonstrated, not only on an iMac, but also on an iPad or iPhone. Personally, I find that goal ridiculous. It's akin to taking a schoolboy and an Olympic athlete, and asking them to be trained together to run the hundred metres in much the same time. One gets pepped up with pills; the other gets castrated.

Making babies without female eggs

A gigantic biological breakthrough overthrows a 200-year-old golden rule for making babies. According to the old rule, the only way to make a baby consists of encouraging a male sperm to penetrate a female egg.

Well, we learn today that there might be another way of starting the baby-building process, with no need for a female egg. Now, don't get me wrong. A male/female person who wants to become the father/mother of a baby still needs to get a little help from a friend. More precisely, from the girl who's going to carry the fœtus in her womb for nine months. But this lady doesn't collaborate initially by donating an egg, and she will therefore not be a parent of the future child.

Let's examine this gestation that doesn't start with a female egg. We might use a skin cell, from either a male or a female.

To simplify the graphical presentation, we show merely eight chromosomes. To start the process, half of the cell's chromosomes are removed: four. In the next step, the halved cell receives a male sperm.

At this point in my description of the process of babies whose gestation doesn't start with an egg, I'm reminded of a joke about an inspired inventor who's creating a miraculous aircraft. "It looks fabulous, with its swept-back wings and narrow tubular fuselage. And its jet engines are designed to take it rapidly up beyond the speed of sound. There's just a single problem that I still have to solve. How do I get the bastard to fly?"

That's where we are with our bundle of four chromosomes and a sperm cell in the above illustration. Without going into details, let's say that the group of biologists who've announced this new process claim that a simple cell formed by a sperm injected into half the chromosomes of a skin cell can indeed be made to evolve into an embryo. But how? Well, the biologists who are promoting this idea have published an article revealing how they were able to bring about the birth of healthy mice. A little imagination and faith is then required in order to see how a human male or female might get together with a male sperm-donor to build a baby. In fact, my dear Watson, it's rather elementary...

Google respects the private lives of cows

Google's famous Street View gadget has been reprimanded, from time to time, for displaying roadside individuals who are easily identifiable. A jealous husband might discover, say, that his wife was photographed in a conversation with a male neighbor further down the road. And that might create problems. So, people's faces are blurred, to make them as unrecognizable as possible. In most cases, this technique works well.

Google seems to have decided that the same process should be applied to dairy cows, so that no jealous bull would ever see red.

Fitzroy, who often roams around the neighborhood to visit his lady friends, told me that he would feel more at ease if Google were to extend their privacy blurs to cover, not only cows, dogs and cats, but the entire range of four-legged creatures. I suspect that, from time to time, my dog might be boring into attractive young wild boars, and he doesn't want this news to spread around Choranche and Pont-en-Royans.

Question that no longer concerns me

Prostate gland. Do you see where it is, just between the bladder and the penis? Where it was, as far as I'm concerned. I lost mine a few years ago. An excellent surgeon removed it. He even left me with a perfectly operational nerve that enables me, for what it's worth, to sport an erection like a donkey. (Well, not quite. I was never—not even at the summit of my sporting career—in the donkey category.)

Click here to access an article, in a distinguished medical publication, suggesting that my above-mentioned brilliant surgeon should not necessarily be praised for having saved my life. Be that as it may, I'm still alive. That's all that really matters.

Abbott tells Europeans how to run the world

The Sydney Morning Herald tells us that former PM Tony Abbott addressed an Alliance of European Conservatives and Reformists in Prague on Saturday night. If you want to see everything he said, don’t hesitate to click here. Otherwise, I can give you the gist of his words, which didn’t impress me greatly… to say the least. He expressed his opinions concerning Europe's treatment of unwanted immigration… as if all European nations were looking upon this phenomenon in the same way. He said that it looked like “a peaceful invasion”. I wonder what Abbott really suggests by his juxtaposition of those two unrelated terms. It's murky Down Under English, along the lines of his rough-and-ready "Look, I'm going to shirtfront Mr Putin ... you bet I am."

France is happy to have earned a lot of cash by selling submarines to Australia. We’re grateful for that business, of course. And we don’t expect Australia to be more generous towards France by telling us (or any other European nation) how to handle the delicate and difficult problem of out-of-hand immigration. If France wanted to put a brutal end to such immigrants, Tony Abbott surely knows that the French navy could use one of our submarines. So, why doesn't he simply shut up?

Names and photos of 238 victims of terrorism in France since “Charlie”

Click here to access a block of 238 photos, in alphabetical surname order, with links to brief descriptions of victims of terrorism in France since the massacre at the Charlie offices in Paris on January 7, 2015.

Beautiful song by Francis Cabrel

Click YouTube for a full-screen version

Francis Cabrel was the object this evening of a wonderful documentary on French TV. It's amusing to discover the extent to which this intelligent and sympathetic fellow exists far away from the usual throng of media and music-hall people. He seems to be totally devoid of "skills" enabling him to become a selfish arsehole imbued by his talents and popularity. He remains as pure (and shy) as on the first day he ever sang in front of an audience. So, those beautiful kids who are accompanying Cabrel in the song "Il faudra leur dire" (They Must be Told) are on a perfect par with the great songwriter and singer. He is truly one of them, and the children seem to "know" that this is the case.

Click here for a streamed version of this song

Since early this morning at Gamone, this music—which mesmerizes me—has been playing non-stop on my Macintosh. Light rain is falling, and my dog Fitzroy is sleeping alongside my desk. Meanwhile, I spent much time this morning by trying to tell one of my Australian sisters that I look upon her Wordpress blogging activities as puzzling, to say the least. Click here to judge for yourselves. I keep saying to her: Why don't you write an Australia-based blog along the same lines and in the same kind of spirit and style as my France-based Antipodes ?

PAROLES DE CABREL

Si c'est vrai qu'il y a des gens qui s'aiment 

Si les enfants sont tous les mêmes 

Alors il faudra leur dire

C'est comme des parfums qu'on respire


Juste un regard 

Facile à  faire
Un peu plus d'amour que d'ordinaire

Puisqu'on vit dans la même lumière
Même s'il y a des couleurs qu'ils préfèrent

Nous on voudrait leur dire
C'est comme des parfums qu'on respire
Juste un regard
Facile à  faire
Un peu plus d'amour que d'ordinaire

Juste un peu plus d'amour encore
Pour moins de larmes

 

Pour moins de vide
Pour moins d'hiver
Puisqu'on vit dans les creux d'un rêve
Avant que l’amour ne touche nos lèvres
Nous on voudrait leur dire
Les mots qu'on reçoit
C'est comme des parfums qu'on respire
Il faudra leur dire
Facile à  faire
Un peu plus d'amour que d'ordinaire

Si c'est vrai qu'il y a des gens qui s'aiment
Si les enfants sont tous les mêmes
Alors... il faudra leur dire
Les mots qu'on reçoit
C'est comme des parfums qu'on respire
Il faudra leur dire
Facile à  faire 

Europe ready to discuss Britain's departure

At the Bratislava meeting, European nations revealed that they would like to start discussions with the UK as soon as possible on the subject of Britain's departure from Europe. Click here to listen to Donald Tusk, president of European Council.

Interesting tweets

I like these tweets from

@boldatheism

 

 Click to enlarge slightly

Silly ideas form in my imagination

Two days ago, I was working calmly on my iMac when the electricity suddenly disappeared, just after 4 o'clock in the afternoon. There were no vehicles on the road down alongside the River Bourne. An hour later, the electricity had not reappeared in my house. Crazy ideas started to form in my imagination. I wondered if terrorists might have blown up a nuclear power station. Frankly, I was quite worried. I strolled down the road with my dog, but this didn't ease my mind at all, since the neighborhood was in total silence. Finally, I heard the church bells of Châtelus ringing at 6 o'clock. I dashed back into the house, where I was relieved to find the electricity restored.

Yesterday, my neighbor Jackie told me that a road-works machine, further up along the valley, had accidentally destroyed an electricity pylon, causing an extensive blackout.

All the news I hear about terrorists has twisted my mind...

Proud to be British

Diane James—a businesswomen and healthcare professional—has just replaced Nigel Farage as the new leader of the UK Independence Party. They look liberated. Don’t they just?

Australian magpies

I've always been surprised by the fact that French people seem to know nothing at all about our Australian magpies.

Our birds Down Under look a litle like the French bird referred to as a pie, pronounced pee.

So, French people imagine that they're basically the same creature. Few people know that our Australian magpies, in their nesting season, attack children on bicycles by diving down at their heads. This kind of attack used to terrify me when I was a boy in South Grafton.

An Australian child on a bicycle, when attacked by a wild magpie, is capable of bending his head, looking down at the road, and maybe running into an approaching vehicle. If the bird uses its heavy beak to hit a child on the skull, this can cause a nasty wound

For French readers : The name in French of our possibly-vicious Australian magpie is the Cassican flûteur (Gymnorhina tibicen).

Dinosaur for sale in France

An American owner has decided to put his excellent dinosaur up for sale in France. Before the auction takes place, the skeleton is on display in a French railway station. The future auctioneer believes there'll be a big crowd of prospective buyers, because it's rare to find a top-quality dinosaur up for sale in this corner of the world.

I would like to put in a bid. I'm sure that my dog Fitzroy would love to have such a friend at Gamone. But the dinosaur is surely above my budget. I'll make a point of providing readers with details when the sale takes place. And, if ever I raked up enough cash to clinch the deal, Fitzroy and I will throw a dinosaur party at Gamone.

Going, going… gone

David Cameron, 49, ex-PM of the United Kingdom, has announced his intention to abandon his current job as a Tory parliamentarian. He explains that it’s not possible for a former PM to become an efficient political representative (of the everyday variety). Cameron resigned on June 24 following the Brexit vote.

Google's latest voice is not bad at all

Click here to access a short French-language article about Google's latest achievements in synthetic voices. Samples start with well-chosen words: "aspects of the sublime".

Do dolphins use an advanced language?

The Russian scientist Vyacheslav Ryabov, of the Crimean marine station in Karadag, affirms that the language of dolphins is just as complex as human language. Click here to access his article on this subject in the St. Petersburg Polytechnic University Journal: Physics and Mathematics. This specialist in marine biology and animal communication draws attention to the fact that dolphins have existed on the planet Earth for a much greater period of time than humans. So, they've had sufficient time to become as smart as us. I don't know whether that reasoning is valid, but it sounds good to me. I would be thrilled to discover that dolphins—even though they don't appear to publish books, set up scientific laboratories or carry out political elections—are as bright (?) as the brightest humans.

My readers might not know that the French region in which Gamone is located is known as the Dauphiné. That term is related to the French word for "dolphin", and it's closely linked to the word dauphin, designating the eldest son of a French king.

Arms of the Dauphin of France

But why would dolphins be evoked in the name of a region so far from the sea, and in the nickname of a prince? If you're interested, I'll make a point of telling you—one of these days—my "theory" on this question...

World butchery championship in Australia

A short news article in the French press reveals that the world butchery championship was held in Australia, but it indicates neither the date of the event nor the name of the city in which it took place. Guess who won. France, of course. Here’s a photo of the French entry for the preparation of beef, the preparation of lamb, and minced beef rolls. The French team was composed of three butchers from the Loire region.

Plantu cartoon

Click to enlarge slightly

French police-woman

Dramatic interview of a brave young French police-woman, Magali, who was obliged to fire back at a terrorist at the wheel of a big truck in Nice on July 14, 2016. Clearly, Magali is still suffering deeply, and it's not certain that she'll be able to carry on her career.

Today, as the world looks back at September 11, and relates that terrible day to more recent happenings in Europe and elsewhere, I realize more than ever that the lives and thoughts of countless human beings throughout the world have been changed forever by our awareness of the horrors of terrorism. We must never forget.

Egodates

An egodate is a political candidate with no chances of being elected, who's purely on an ego trip. In France, they're rampant at present. In French, such a person would be called an égodat. Let me introduce you to two outstanding French egodates: Nadine Morano and Jean-François Copé.

Nadine Morano in the company of Alain Juppé [photo AFP]

It's not very honest of me to refer to Nadine Marano, today, as a genuine egodate, for she was knocked out of the race a week ago, at La Baule, by her right-wing parliamentarian brothers and sisters, who refused to endorse her candidacy. Now, why would they? There's no way in the world that she could ever receive more than a handful of votes at next year's presidential election. I assume therefore that Nadine has been on a purely selfish ego trip. So good riddance, my dear lady. You're no longer needed here.

Jean-François Copé might be described as an outstanding professional egodate, with lengthy experience and laurels on his head. In athletic terms, he's a champion marathonian. In boxing terms, a punching bag. No matter how hard he's hit next year, and how few votes he collects, Copé will be back for more. No determined egodate ever gives up. That wouldn't be cricket. Above all, that wouldn't be Copé.

I nevertheless wonder why dull individuals of this ilk are letting off personal steam constantly in our complex world dominated by terrorism, poverty, racism, etc. Since they have nothing to say (apart from rambling on about their personal careers), why don't they simply remain silent ?

BREAKING NEWS: Copé has just stated that his successful election next year would give rise to a “true rupture”. He wasn’t talking about some kind of nasty medical attack that might affect him. He was simply saying that he would destroy all contacts with “the band of four”. Was he referring to leaders in some remote Communist nation? No, he was simply using flamboyant egodate’s language to designate four fellow-politicians: Sarkozy, Juppé, Fillon and Le Maire. Regardless of what they actually say (which doesn't matter greatly), egodates need to be good at loud talking.

MORE BREAKING NEWS: Copé lost little time before making another attack upon Sarko.  « Il est un colosse qui dispose de tous les pouvoirs et de tous les moyens, un colosse réputé invisible, lance-t-il. Ceux-là ont oublié la belle histoire de David contre Goliath. Il est des colosses dont les pieds sont en argile. »  Copé's hatred of Sarko is virulent. In comparing himself with the biblical David, Copé demonstrates that he has a screw loose. This has been my personal impression for ages.

STILL MORE BREAKING NEWS: Nadine refuses to keep her silly mouth shut. Admire this extract from Le Point. She, too, seems to have a screw loose. I have the impression that this weakness is common to egodates such as Nadine and Copé. They see themselves as God's gift to society. They simply cannot imagine that they bore most folk.

Click to enlarge slightly

The Falling Man

This silent image of a single individual dropping to earth, taken by the news photographer Richard Drew, symbolizes every human being who died that day. The Falling Man has never been identified.

Fitzroy is back outside, in the dark

Last night, I was happy to go to sleep with Fitzroy lying on the bedroom floor, in his elegant little sleeping bag, which I had withdrawn from his kennel. The house adventure didn't last for long. This afternoon, Fitzroy made it perfectly clear to me that he did not intend to repeat the in-house procedure. I have my house, and Fitzroy has his... his own little private residence. And there's no sense in trying to combine them. It's amazing that a dog can get this complex message across in a perfectly clear manner, without the slightest word.

There's a wonderful story about a talking donkey, the friend of a little boy. The child wants to demonstrate the donkey's extraordinary talents to people in the village, but the animal refrains from uttering a single word. Afterwards, when the village people have stopped making fun of the child, and they've all gone home, the boy asks the donkey: "Why did you refuse to speak in front of the village people?" The animal explains: "I don't like to speak with all those dull folk, who wouldn't understand me. They bore me. I only take pleasure in rambling on with you."

I often feel that Fitzroy is a bit like that donkey. One of these days, my dog will inform me that he doesn't mind listening to my voice, but that the things he might say to me are so extraordinary that a fellow like me simply wouldn't understand.

France has all kinds of exotic things

Even genuine Communists. Here's a typical specimen: Pierre Laurent, 49, French journalist and politician, senator, former editor-in-chief of the newspaper L'Humanité, and national secretary of the PCF (Parti communiste français) since June 2010.

Crowds of dinosaurs are gathered together this weekend, with their friends, at the Fête de L'Humanité : a time-honored festival organized by the French Communist newspaper. I hardly need to stress the fact that all these nice folk are perfectly respectable. They wouldn't use a hammer and sickle to hurt a flea. I don't know whether they're aware of the state of Communism in other parts of the world, including Russia. They probably don't care too much about such matters. Please don't hurt their feelings by bringing up subjects like that. On the other hand, I'm sure they collect Soviet postage stamps, postcards of Moscow, and antique editions of books by Marx (Karl, not Groucho). And they surely love to sip vodka while listening nostalgically to balalaika music.

An ordinary day, September 11, 2001

With no warning, Hell descended upon our lovely planet Earth.

The Devil and his evil archangels are still here.

But we'll soon eliminate the mad buggers.

An enormous responsibility: juror's job

Last night, on the Public Sénat channel, I watched a lengthy replay on a huge task that might fall upon any French citizen: becoming a member of a jury for a major criminal trial. Here's an interview with a French lady, Sarah Lebas, who made a documentary on this subject.

I can well understand that many ordinary citizens might be terrified and driven crazy by this frightening responsibility. The selected citizen knows nothing about the crime in question, the personality and background of the alleged perpetrator nor even the French system of justice. That's exactly how he/she is supposed to be: an ordinary citizen, totally uninformed, with no prejudices brought about by prior knowledge of the crime, the victims or the criminals. But this "ordinary citizen" is going to be asked whether the individual on trial was guilty or not. And, if guilty, how many years must that culprit spend in prison? A truly terrifying task, which might haunt jurors for the rest of their lives. Is there no more "professional" way of dealing with such questions? Surely not. We've got the finest and most time-honored system that can possibly exist: trial by jury. Those words seem to be understandable... up until you take a close look at what they mean at a practical level.

Excellent US cartoon

I'll let you read the text in the lower left-hand corner (if you can) to discover whom we should thank for this delightful political cartoon.

Click to enlarge slightly

Johnson looks as if he has just crawled out of a hole in a log. Clinton is trying desperately to suppress an approaching fart. Meanwhile, Trump is a happy as a contented toad. Does America really need to make one of these individuals their future president?

Late morning dream

Late yesterday afternoon, I prepared my old cylindrical vacuum cleaner for an evening attack upon the horrible Pyrale moths. Tineke and Serge had informed me that this technique works well, and it's less troublesome than using buckets of soapy water. Everything was in place, and I'd even protected the device and the power cables from a possible nocturnal shower of rain. I decided that it would be preferable for Fitzroy to spend the night inside the house, instead of in his kennel. I liked this decision, because I'm always happier for no clear reason) when my dog is near me, rather than out in the dark.

Everything was ready for the moths... but they simply failed to appear. If I understand correctly, their annual season is nearing the end.

Early this morning, Fitzroy used his snout gently to wake me up, and I took him out for a pee (which didn't take place). Then we came back into the house and I went to sleep again.

A hour or so later, I was awoken by one of my familiar computer-programming dreams, which are sufficiently unpleasant to be labeled nightmares. Unless you happen to be a computer programmer, it's hard to understand the gist of such dreams. In my nightmare, I have the impression that I've installed an arithmetic counter that needs to be constantly updated by newly-obtained numeric values. This counter is in fact installed, but it's clearly not functioning correctly. Instead of increasing regularly, it remains stuck at its initial value, as if there were a bug in the code. In real computer programming, this kind of error would be commonplace and easy to correct. In my nightmare, on the other hand, the presence of this bug troubles me considerably, because I can't understand how the error has occurred, or how I might trace it and fix it. Finally, I'm immensely relieved when I awake from my nightmare. First, I need a minute or so to grasp that no such bug exists. That I was merely dreaming. Then I'm in fine form. For a computer programmer, there's nothing better than knowing that your software is clean, free of bugs. That's how I was this morning, when I took Fitzroy out a second time.

Unfortunately, I'm not likely to chase such dream themes from my mind. It's already many years since I wrote code to update arithmetic counters, but all this experience has remained apparently in my brain. I wonder if I could do some kind of a reboot...