Drop a ping-pong ball in the clown’s mouth

I've always looked upon Nigel Farage as an English amusement.

He reminds me of rows of fair-ground clowns that amused me greatly as a child in Australia. The heads swivelled constantly to the left and the right, and the trick consisted of guessing the exact moment to drop your ping-pong ball down the clown's throat, so that it ended up falling into the right spot and winning something.

Today, I don't think the prize would justify my efforts.
On the other hand, the ping-pong ball might shut up Farage.

Day without electricity

It's the first time I ever recall a total day at Gamone without electricity. The power went off this morning at 8 o'clock, and it didn't come back on until about 18h30. The outage was caused by strong winds in the valley, which are still blowing. Today, it's really weird to experience a whole day without electricity. It's like being thrown back into the Dark Ages. Even a simple operation such as opening the fridge to grab something to eat has to be calculated carefully, to avoid the entry of heat. An hour ago, I even took my dog Fitzroy out into the dark, so that he would enter his kennel for the night. Otherwise, I wasn't sure there would be enough light, later on, to find the path to the kennel.

Truly, in rural France, we have become innocent Children of Light.

Probably the next president of France

                                      [photo Albert Facelly pour Libération]

I can't see how François Fillon could possibly be beaten in the presidential course. His lead is enormous. From this point on, a new problem arises on the horizon. We must make sure that the extreme right-wing party, the Front National, sinks rapidly into oblivion.

Last of the Frères Jacques

When I met up with my future wife in Paris, our most adorable friends were Paul Faye and his wife Lulu, who lived in the Rue Servandoni. One of their close friends was Paul Tourenne, who was a member of the Frères Jacques group of music-hall artists. I often met up with him, and Christine and I were invited to their concert. Paul became very interested in photography, and I believe he went to live with his son Robin Tourenne in Montréal. I’m saddened to learn that Paul Tourenne, 93, has just disappeared from the scene.

Paul Tourenne is wearing light-gray.

Relativity centenary

Albert Einstein’s theory of general relativity was first published a hundred years ago, during the week of November 18-25, 1915.

It remains such a colossal achievement of intellectual imagination that few people come to grips with it. The other day, on French television, a journalist suggested that an expert in science might tell us whether he preferred the photo of Einstein poking his tongue out. To my mind, that’s a little like asking Lincoln’s widow what she thought of the play Our American Cousin, or suggesting that the Creator might talk about his recreational activities on the seventh day.

The Road Not Taken

I’ve been admiring a discussion about contingency between Elisa New and Richard Dawkins. They were inspired by the famous poem by Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken.

To see the video interview, click here.

Female curves make the world go round

The world has been fascinated by the curves of Marilyn Monroe for decades. Click here to access a website with a video about the 17 November sale in Los Angeles of Marilyn’s skin-tight dress for 4.5 million euros.

Meanwhile, in France, another famous item of female wear entered a Paris costume museum. I’m talking of the outfit worn by the ecology politician Cécile Duflot.

In July 2012, Madame Duflot caused a stir among male dinosaurs when she appeared in the French parliament wearing this delightful dress.

And she hadn’t even started to sing a birthday song for our president François Hollande.

Ignorance has always upset me

Ignorance reminds me of Christianity's meekness and mildness, and their ridiculous business about turning the other cheek. There's also that stupid idea about industrial wealth transforming good citizens into camels who can no longer stroll through the eye of a needle.

The more I think about it, the more I reckon that Jesus was a pretty ignorant sort of a young man. His Jewish father should have sent his son to a good college... and let him grow up with smart young women.

Serious youthful Catholic, likes cars

#FillonPresident #Fillon2017

He’s a good-looking provincial fellow with a time-honored old French given name : François. He’s also a little “vieille France” (old France). It’s not hard to understand why the French—totally shocked by Islamic terrorists and Trump, fed up by Sarko and Copé, slightly irritated by the self-esteem of the older Juppé—find that Fillon is surely a simple man of qualities. That's what we need today : simplicity and human qualities.

photo Jean-Sébastien Evrard  / AFP

Some people can do things that others can't

An Australian blogger of my generation has been warning his readers for years that, whenever he happens to receive a living plant in a pot, the poor thing dies sooner or later, no matter how my friend attempts to keep it alive. I used to think he was joking. These days, however, I've come to realize there are real-life people like the blogger who simply don't ever learn what has to be done to keep a plant alive. It's like asking me if I know how to scale the outer wall of a skyscraper. It's simply not in my genes. Let's turn to another simple task.

Click to see the dusty ashes

Few operations are easier in life than lighting a fire in a wood oven. But I'm sure there are many people who wouldn't succeed. My ex-neighbor Bob used to brag about his ability to light a fire anywhere with damp wood. He performed several successful demonstrations, but I couldn't stop feeling that there must have been some hidden trick. The apparent dampness of the wood concealed, say, a few drops of alcohol. Well, Bob was surely no more than a smart fellow. Today, I've come to understand that the successful lighting of a wood fire depends upon a few basic operations of a simple nature. You start with the tiny flame of a match, and then you move successively from one flaming object to the next, of ever-increasing volumes and virulence... until you end up with a big stack of blazing wood.

I'm often intrigued and indeed pleased to see that my son apparently learned long ago all these simple facts of life that have only occupied my brain relatively recently. Better late than never...

Journalists in my upside-down world

Everybody knows that people in the Antipodes walk on their heads, because they live in an upside-down world. It's true that my Antipodean land of birth, Australia, is quite different to my adopted country, France.

• Australia is thought of as an immensely rich land, since all kinds of treasures lie beneath the surface. On the other hand, Australian history and culture are not particularly exciting. The Aborigines, for example, have never produced any written texts. So, it's as if the past only came into human memory a few generations ago. We know next to nothing about their ancient history. Aborigines themselves have invented myths about the past, but they have no precise objective knowledge of the names or life-styles of their ancestors. They simply guess. And their conclusions are probably right, because Australian Aborigines are a people that doesn't seem to evolve considerably in time.

• France, on the other hand, cannot be thought of as a rich land, since there are few treasures beneath the surface of our land. Our treasures are above the surface, in our history, culture and, above all, our people.

Normally, one would expect that a rich country such as Australia would send many journalists to a land such as France, to keep in touch with what's happening here. Similarly, one might expect that a less wealthy nation such as France would run into financial problems in trying to maintain journalists in a faraway land such as Australia. Actual reality is exactly the opposite. France attempts constantly to find out what's happening in Australia. On the contrary, Australia depends on foreign sources of information to find out what's happening, say, in France. We live indeed in an upside-down world.

Good life

Not really a big surprise

This morning, at the Campus des métiers et de l'entreprise in Bobigny, Emmanuel Macron stated that he was a presidential candidate. The name of his political party is two words followed by an exclamation mark : En marche ! That means they’ve set foot. Since I’m more or less bluffed by this smart fellow, you might consider me as a potential Enmarchiste ! It sounds smarter than "Socialiste". Infinitely less Trumpian than "Républicain". I think it's the sign at the end that adds all the sexy smartness to Macron's ethereal party. Besides, his surname makes him sound in English like a piece of smart software. In fact, I think he is.

Deux touristes français meurent en Australie

#Australia

Un homme et une femme, tous les deux plus de 70 ans, sont morts mystérieusement au cours de plongées touristiques à Michaelmas Cay prés de Cairns.

Il y avait probablement des fautes au niveau de leur équipement technique. Cliquer ici et ici pour des articles dans la presse locale.

It can be chilly here in France

A recent survey reveals that 75% of French people say that their homes are excessively cold in winter.

Well, this is not the case for me at Gamone. My installation of a large wood-burning stove has proven to be ideal. I hasten to point out that this success is based upon several additional factors:

• I’ve got into the habit of ordering a stock of high-quality firewood in summer.

• I store this firewood in a large and sturdy woodshed alongside my house.

• I’ve learnt the skill of lighting up the stove of an afternoon, using a tiny quantity of pine wood chips.

• Finally, the cold stove must be cleaned of ashes the following morning.

My house is well insulated on all sides. Besides, if ever the presence of snow made it difficult to go outside to fetch firewood, there’s a stock inside the old stone cave behind the ground-floor level of the house.

In my upper-floor bedroom, study and bathroom, electric radiators switch themselves on automatically when the temperature drops. The use of firewood as my principal fuel means that I would not be in danger in the case of an electricity blackout. And I’ve got a stock of candles. So, the general situation at Gamone is comfortable and reassuring. This is a must when you live on the edge of the French Alps.

Adam Cohen speaks of his father

Ma sœur et moi venons juste d’enterrer notre père à Montréal avec seulement la présence de la famille proche et de quelques amis. Il a été porté en terre dans un cercueil en pin sans fioritures près de son père et de sa mère, exactement comme il l’avait demandé.

Alors que j’écris cela, je pense à mon père, à son mélange unique d’autodérision, de dignité, d’élégance et de charisme naturel, à sa distinction à l’ancienne et à l’œuvre qu’il a forgée de sa main.

Il y a tellement de choses pour lesquelles je pourrais le remercier. Je le remercie pour ce confort dont il nous a pourvus et cette sagesse qu’il nous a transmise, pour ces  conversations marathons, pour sa vivacité d’esprit et son humour. Je le remercie pour m’avoir appris à aimer Montréal et la Grèce et pour la musique, celle qui m’a séduit alors que j’étais un petit garçon, celle qu’il m’a encouragé à composer et celle que j’ai eu le privilège de faire avec lui. Merci pour tous vos messages, vos témoignages de sympathie et l’amour que vous portez à mon père.

Gamone super moon

Gamone, Choranche (France). November 15, 2016 at 20 h 15.

It's hardly spectacular, but I've done my best...

Moon-watchers

Today, many people all over the globe are looking up at the Moon, because it's exceptionally close to our planet. Never before has a still-existing human seen the Moon at such a short distance. That's why it's referred to as a Super Moon.

Unfortunately, I live at a place on the edge of the French Alps that is not particularly good for moon-watching. At the present moment, when I look upwards, all I see is a super-damp sky full of super-gray clouds. So, instead of showing you any super photos, let me take advantage of the fact that I'm talking about the Moon to skip to the interesting subject of lunatics, who have strange ideas about our heavenly neighbor.

Certain lunatics believe that earthly clouds can drift behind the Moon.

 

In former times, Moon-Watchers (as imagined by Stanley Kubrick) made fabulous discoveries. Some things—such as the arrival of a metal slab from space—don't seem to have ever happened again. Other things discovered by the Moon-Watchers—such as murder—have remained with us forever.

 

Silly Twitter word

#Trending #TrendingTopics #Milkanoël

This morning, when I opened up my Twitter account, I discovered a reference to a certain US multinational famous for its milk and cocoa products, Milka.

The Twitter message I read indicated that a certain Milka hashtag was "trending”. I imagined for a moment that the proverbial cow was, at last, coming home. I wondered immediately why this item of world-shaking news about a dullish Trumpland company had hit the Twitter headlines. The answer was elementary. The purple cow was being fed on a variety of green grass called dollars. But what interested me far more than the state of the Milka cow was the linguistic absurdity of the the verb “trending”. Popular among French folk who like to give the impression that they understand English, this silly verb appears to have originated on the other side of the Atlantic.

Click the text block to enlarge it slightly

Once upon a time, even innocent kids in English-speaking communities would have known that a trend can be either up or down, positive or negative. It doesn't necessarily imply that things are getting better. For example: “There’s a nasty trend among children in slum schools to become bullies.” Or, more succinctly: “In slum schools, bulliness is trending.” Just like Milka. Or Trump, on that fateful election day.

Like a candle in the water

Yesterday evening, at a ceremony in remembrance of the terrible events of 13 November 2015, a fleet of tiny blue-white-red candles glided slowly—softly and silently—across the dark waters of the Saint-Martin Canal in the neighborhood of the Bastille in Paris.

Patrick Jardin had lost his daughter Nathalie, in charge of lighting at the Bataclan. But he was absent from yesterday’s ceremonies. His explanations were terse: “One doesn’t react to kalashnikovs with candles on the water and plaques on the wall.”

He was right in some ways, but wrong in others. Of course we have to track down terrorists and prevent them from harming our societies. This means the use of deadly weapons, not candles. But it doesn’t mean pure vengeance. In any case, yesterday, the people of Paris were not searching for terrorists to be eliminated. Nor were they thinking of criticizing Paris authorities who had not been able to protect all the citizens of the City of Light, including the young lady of the Bataclan lighting. They were simply celebrating in dignity and silence, by means of lit candles, the memory of Nathalie and the other innocent victims of 13 November 2015.

#13Novembre2015 #ParisAttacks