Liberation

Maybe I am just a prude, but for the last week the daily edition of Liberation newspaper has been putting me off my breakfast. A week ago the front page bore a big colour box informing readers that in a special summer "cahier" inside we could learn all that there is to know about fellatio. Except they didn't actually say "fellatio", but the b-j word which in French is "La pipe." There was a picture of a woman's face with her mouth wide open in obvious imitation of the act. Since then there have been several other features in the series: bondage for example, the clitoris, and a profile of two Norwegian rock band members who have sex on stage in order -- they say -- to raise money for the rain forest. Is this cutting edge journalism, or is it a load of old cobblers? I incline strongly to the latter view. One has always been aware that Liberation is written by an aging left-wing intellectual coterie for an aging left-wing coterie, and this merely confirms the impression that attracting a new market is not their top priority. Of course you may retort that sex sells. But surely not this sort of sex. How many people want to see pictures of two Norwegians at it on stage while they sip their morning coffee -- and how many would want their children to see it? Or how about grainy photographs of female genitalia? It is of a piece with one of the paper's most spectacularly awful weekly columns, which is an explicit account on Monday of a gay man's sexual antics over the weekend. There may be a place for that somewhere in the newsagents -- but surely not in a national daily. They may find it all very daring, I think it is utterly puerile. And then they wonder why sales are falling through the floor!
Renfrogné of Les Puits de Tunbridge

Once a year at our flat in the 14th we have the fete de l'immeuble. "Day of the building" doesn't quite do it justice. It is an utterly French idea, and to be fair it is rather a good one. Working on the premise (absolutely correct) that the inhabitants of blocks of apartments in Paris never speak to each other except via formal salutations, the city hall sponsors evening drinks-and-canapes where neighbours can get over their embarrassment and actually have a conversation. In our complex -- a 1920s red-brick construction that was solidly classe ouvriere until recently -- we gather in one of the fore-courts and hobnob over a glass of wine. We bring marmite sandwiches, which go down like the proverbial lead balloon. The French are resolutely unadventurous when it comes to food. It is great to find out more about our co-proprietaires. There are quite a few who are very old and very poor. Gradually they are being replaced by the young and relatively well-off. We even have an American downstairs. But the fun is tempered by the realisation that there is one subject we cannot broach. The EU constitution is taboo in French social gatherings. It has just been rejected in the referendum, and I feel like letting off steam against the ragbag coalition of Trotskyists, Le Penites and anti-American utopians who have voted it down. I don't -- because I have no idea how any of the neighbours have cast their ballot. Chances are, five out of every ten said "no."

All bloggers must recall the excitement of losing their blog virginity. Well I am in that torrid moment right this minute. This is the start of what I hope will be a regular column (I know that is not the right blog word, but what is it?) written from France by me, Hugh Schofield, notes editor of the Champs-Elysees language course, journalist for various print and broadcast media, and long-term resident of this country with which I maintain a relationship that alternates between exasperation and adoration. Right now, adoration is in the ascendancy. I write this from my office overlooking a blossom-filled orchard a kilometre from the banks of the Loire near the wine town of Sancerre. What could be finer? The sun spills down, bird-song delights my ears, and the children are actually behaving. We have had this house for two years, and escape at every opportunity from the crush of Paris. A good moment to embark on the blog journey, which I trust will be long and full of varied experience. I shall write regularly (how regularly? dunno) about life in France from the point of view of a permanent exile -- also about French culture, politics and whatever takes my fancy. I am not brilliant on sport (except rugby -- my son Louis plays for PUC ...to be explained)but will do my best there too. Be warned though. Adoration may be the current mood. But exasperation is never far behind.