Retrouvez ici les deux derniers numéros d’English Corner
Alma Mater (chronique du 01/09)
I remember where I was for various landmark events in my life. Les Salins d’Hyères for the death of Elvis Presley, tiling my new house for 9/11 and in bed in a mobile-home when I received a phone call to see if I had heard the news of the death of ‘Princess Diana’ as she was affectionately called, despite the fact that the Queen had allowed her to use the title of ‘The Princess of Wales’. We were of age and I respected and loved her enormously as did many of the population of Great Britain. It is twenty years to the day of her death and she is still missed. Whenever I take French compatriots to England we always visit the ‘Harrods store’ and the shrine erected there to honour her memory and that of her supposed companion of the moment, Dodi Al-Fayed. After her much publicised divorce from Prince Charles she frequented a Pakistani heart surgeon, managing to keep her relation very private. However when his family, devout muslims, refused the marriage and the liaison became public they broke up and Diana started a relationship with the Egyptian billionaire heir who had just been refused British nationality. Both had their own agendas. Diana wanted to incite jealousy and Dodi strike at the very heart of the ‘stiff upper lip’ establishment. Both knew how to manipulate the press and hence started a few months of provoking front page appearances that ended with their demise in a French tunnel bridge along the Seine in the early hours of the 31st of August. For me, she will be remembered for her contact with AIDS victims, her struggle against ant-personnel mines and her work as patron of the non-profit organisation for the hard of hearing, going as far as to learn their language. Rest in Peace.
A story for sleeping stood up! (chronique du 25/08)
It’s nearly the skittle, so indulge me. After the lead sun will come an Indian Summer and like a fish in water we’ll go like in the forties. Some will have long teeth others will still be in the fumes or have flour on their faces but we will all tell some lettuces and discuss the piece of lard at work about our holidays. Lots of castles in Spain that now oblige us to eat skinny cows and hopefully not write wooden cheques. Let’s face it though we shouldn’t do a thin mouth, after all it’s not the sea to drink all we have to do is go to the coal and who knows we may even be able to put a little butter in the spinach. What is sure, as far as I am concerned, is that today I have my arse between two chairs. I have lived as long in France as I did in England. There is no lizard however and I can safely say without a wooden tongue that I am happy here. In the beginning it was not a case of the English landing, and sometimes I was next to my shoes and often spoke French like a Spanish cow but I was thrilled to be amongst you. I’m not bringing back my strawberry but I never lowered my arms and often put double mouthfuls (that’s too close to the bone!) to arrive where I am today. Thanks also to the ‘trouble and strife’ who was always at little onions. It doesn’t eat bread to say that along the way, even though I arrived like a hair on the soup, many helped and took a chance on me. This is for those that listen well (and read). A prize for the first correct translation. Cheerio!