Happy Mothers Day - from France

Those of you in other parts of the world may well be scratching your heads at the moment, thinking that I've got my dates mixed up.

But I haven't, as Sunday (June 7) was indeed Mother's Day in France.

Mind you, anyone living here could be forgiven for being more than a little bewildered.

Most years (in France) it falls on the last Sunday in May (which would have been last weekend) unless that happens to be Pentecost in which case it's pushed back a week.

And that of course is exactly what has happened this year.

Still Confused? Well perhaps there's a good reason to be.

The problem is that there's no one single day set aside internationally to pay tribute to what's often described as one of the most thankless and least appreciated jobs on the planet.

Just looking at when different countries "celebrate" or "remember" or "pay tribute" shows maybe how out of step we are with one another.

This year for example in Norway apparently it fell on February 8.

Back home (for me) in Britain it's always the fourth Sunday in Lent - which was March 22 this year.

In North America and a whole chunk of Europe - including Austria, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Italy and the Netherlands - along with many other countries throughout the world such as Australia, Brazil, Pakistan and South Africa to name but a few - it was as it always is, the second Sunday of May (10).

In fact rather than list every single place in the world, I would be better off providing a link to wikipedia - so so here you are.

When my mother was alive and I lived in Germany, I (understandably perhaps) got into a right pickle trying to remember the date back "home".

She insisted that it didn't matter if I forgot, but deep down I knew she was dead chuffed when I remembered.

Mind you, she had to put up with some of the most horrendous gifts down the years, especially when I was a young.

Encouraged by teachers I would put a rather dubious artistic bent to full use and pitch up with a painting resembling.....well very little really apart from colour splattered on paper.

Or, if I had been allowed to watch Blue Peter (a long-running BBC television programme for children), she was presented with a useless piece of nothing made from plastic bottles, egg cartons and sticky-backed plastic.

Eventually I moved on from "art" and one year - I must have been around 10 years old - I put what I thought were burgeoning culinary skills to use and my poor mother's tastebuds to the test when I decided to tackle a 10-egg (yep you read correctly) pancake complete with several tablespoons full of.....salt (rather than sugar - far too high a quantity of anything in any case).

I realised my mistake before the monstrosity made its way to the table, and in an effort to compensate emptied the best part of a container of pepper into the mixture.

My childlike logic told me that pepper would cancel out the effect of salt - I clearly wasn't the brightest spark.

My ma, when she finally made it down to the smoke-filled kitchen (which of course she would later have to clear up) showed stoicism, patience and the utmost love as well as a huge amount of courage in both praising my gastronomic stomach-turner and even attempting to eat (some of it).

Teenage years saw a return to "art" of sorts (I clearly never learnt from my earlier efforts) with a selection of wooden "thises" and metal "thats" from craft classes, ranging from a chopping board, a cheese grater (she proudly kept it until she died, although I never saw her use it) and a blunt knife. Oh yes, I was full of thoughtful presents.

With hindsight it must have come as something of a relief (to her) when I started earning and actually bought presents - although unimaginatively perhaps I stuck to chocolates and flowers - a safe bet.

Anyway this post - and just as importantly the accompanying video* (the former is also an excuse to share the latter with you) is to tell my ma, wherever she might be, "Thank you" and to pass on belated reminder to those in France who might have forgotten and whose mothers are still around that Sunday was Mothers Day.

And hey, even in those countries where it wasn't officially Mother's day, how about turning around all the same and telling them just how much you love 'em.

* The accompanying (probably timeless) video is a rendition of a song with lyrics written and originally performed by the US comedian Anita Renfroe set to the music of the finale of Rossini's William Tell Overture.

It's fast, furious and has something of a ring of truth to it.

People-watching in Paris - and eavesdropping

The weather here in France has been fair to middling recently with the odd rainy hiccough, which anyway has to be good for the garden.

It's probably just as well, given that we're about halfway through Spring, Easter has been and gone and we're well into May.

And this past weekend was another long one in France as Friday was May 8 - Victory in Europe day or the date back in 1945 when the Allies formally accepted Germany's unconditional surrender to mark the end of war here in Europe.

It's a national holiday in France.

May 8 - a national holiday in France with towns and cities up and down the country marking Victory in Europe day in 1945

So combining the weather, the long weekend and living in the capital, it was a chance to partake of one of those typical Parisian practices - the lazy pastime of people-watching.

After having spent some time in France, you can get drawn into a number of habits - not all of them always entirely desirable.

One of them is undoubtedly sitting in a café watching the world go by looking at those around you and "wondering".

Simple observation of course only gives a part of the picture and allows the imagination to run riot.

If you also happen to be able to eavesdrop on the conversation at the next table, it can provide some juicy titbits and some unexpected surprises.

Whatever the case, the cafés were full to bursting point and a Saturday morning spent doing very little apart from poring over a couple of coffees provided happy hunting for the inveterate eavesdropper - that's me in case you were wondering.

Oh yes and "Paris in Springtime" and all that - brings the tourists flocking in.

There are bound to be more than a few clichés in what follows - I apologise ahead of time - but it seems that sometimes tourists - where ever they may be - forget simple manners and resort to behaviour which I would hope they would not practise back home.

There again as Fats Waller said, "One never knows, do one?"

People-watching is probably not uniquely French, although their manner of practising it is somewhat (offensive) to the milder-mannered, more polite British variation.

It amounts to unashamed staring with no pretence of anything other - rather than surreptitious glancing.

Many has been the time I've been forced to point out to French friends that what they're doing could be considered rude. But the response has always been that famous Gallic shrug and the accusation that I'm just being a hypocrite.

There might be something to that of course. I'm blessed with excellent periphery vision and can "pretend" that I'm not watching as intently as my French friends thereby apparently taking the "moral" highground.

Sure looks like hypocrisy to me when I face it - better make sure friends and family don't get to read this.

So hands up I people watch too - and probably what is worse I eavesdrop.

Let out the collective tut.

Anyway back to the café and a morning spent drinking coffee and remaining bravely hidden behind my newspaper.

First up as I spent far too much time over my first cup and seemingly engrossed in the culture section of Le Monde, was a British couple - Bob and Margaret (I've taken the liberty of changing their names).

They were apparently just over for the weekend, having arrived on the Eurostar, cooing over how quick it was from London to Paris (they're right - just over two hours) but complaining a little too loudly that, "The French don't seem to understand a word we're saying and all in all are downright rude."

Er memo to Bob and Margaret, "Try avoiding the clichés. Parisians aren't representative of the French - in the same way that London isn't Britain, Berlin isn't Germany and so on."

Oh yes and rather than complaining about their apparent lack of English, how about trying a few words of French? Polite manners breeds - er polite manners. And there's nothing the French (Parisians included) respond to more than at least trying.

Next up a group of Italians - actually several groups of them - dotted around at tables facing the street, talking 19-to-the-dozen and to each other across the rest of the clientele.

Roll on the hackneyed phrases.

Maybe they didn't realise there was someone around who actually understood what they were saying or perhaps they were all rather caught up in their own cacophony but I, and anyone else "forced" to listen and able to understand were treated to some rather graphic descriptions of the women passing by and what they thought of them.

"Signori, show a little sensibility please and a lot less chauvinism." I didn't say that of course (otherwise it would have indicated that I was listening - a cardinal sin) but perhaps I should have.

Oh and then there was a trio of more Brits who arrived, whose conversation left me almost spluttering into my coffee.

They were rather well-spoken in that "hot-potato-in-mouth" sort of genteel English way. Rounded vowels, clipped consonants and the stiffest of upper lips, which seemed to remain motionless when they spoke.

Imagine then how much of an eye-opener and ear -raiser it was as these three seemingly fine specimens everything that is best about being British broke into raptures as they animatedly discussed...horse breeding.

Eyes agog and ears agogo, I was treated to a rather graphic description of the "act" and the "aftermath", which included the words "stallion", "broom" and "hose". Enough said perhaps.

First coffee finished, second ordered and along came an American quartet to replace the equine English.

They didn't need to open their mouths to reveal their nationality, it was clear from the way they were dressed; checked trousers, caps and Burlington sweaters. "Had they just stepped off the golf course?" I wondered.

I warned you that clichés abounded.

They wanted lunch. "A typical French lunch," one woman said rather loudly to the man who sat next to her, and then they summoned the waiter in a way they must have thought appropriate from watching too many comedy sketches and bad films.

A click of the fingers and a hearty "GARSON" (I swear that's exactly what they did) left me almost choking once again and my ears were running riot as I heard them dissect the menu, request salads without this and that and order a round of drinks that included coke and cappuccino. "Oui très français," I muttered in a superior fashion under my breath. "The whole experience."

Coffee in a café - the best part of French life, any time of the year

Finally there were the German speakers - only the two of them, who sat down in front of me just as I was about to leave.

I use the term German-speakers judiciously because they were in fact Swiss, and in spite of having lived in Switzerland for three years and before that Germany for seven, I've never been able to get my lug holes around or get to grips with the dialect that is Swiss-German.

It's just too - um - incomprehensible, even to someone with a good grasp of the language, and takes practice - plenty of it.

Sure I understood every fourth word but that really wasn't enough to be able to make heads or tales of what they were actually talking about.

Maybe they were passing comment on me!

It would have served me right, I suppose.

Knowing then that my spot of people-watching and eavesdropping was over, I settled my bill and I headed off to take in some more of the City of Lights, rather exhausted from my listening but itching to get back home to write it all down.

The couple of hours in the presence of some rather over-loud tourists had provided me with plenty of entertainment, whether I had wanted to listen (I did) or not.

Now don't get me started on mobile 'phones.

Move over Bernstein, Gershwin's in town - Paris that is

There's another show about a very special "American in Paris" currently running in the French capital, and rather appropriately it's called "Good morning, Mr Gershwin."

For those of you still missing the far too clever link (self praise is no praise) the 1951 musical film of that name was of course inspired by the 1928 orchestral composition by the great man himself.

Anyway back to the present day and it's more dance and a review of a show from an already self-confessed possessor of the proverbial two left feet.

What a show and what a performance!

In fact it's a great deal more than "dance" as perhaps would be expected from the choreographers José Montalvo et Dominique Hervieu.

Quite simply put the pair are magicians who give new meaning to tripping the light fantastic.

What they manage to put together in this (and other productions) breaks barriers and leaves anyone lucky enough to get to see one of their creations jaw-to-the-floor in open-mouthed admiration.

"Good morning, Mr Gershwin" is of course a tribute to the life and times of the 20th century American composer, and as always with Montalvo-Hervieu it combines modern and classical dance with their trademark visual effects - more on that in a moment.

What is particularly extraordinary about this production is that it blends a variety of dance styles, which would on paper at least, seem incompatible - tap with ballet, hip hop with mime, or jazz with break - all set to the music of Gershwin of course.

But it's a mix that more than works, blurring the lines of rigid categorisation and making anyone watching appreciate that dance is a language in itself.

Actually that's probably one of the real beauties of Montalvo-Hervieu. Their productions break all those linguistic barriers that might make film, theatre or even lyrical music impenetrable or at least leave something lost in translation.

With "Good Morning, Mr Gershwin" - and probably dance in general - there's little fear of that happening, with the interpretation being left entirely "in the eyes of the beholder".

And that's a fact worth remembering given the (minority) reaction of one little ol' lady who clearly felt she had "missed the point" (as if there were one) when she was heard to mutter audibly on leaving "Well that was a waste of an afternoon".

Horses for courses.

"Good Morning, Mr Gershwin" also has of course those visual "effects" - Montalvo-Hervieu's trademark use of video as a backdrop.

Sometimes it's synchronised with what's happening on stage, other times it adds a completely different dimension, which might leave the onlooker wondering what the connection is.

One thing's for sure though, it never detracts from the overall enjoyment of the performance, although it has to be admitted that at times it would be useful to have more than one pair of eyes.

Scene follows scene, but it's not just dance. There are moments of humour that leave the audience grinning from ear-to-ear, such as one performer mockingly gargling along to one of Gershwin's best-known tunes, or the temptations of a chocolate eclair (via video) which is almost made to perform its own dance routine away from the expectant mouth of the woman salivating to enjoy.

A good chunk of the second act is dedicated to "Porgy and Bess" - so it's a bit of a reworking of last year's production by the same company at the Opéra de Lyon.

But something worth seeing once is just as good second time around, so there can be few complaints on that front.

The one down side perhaps is the venue itself.

Le Théâtre national de Chaillot is housed in the Palais of the same name, (re)built in the 1930s and looking every much "of its time" from the outside.

The setting couldn't be more stunning, perched at the edge of arguably the French capital's swankiest arrondissements (XVI) with an impressive view of the Eiffel Tower.

The inside of the building leaves something to be desired though, stark and uninviting, and the auditorium for the performance is somewhat "industrial" in its overall feel, with uneven steps leading down a pretty steep drop with the whole framework juddering as people make their way to their seats.

Maybe Montalvo-Hervieu will breathe much-needed new life into the building though as last year they were appointed joint directors with the emphasis being to promote dance.

"Good Morning, Mr Gershwin" continues its runs at Le Théâtre national de Chaillot in Paris until February 7.

YouTube Video - La Bossa Fataka de Rameau

Bharati in Paris - a taste of India with a serving of kitsch: A review

Have you ever had the sensation that even though apparently you're watching or experiencing the same thing as everybody around you, somehow and in some way, what you're feeling isn't exactly in keeping with the overriding sentiment?

You've perhaps missed something or maybe everyone else has got it wrong.

Such was the impression of one particular member of the audience - currently sitting not a million miles from this keyboard - at the Bharati spectacle in Paris this weekend.

YouTube Video

First up it has to be admitted that this certain someone was clearly in the minority if the reaction of the rest of the 3,500 plus people who had packed into the main auditorium at Le Palais des Congrès on Saturday was anything to go by.

Just for the record, Bharati is described variously in reviews elsewhere as a modern day fairy tale bringing to today's audience centuries of Indian history and culture with the colour, verve, and entrancing music, singing and dancing that might be expected from over 100 performers.

Those reviews have been overwhelmingly favourable as the show has been on the road now for over two years entertaining audiences and playing to full houses in Germany, the Netherlands, Switzerland and Austria.

The current run in Paris is the show's second appearance in the French capital. And from the general reception it was given, it has more than struck the right note, riding the wave of interest in all things Indian which seems to be very much à la mode at the moment.

The whole spectacle - because that's what it is - is a multi-coloured marvel combining all the elements of (Indian) dance, acrobatics, costumes and music you could wish for in the very best Bollywood fashion.

There was general whooping at the vigourous dancing, spontaneous clapping as the music ratcheted up a notch and enthusiastic applause after every number and there's no denying that it was all very much a feast for the eyes.

The rhythm and beat are without doubt infectious, the singing wafts you away and of course the highly synchronised dancing is a pure delight. The men are manly and the women.....well womanly.

It has, to say the least, a rather limp narrative, which is almost redundant apart from giving the performers a deserved break from their exertions and time to catch their breath.

The (rather enormous) programme describes the show as "a musical extravaganza, a delectable composite mix of the varied dances, music and folk traditions of India."

And over the course of one and a half hours we're promised "a glimpse...at the hidden treasures of this vast and enchanting land; its regional, linguistic, historical and philosophical diversity; its myriad peoples, life-styles and traditions."

Therein perhaps lies the problem - at least for one obviously grumpy old man - because the show is all very Bollywood (at its best and worst) and leaves you with the sense that there is more, so much more to India than the clichés on offer.

But there again, maybe that's exactly what people want.

Given the number of flashes that seemed to twinkle around the auditorium each time a new number was presented or a costume change made, along with the time many people seemed to be spending watching the show through their camera lens as they recorded huge chunks of the proceedings, maybe Bharati and Bollywood is all they wish to know about India.

Bharati will be at Le Palais des Congrès until February 15 before transferring to Brussels and then going on tour around France.

On March 11 it'll cross the channel for a performance at the Hammersmith Apollo in London, and there are also plans to take it to North America at some point this year.

YouTube Video

Hallelujah pour la télécommande...zap

This is a follow-up piece to one written here several months ago.

Back then, I tried to "tell it as it is" for a jet-lagged, snooty foreigner let loose in a hotel room with the television remote control in New York City.

And that, after not getting a moment's shut-eye on the transatlantic flight.

Pure delight, as I remember.

This time around I'm turning the tables.

There's still that air of suitable superiority, as I hail from a country - Britain, which often tells itself (and the rest of the world) that it has the best telly available.

But I remain a foreigner or "étranger", happily living in France and therefore perhaps fittingly qualified to cast a somewhat critical eye on what's on offer on the small screen here.

Why now? Well, after the longest of introductions there is - believe it or not - a news angle to all of this.

You see last Monday saw the beginning of the end for advertising on public television here in France.

It was "stage one" in a plan announced by the French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, back in January 2007.

The eventual goal is a complete end to advertising on all public TV in an effort to "allow state-run channels to make better quality programmes."

The necessary legislation didn't quite make it through parliament in time for the cut-off date, so the head honcho of France television, Patrick de Carolis, was "advised" to take matters into his own hands, and stop advertising after eight o'clock in the evening from January 5.

Hence the term "stage one".

If everything goes according to plan, all advertising on public television will disappear by 2011.

The immediate effect though has been a change to the evening's scheduling on France 2, 3, 4 and 5 - the main national public channels, and some early manoeuvring from the private channels such as TF1 and M6 to compete for the now available extra advertising revenue.

"So what sort of impact has the initial changeover made so far?" You might (not) be asking.

Well it's early days yet - in fact probably far too early to make any definite predictions - so they're best left to one side.

But what it gives me is a "window" to open, to invite you to share with me some of the "pleasures" of French TV as is, as you settle back and take an evening's wander through zapping - à la Française.

I'll keep it short - promise.

Crisps at the ready? Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Choose a day - any day will do. But for the purposes of this post (and the fact that I spent the particular evening going square-eyed in front of the box), let's say Thursday. And this is what was on offer.

Remember as you read that commercials after eight o'clock on public television are now a thing of the past.

So what better way than to begin with TF1 - the country's main channel (and private), commercials galore in a measured sort of French way and a tribute to the very "best" of what's available here.

Er..........

First up "A prendre ou à laisser". Back after a two-year absence and obviously sorely missed, it's a game show which features 24 contestants, each with a box containing a certain amount of prize money from €1 to €500,000 or a "booby prize".

One of the lucky 24 is invited centre stage to choose the order in which the boxes are opened and the one he or she is left with is what he or she wins.

It could be half of (the prize has to be shared with a television viewer) or it could be half of a booby prize.

Intellectually stimulating and informative, where are the commercials? Oh here they are...zap

Over to France 3 and another game show, this time the perennial favourite, "Questions pour un champion".

Ah that's more like it, the contestants actually need to "know" something.

It has been running for donkeys years - and will probably continue to do so. Candidates have to answer questions on general knowledge for the chance to win a less-than magnificent prize (it's public television remember, so the financial resources aren't really available) and is well...quaint would seem to be the most appropriate word.

Think it would probably help to be French to answer some of those questions...zap

Back to the dumbed- down comfort of TF1 and "La Roue de la Fortune" or "Wheel of Fortune" - so no explanations needed for North American readers.

For those unfamiliar with the format however, here's a link to an explanation...zap

Over to M6, another private channel and "Un dîner presque parfait" or "An almost perfect dinner" - a French version of the British cookery programme, "Come dine with me".

Perhaps the change in title was to discourage the French from thinking that they really are the bees knees when it comes to matters culinary...zap

Back to France 2 and Julien Courbet's "Service Maximum". It's a consumer programme, which since it started in autumn last year, has taken a fair amount of stick, not least from the minister of culture, Christine Albanel, for apparently not fulfilling the remit of a public service broadcaster...zap

TF1 and commercials. Oh good I was wondering when they would be on. Time to go to the loo.

Er - did my enthusiasm for the arrival of the advertisements sound as though my surname was Sarkozy?

Sorry I forgot. TF1 is owned by Martin Bouygues, one of the French president's closest friends and someone who maybe, just maybe will benefit from the end of advertising on public television.

Ooops - how cycnical.

Loo break over...zap

More ads on France 2 just before the "watershed" then it's into hyper-zapping mode because it's eight o'clock and that means - well bedlum.

TF1 - weather followed by prime time news and more weather. There's a lot of it at the moment here in France.

France 2 - ditto

France 3 - regional news and weather over just in time for a highly successful French soap opera "Plus belle la vie".

Haven't a clue what that's all about. But isn't that supposed to be the beauty of such a series? Viewers can tune in (and out) sporadically and make complete sense of the "plot" within 20 seconds...zap

Canal Plus - in the middle of arguably the best daily news programme of the lot - Le Grand Journal - only available because at this time of the evening the channel isn't encrypted.

And the excellent satire to follow in the shape of Les Guignols...zapping ceases until it's over because the mocking wit of the puppets is just too good to miss.

A break for les Guignols - not the day in question, but always funny

Oh I'm flagging - and it's barely halfway through the evening.

News over (on all major channels) and weather repeated - a few commercials on TF1 and then straight into a French detective series - Julie Lescaut. Great, but no thank you...zap

France 2.....ah finally French television at what it probably does best.

"Envoyé Special", or "Special Correspondent" - a weekly current affairs programme that looks at issues in a little more depth than the two-and-a-half minutes provided in a regular news broadcast.

http://envoye-special.france2.fr/index-fr.php?page=accueil

There's a fascinating piece on Pierre Cardin, who's still going strong. I had no idea he was born in Italy.

And then some French tourists on a package tour of....wait for it....Iraq.

Go figure!

Because as one of them, explains, "He wants to find out the real story behind the news."

Er. There's just so much idiocy that can be withstood by this particular viewer as the 20 or so French holidaymakers try to justify why they decided to spend their Christmas hols in a war zone - against the better advice of the French foreign ministry...zap

Now's the time I wish I had a subscription to Canal Plus satellite - because it's the second series of "Dexter".

I've no idea what it is as I didn't see the first one (obviously), but it has been all over the media pages of the press today - so it must be good.

But unless I want to continue watching a blank screen that reads "you are not currently subscribed to this channel," it has to be the inevitable...zap

To Arte. Ah Arte. Zzzzzzzzzzz. Culture galore - a French-German venture with some wonderful opera from time to time, fascinating documentaries and great films that nobody really wants to watch, which results in an average nightly audience share of around 0.00001 per cent. Ok so I exaggerate, but you get the drift.

Tonight it's a documentary - in Italian with subtitles - on...well it's getting late and my Italian is a bit rusty at the best of times, so it's rather easy to lose track. So a quick...zap

M6 again "Mutant 2" - just about says all that's needed...zap

And that last minute frenzied zapping session when the lids are heavy, but the legs unwilling to climb the stairs.

Zap...zap...zap through some of the other 50 or so channels available that leave you (me) wondering just who can possibly watch that much television.

They include those 24-hour news programmes (in French) LCI, BFM, France 24, the multilingual Euronews or the international news broadcasters such as CNN and BBC, filling the airwaves with something the cynical might say is often little more than air.

Oh and how about a dose of German telly? We get that too on satellite here in France, along with Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, Polish Tunisian, Moroccan, Hungarian, Polish, Russian, Chinese...zap

No it's really too late, and anyway, where are the commercials?

Plus tomorrow is Friday - a work day, and you know what?

After all is said and done, this really isn't as much fun as zapping in the US.

So goodnight...zap.