Watching the French Open it's nearly as much fun watching the crowd as the players. The French are so good to look at; they wear elegant, well-ironed clothes, they have gleaming hair that flies about in well-cut swathes, they have smiles and chit chat and uproarious laughing; well-fed isn't really right because they are thin within their types, yet look so healthy. They can sit still and attentive, looking graceful, and burst out with frenzied approbation or disgust - and still look as if they're having the time of their lives.
Age does not wither them, and they come in infinite varieties. When I grow up I shall be French.
Tuesday 5 June 2007
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5 comments:
Eh Bien ma cherie!
Rubbish most of them are thick legged coarse boned bints with moustaches still dripping with yesterday’s malodorous soup .Quelques parisiennes with Chanel Bags can admittedly whip up a Pomme tarte aux fine whilst having screaming sex with their husbands and not disturbing their makeup, but most of them are sullen peasants with piggy eyes and malevolent stupidity.
Stay as you are HG you are already the perfect woman ,
Isn't cherie a lovely word without the capital letter, M.
N, there was a comment on Dale beginning 'Poor Newmania..' and I thought 'there's someone taking their life in their hands'. But you didn't answer, or did Dale deprive us all again?
Must have missed it , but if it was the chap about the Conservative Party on the EU I was not out of sympathy with his remarks really and I did reply politely later.
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