Sundays In France Have A

You Don't Like It When A French Housewife Gets Mad At You. If She Gets Steam Behind Her, She Is An Unstoppable Creature.

The Funny Thing In France Is That Writers Are Not Allowed To Retire, Because The French Government Say You Are Still Earning Money From Books You Wrote 20 Years Ago.

The Day When A Frenchman Switches From The Formality Of Vous To The Familiarity Of Tu Is A Day To Be Taken Seriously. It Is An Unmistakable Signal That He Has Decided - After Weeks Or Months Or Sometimes Years - That He Likes You. It Would Be Chulish And Unfriendly Of You Not To Return The Compliment. And So, Just When You Are At Last Feeling Comfortable With Vous And All The Plurals That Go With It, You Are Thrust Headlong In To The Singular World Of Tu.

I Have A Very Set Routine. I Work Six Days A Week, But Only Half Days. I Work From 9 In The Morning Till 1 In The Afternoon, Without Any Interruptions, A Fair Slug.

Sunglasses Must Be Kept On Until An Acquaintance Is Identified At One Of The Tables, But One Must Not Appear To Be Looking For Company. Instead, The Impression Should Be That One Is Heading Into The Cafe To Make A Phone Call To One's Titled Italian Admirer, When--quelle Surprise!--one Sees A Friend. The Sunglasses Can Then Be Removed And The Hair Tossed While One Is Persuaded To Sit Down.