Anyone who was remotely middle class used to get sent on a French exchange trip during the school summer holidays. The Frenchies used to arrive over here to indulge in a full fortnights sneering at the barbaric nature of our 'so called' civilization. You can't blame them really; at that point in time we were known, not unfairly, as the 'sick man of Europe'.I arrived in St Malo one summer to be greeted by a French family. They were, naturally, effortlessly elegant, ate delicious food, and didn't drink to get drunk. By the end of the first day I had developed a full blown inferiority complex.
The next day Jacques was good enough to haughtily inform me that 'Smerk on the Waater by Deep Pourple' was his favourite rock track of all time. My gloom lifted.
Whatever merits they may possess, the French have never had a clue about rock music. Any nation that thinks Johnny Halliday can hold a candle to Keef Richards is, and always shall be, terminally uncool.
10 comments:
I always remember when the French and German exchange students were with us. The French always wore really bright coloured clothes, like red trousers, pink trainers and yellow shirts. The Germans wore brown and were fucking massive.
We didn't speak.
I seem to remember quite a few French exchange students coming to our school, but very few of our lot spending any time in France. I can only guess that the French kids were sent over to our school to see how poor and badly educated the English were!
The French can't rock, but they put out some good disco music. Well, if you like disco music, that is.
The Germans had to put up with seig heil, Hitler salutes and chants of 'we won the war'.
Served them right for having even less dress sense than us.
Yes, the French can do dance music. Disco sucks.
Didn't Keef used to live in France?
In the former local Gestapo headquarters?
Yes, Exile on Main Street I believe.
I don't think he mixed much with the Froggies though.
French pop can be entertaining after lots of alcohol: 'Ya-Ya Twist' by Petula Clark especially.
Blasé...My French teachers perfume.
I loved her so.
Plastic Bertrand, the original fake punk rocker.
When I arrived home in Manchester this morning and saw all the pale, obese, dowdy residents, I (as always) consoled myself with thoughts of The Smiths, Oasis and happy Mondays.
Shaun Ryder increasingly resembles an obese Dobby the House Elf. I bet he has hair growing up his back too.
Post a Comment