Une Anglo-Saxonne A Paris

Friday 30 March 2007

Pourquoi j'aime la France

Loving someone is about falling in love with that person again and again. My newest love affair with France began yesterday, the day my book went on sale.
Laurent, a friend who liked my book so much he offered to translate it, picked me up at midday and we took a tour to the Fnac store at Saint Lazare. After a quick look around the politics section, where we failed to locate my book, Laurent asked after Schizophrenie Francaise.
"Nope, nothing by that name,' said the helpful shop assistant.
My heart fell to the floor.
'Are you sure?' enquired Laurent. 'The author's name. It's Emma Vandore.'
'Ah oui,' said the rather surly fellow, indicating with his thumb somewhere behind him. 'Over here.'
I had expected the moment to feel more important. I looked back at the shop assistant expectantly.
'You have before you the author and the translator,' said Laurent helpfully.
'Ah oui,' he said without looking up.
We waited for a bit, but he continued tapping something into his computer. I considered offering to sign some copies because I'd been told the shop can't return signed copies to the publisher. Then I decided against it.
'Come on,' said Laurent. 'Let's find where they are.'
We discovered a pile of my books face upwards on a table next to a book written by another friend of Laurent.
'You are in very good company,' he said. 'What a good position.'
And he was right. I wasn't wedged into some shelf. I was laid out on a table. And I should be happy. But somehow I'd expected to be on display at the front. Dillusions of grandeur obviously. Or maybe I was just tired.

We met up with Jean-Jerome for a celebratory lunch. Then I went back to the office. A few hours later, I was released and headed to the Auld Alliance, a fabulous Scottish pub in the Marais where I'd planned a small celebration. But disaster! My lovely Scottish bar been transformed into an American watering hole, and not only that, but the commercial the re-look was in aid of had over-run by five hours. When I arrived the place looked like a building site. For a wee moment, I felt like crying. But the lovely owners, who had warned me of this eventuality an hour before, took matters in hand and directed me and the steady trickle of close friends to the bar next door. There, the barman was very friendly, even offering to buy a copy. Until he discovered it was about politics.

At such events it is always impossible to speak to everyone you want to, especially when the waitress keeps asking you to get out of the way. My favourite moment was when I showed the thank you card sent by Patrick Poivre d'Arvor around (nine words written in what I presume is his own hand-writing). Or was it talking about the benefits of English tea with Rhino?

Anyway, the night went by in a flash and before I knew it, I was in Friday morning. I hopped on the metro to trek to the other end of Paris for a debate on 'La France peut-elle vraiment changer' at BFM radio, hosted by Vincent Giret. With two appearances on France 24 under my belt, I didn't feel quite so much in awe of the others guests - Time magazine bureau chief James Graff, Jacqueline Henard of the Swiss newspaper Tages Anzeiger and Stefan Braendle of Austria's Der Standard. It still doesn't feel real, but I am learning to enjoy it all.

If I've mastered the technology right (and I probably haven't), you can find the podcast of our debate here.


When I arrived at the office, I had the most wonderful surprise. Paris Match, THE French news-weekly magazine of reference, had written a review of my book. I held my breath as I read what they had to say....




Then I began jumping around the office. And when I didn't think I could be any more excited, a colleague exclaimed: 'Look Emma, your book!' There, on France 2's lunchtime news bulletin, was my friend Jeff Wittenberg, talking about Schizophrenie Francaise (and the other book by my fellow BFM debators). 'Who was the Socialist who tried to pull you,' Jeff texted me after the show. But I ain't no kiss (there was no kissing) and tell (there will be no telling) kinda gall.

Thursday 29 March 2007

Why the French Should Drink Tea




Amid the pandemonium at the Gare du Nord last Tuesday afternoon, when a stand-off between police and French youths degenerated into a pitched battle that lasted well into the evening, an English family sat calmly sipping cups of tea.
‘There seems to be an awful lot of police about,’ remarked my friend Rhino’s step-Mum. ‘Can you pass the milk?’
Below them, in the shopping centre under the Eurostar terminal where Rhino’s parents had arrived for a weekend break in the City of Light, the familiar stench of tear gas filled the air. A reminder of the tensions still simmering after the November 2005 riots that swept across immigrant neighbourhoods.
In contrast to the remarkable British sang-froid displayed by Rhino’s family, the presidential candidates worked themselves up into a pitch of excitement. Socialist candidate Segolene Royal pointed the finger squarely at Nicolas Sarkozy, who had just stepped down from his job as France’s No. 1 cop. She accused the right of failing on crime issues, while centrist candidate Francois Bayrou said Sarkozy’s policies were alienating suburban youth. Sarkozy, ignoring whistles and cat-calls as he took the train from the Gare du Nord the next day, defended the police and claimed the left were siding with hooligans and law-breakers.
France politicians, it seems, are just as excitable as the country’s youth, turning a relatively minor incident, which resulted in the arrest of 13 people, into a campaign issue. It’s a reflection of the collective madness, what I call French Schizophrenia, that is gripping the world’s sixth largest economy. There is no structure to the debate among the presidential candidates about France’s future. The campaign is unpredictable, a whirlwind of emotion, driven by the feeling of the moment rather than a clear political direction. And after five years of growing fear and uncertainty, a clear direction is exactly what France needs.

(For a first-hand account of the therapeutic benefits of tea-drinking during riots, I bring you Rhino and his fabulous Bookpacker blog.) P.S. I did not steal the wallpaper from him. It's just we both have good taste.

Wednesday 28 March 2007

Amazon Reality

I just checked out www.amazon.fr and if you search on my name, you can find my book!!!! It is finally finally starting to feel really real. And as my friend Isa just said, definately too late to turn back now. So from tomorrow, get clickety click click-ing! The more books are sold in French, the more my publisher will find it worthwhile to find an English publisher. Which means that my Mum will be able to understand it. Which is in fact my ultimate goal. So go forth and buy! Even if you don't understand you can decorate your coffee table with a book in French which will make you look cosmopolitan, multi-lingual, intellectual and totally au fait with French politics ahead of the most important elections in a very long time.

Brigitte



I have just turned the final page of 'J'Habite en bas de chez vous,' the story of Brigitte, who survived on the streets of Paris for two years. Even in her darkest moments, she held herself apart from those with whom she shared a pavement. It wasn't that she thought herself superior, only that she refused to follow them down the path of no return. She avoided the trap of booze, drugs or the dangerous mix of both that most sans abri use to escape their reality for a few moments. She insisted on regular showers and tried to keep herself as clean as possible. She cut her hair short and dressed in dark, heavy cover-alls to make herself unremarkable. When she could, she applied a little makeup.

Two things struck me about her story. The first was her relation with her neighbours in Place des Vosges and other passers by. She recounts many tales of amazing kindness - and others of horrible cruelty. Like the well-known (and unnamed) resident who ordered the police to rid the arches around the square of the homeless who took shelter there. While she understands his fear for his family - the eviction occured after one of them was knifed by a homeless junkie - she beseeches him for not doing more to change the system so people like her can find shelter. 'Dans la rue il y a beaucoupp des gens normaux a qui le ciel est tombe sur la tete.'

The most powerful part of her story though, is how the street transformed her. You can see it in her green eyes that peer out from the cover of her book. Passively strong without being agressive. Overcoming her situation required enormous strength. She lost the soft part of her - perhaps forever. Though she has escaped the street, it has not escaped her. She likes to sleep with the windows open, and often suffers nightmares. She says she wants to forget, but not completely. The memory keeps her on her toes, reminding her that she - like you or me - could end up in the dirt, under the stars.

Tuesday 27 March 2007

Reality Check from Scotland

Before my little sondage, I thought that all the world was talking about the French elections. Then I got this little mail....

'Really i have no idea about the election. I presumed one was happening since Chirac's step down, but without radio or tv, we are in the dark.'

Monday 26 March 2007

Flag Waving and all that...



As voters become increasingly disillusioned by the election race, presidential candidates are trying to give their electorate a boost by telling them that they should simply feel great about being French. From a country whose self introspection and depression (among many other things) inspired me to write a book, the sudden emergence of Gallic pride is a tad unsettling.

It all began with Sarkozy who sought to reap some National Front voters by promising a Ministry of Immigration and National Identity. Oo la la! Everyone immediately began accusing the son of a Hungarian immigrant of pandering to the far-right. And then suddenly Segolene plucked the flag right out from underneath him. At a March 18 rally for 4,000 local elected officials she played the French national anthem, La Marseillaise, and urged all French people to display a flag at home.
The guns from the far left came out. José Bové, the anti-capitalist farmer, accused Royal of 'trying to Americanise our country,' a sentiment echoed by the centrist Bayrou.
I could get distracted here and warble into a long rant about flags. (To be brief: football hooligans in the U.K. destroyed any pride we may have had in out Union Jack flag which is rarely seen on public buildings in the U.K. As a teenager I was taken aback by the prevelance of the French flag, and as a 20-something equally taken aback by the fondness for the American flag in the U.S.). But I'd rather focus on the important things. Why is there suddenly this renewed call for patriotism? Often when people reach out for symbols of strength, it is because they are feeling awfully insecure.

France 24


I was sipping champagne at a reception for the new British Ambassador to France, Sir Peter Westmacott, when my phone rang. It nearly tipped my glass over as I fished my phone out from the inner darkness of my Mulberry bag.
'What are you doing right now?' said F.
'I'm sipping champagne at the British Embassy,' I said, hoping to impress him.
'Great. And what are you doing in the next half an hour?'
'Er,' I said.
'Right, give me the adress and I'm sending a taxi round. France 24 want to interview you about your book.'
'But, wait, stop, um...' I bumbled. But F was insistent. He knows that I need a bit of bullying when it comes to getting around my last minute nerves. 'Great, fine, super thanks,' I said. Then went in search of some nibbles to line my stomach.
And so it was, totally unprepared and a little bit tipsy, that I did my first ever TV interview. Interviews plural I should say. In English and in French. No matter that I was filling in at the very last minute for somebody more important who dropped out. I got 30 full minutes of air time to talk about my baby in French and in English.

Sunday 25 March 2007

TV Reject

I am a TV reject. Sigh, sniffle. After two telehone interviews on my book and my views on the presidential campaign, I was invited to air my views on France 2's Sunday lunchtime show 'Un Dimanche de Campagne.' The journalist told me he liked my book, loved my accent, and would send a taxi round to pick me up. Would I mind being filmed during the make-up session? No problemo. And could I speak about the British perspective on the French campaign? Mais bien sur.... I dispatched my uncle and various friends out to the pub Friday night for sample surveys....

And then Saturday, I receieved an unintelligible call on my mobile. I called back to find out that France 2 don't want me after all. They must have found someone more important with a better accent. Sniff.
After being consoled bu Donato, I got another call from the France 2 assistant informing me that my taxi had been booked.
'But I've just been told you don't want me anymore,' I said, much to the poor man's embarassement.

So France 2 may not want me. But having gone to the trouble of doing a random UK-census of the campaign, I wouldn't want my respondents efforts to go to waste.

From The Plough pub in Appleton, near Oxford.

'From a bloke-ish perspective it has to be Segolene; add the Royal name to the good looks and she's the must-win choice. Benchmarked against Angela Merkel at the Euro-summits, she looks a winner to me. She'd charm the socks off the likes of Gordon Brown, and George Bush; on the other hand if she has to handle Hilary [Clinton], that might be tougher... Didn't Nicolas Sarkozy let slip some dodgy remarks about immigrants ? '

From a proprietaire:

'I'm certainly interested in the French political scene, partly because of our property but also because it is so different from our system. I find it astonishing that they have stuck with Chirac for so long and still allow him to behave like he's untouchable.
'I also find the constant comparisons with Blair quite amusing. Blair is now very unpopular in the UK and, whilst he's trying very hard to establish his legacy, most people don't think he's got one apart from Iraq. The French seems to have difficulty in hiding their secret admiration of our system and our national character, however hard they try.'

From a Chirac admirer:

'We are happy that the French are recognising the fact that they are no longer the centre of the universe. The Brits suffered the same fate some forty years ago.
'We will miss Chirac because it is the end of supremely confident and arrogant presidents (in the style of De Gaulle) and fear that everything which comes after will be focussed on public relations rather than clear and coherent policies.'

From Scotland:

'Here all attention is on the Scottish election, the leadership battle between Blair and Brown and the possible breaking up of UK if the SNP wins which is looking like a real possibility. i haven't seen much in the British papers at all about the French elections.'

Tuesday 20 March 2007

Segolene and La Joconde

Segolene and La Mona Lisa (known in France as La Joconde) have the same face shape, according to computer images presented by Thierry Berrod in his Canal+ documentary on political charisma. Judge for yourself.


Jose Bove's Crazy Day

Jose Bove had a very crazy Friday.
Having announced his presidential bid late in the game, Bove was reduced to a series of mad last-minute attempts to reach the quotient of 500 signatures from elected officials required of all candidates. A Cyclist was dispatched to collect a signature arriving by TGV 35 minutes before the deadline, according to Liberation. Another signature was transported by a cooperative air hostess on the flight from Marseille, the newspaper said. Once the clock had stopped, Bove could not be sure if he had reached his goal. Luckily for him, all the effort paid off and he is now officially one of the 12 wanna-be presidents.

Saturday 17 March 2007

Villepin And United Nations Dreams

It will probably remain his greatest ever moment. A proud fragment of history for France and at least a point of reference for the rest of the world. Dominique de Villepin. French Foreign Minister. At the United Nations on Valentine’s Day 2003. When he urged the U.S. to listen to an old continent which, after centuries of bloodshed, had finally learned that war is best avoided. Whose applause was muffled by American television channels, and who was pictured on the front page of the New York Post with his head replaced by that of a weasel.

Did he dream of greater things than being prime minister of France? The presence of only 15 journalists at his monthly press conference in March must have brought him down to earth. And so le dauphin this week returned to the place where he felt his greatness is still appreciated. This planet is called the U.S. In New York, according to Liberation, he met with U.S. Secretary General Ban Ki-moon and spoke about his dream of becoming a global ‘crisis manager.’
Hmmmmm. Like you did with the CPE???

The aristocratic poet finally recognised (to an American public) that he ain’t no politician. He claimed he never dreamed of becoming president and accepted the role of prime minister only to take his diplomatic instincts of serving his country to the ultimate level. So that’s why he’s still shying away from running for elected office?

The Princess Diana look



I have spent the last three hours trying to download the software I need to re-size pictures for this blog. It's probably just me, but the whole process seemed to be super complicated with a Mac. Computers and me have always had an uneasy relationship. So I gave up and found an easy peasy way to do what I wanted and it seems I didn't need the techy gizmo after all.

This picture was taken by my friend Jill who gave up most of her Saturday to try and make me look beautiful. My publisher had asked for some publicity pics, so we de-camped to the Champs de Mars on a sunny winter's morning. I proved to be a very shy model, unconfident in my smile and uncomfortable with my body. After an hour or so, Jill shot a series of three photos were my diffidence seemed to fade, replaced by a confident diva. For a minute, I was hot stuff. Only problem was that a green rubbish bin in the background detracted from my sultry look. We examined the photos to see the reason for my transformation.
'It seems to work when you tilt your head down and raise your eyes,' Jill instructed.
'Like Princess Diana,' friends said.
There followed a series of hilarious photos where I totally overdid the Diana look. This picture was snapped after Jill showed me the results of my attempted coquetishness. A model I am not. But we sure had a lot of fun.

Friday 16 March 2007

Ouch!

Eric Besson, whose love affair with the Socialist party ended on Valentine's day, is hitting back.
'I won't be voting for Segolene Royal,' he said in his book 'Who knows Madame Royal?' according to extracts published in Le Monde. 'Not in the first round, not in the second. Except, of course, if she is facing Jean-Marie Le Pen.'
Granted, his former job as the Socialists’ economics guru can't have been easy. But the party had been his life since at least 1997 when he first won a seat in parliament, and he must be carrying a lot of hurt or disillusionment to slam the door so firmly shut. Two days before he quit the party, I went to a debate organised by Ifrap where he was defending Segolene's economic program. He was tense, and referred at the outset to differences with the candidate. But he gritted his teeth, claiming the Socialists offered a better future for France than any of the their competitors. Only a few weeks later, he is claiming her campaign is 'deceitful and dangerous'
He delivers a damning insiders’ guide. He refers to the 'arbitrary' way she pledges huge sums of taxpayers money - in this example renewable energies, a commitment she backs out of just as quickly. Without consultation or debate. And she certainly didn't want to hear from Besson when he suggests her proposals were costing too much money.

Besson gave a press conference a week after he quit, and his strained face still haunts me. He was part of a campaign which he'd been gearing up to for the past five years. And suddenly he finds himself on the outside, looking in. He is imposing on the campaign in his own way, with the incredibly speedy production of a book (available March 20). But he has denied himself the rush and excitement of his team's competition for the Elysee palace.

In a much less dramatic way, I have also found myself on the sidelines. For the past week I've been watching the campaign from the outside, ever since I switched out of the politics team. And already I'm missing it.

Thursday 15 March 2007

You just have to learn the HTML code....

A friend has been teaching me how to blog. That explains the sudden appearance of my book cover and other exciting new features. If the news articles at the bottom of the page are still about Jose Bove and General Motors then it means I haven't quite mastered how to work out all the funky functions for myself.
But what a wonderful world there is out there. In my next post I hope to add a photo all by myself (although apparently I have to download a program for re-sizing pictures first...hmmm....) When it comes to collages of photos, apparently all I have to do is nick an HTML code off some other more technologically minded blogger. Until yesterday, I wasn't aware that HTML code was accessible to anyone other than real internet nerds so I may leave the fancy stuff for a while. But I now know enough to be impressed. Blogging. It's the new flower arranging.

Tuesday 13 March 2007

Youpee!

My book, which I've been gently nurturing for the last year just like a wee baby, is about to be born. And this is what she will look like. In book stores near you (if you live in France) from March 29. If you click on the cover, you can read what it's all about. It's my birthday today and I couldn't ask for a better present.

Monday 12 March 2007

Adieu Cher Jacques

And it's goodbye from him.
Last night, Chirac confirmed what most of France had been waiting to hear for a long time. At 74, he's finally decided to give someone else a shot at running France. His television address, billed as a declaration of love, was more formal than the Queen's speech.
'The moment has come for me to serve in another way,' he said solemnly. 'I won't be seeking your votes for another mandate.'
Then, without revealing who he'd prefer to continue his work, he gave a list of instructions. 'Believe in yourselves and in France.'
'Seize this new world... without ever selling our French model short.'
'There is no other country quite like France.'
Finally, he revealed stiffly that 'it's with much emotion that I speak to you tonight.'
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that. Ten minutes and it was over. No tears. No awkward questions. His stiff upper lip would have done any British politician proud.
The spectacle served only to highlight the distance between a president and his people instilled in the French model that Chirac has wholeheartedly supported. He spoke at France rather than to France, in a pre-recorded message filmed from his bolthole at the Elysee palace.
Waiting in the wings were his potential successors. TF1 showed a montage of four faces ready to react to his speech. A smiling Segolene in the top left hand corner; below her a scowling Le Pen; next to him the eager Bayrou; and above him the sacked prime minister Raffarin heaping praise on his old boss en directe from the Senate. Apart from Le Pen, who qualified Chirac as the worst French president in history, there was almost universal acclaim for Chirac's vision of France. Segolene contented herself with saying 'it's time to move to the action phase.' Bayrou, riding high in the opinion polls, typecast himself as Chirac's successor, saying what makes France's more special than any other country is that 'we have a project of society.'
Less enthusiastic was Liberation the next day. `Je vous aime, nous non plus,' proclaimed the front page, a play on a famous Serge Gainsbourg song. It's time to pack your bags Jacques....

Saturday 10 March 2007

Should journalists declare their vote?

Should journalists be honest about their political persuasion? This is the question posed by Marianne magazine this week after television presenter Alan Duhamel was suspended when comments he made in November came back to bite him. In a meeting at Sciences Po, he'd announced to a select crowd that he'll be voting Bayrou.

The debate is particularly pertienent for me. Last week I was asked to quit the politics team when my news organisation decided it would be inappropriate for me to continue due to the imminent publication of my book, 'Schizophrenie Francaise' (available in book stores near you from March 29).
It wouldn't be wise for me to debate this particular issue further in public. But let's take a wider perspective. Is it possible to be totally objective? Or should we be honest about our subjectivity and let the public decide for themselves whether our personal bias has affected our reporting.

Before I became a journalist, I considered becoming an engineer. In the scientific world, objectivity is key. At least that is what they claim. In experiments, the personal is removed to the extent that the 'I' is obliterated from the official version of events. Lab reports read: 'the glass container was placed on top of the bunsen burner.'
Later, when I studied social anthropology, I saw the social sciences try to ape this approach in a bid for respectability. The anthropologist sat on the veranda and observed what was going on around him, trying to ensure he didn't influence events. Then there was a revolution. Anthropologists realised they couldn't understand what was going on unless they became a part of it. Some of them took a look at the hard sciences and realised they aren't always as objective as they claim. The man who gave his name to the unit of energy, James Prescott Joule, was able to see the minute changes in the reaction of a liquid at different temperatures due to his personal experience watching liquids dance at his father's brewery.

But back to politics. Marianne reports that at the Figaro, Nicolas Beytout has decreed the newspaper will not back any candidate in order to temper critics wary of the right-wing sympathies of shareholder Serge Dassault, a military industralist and a UMP senator. The Express and Le Point also prefer their journalists keep their opinions to themselves. At Le Nouvel Obs, its up to the editorialists to decide whether or not to reveal their personal choice.
Marianne's editorial staff decided to announce their choices on the pretext that if a media can stake its position for or against the Iraq war, or on other issues, it would be hypocritical not to take a stance on the presidential elections. The result? Well it seems I was wrong about Bayrou. He is the candidate of choice for 36 percent of Marianne's redaction, putting him level with Segolene. Sarkozy won 2 percent. He was pictured in a cartoon declaring: 'I don't care if Marianne doesn't support me. I've got TF1.'

Thursday 8 March 2007

Is it just me, or are people fed up of politics?

Is it just me, or are the French getting jaded of the presidential election campaign?
This campaign started earlier than ever before, and articles on the candidates' latest gaffes or triumphs appear to be slipping from the front pages, at least from the news weeklies. Diversions such as the return of French rock God Michel Polnareff (who quit France before I was born: friends have promised to help me understand the emotion of his come-back) rocket onto the cover of Paris Match, where he and his much younger girlfriend are pictured embracing -- naked execpt for his trademark white shades.
And who is the lucky man lapping up all this dissatisfaction? Step forward Francois Bayrou.
This week France's third man (the phrase has become his moniker despite the fact that one of the presidential trio is a woman) hit the symbolic bar of 20 percent of voting intentions, and his star keeps on rising. In a CSA survey he polled 24 percent to Segolene's 25 percent and Sarkozy's 26 percent. The 55-year-old farmer and former teacher is presenting himself as the candidate of compromise. His government, he promises, would be based on competence and would include ministers from the left and right (getting neatly around the problem that he doesn't have enough talent within his own party).
Bayrou's success is giving his oppenents the willies. The Socialists are desperately trying to betray him as a closet right-winger and Sarkozy is wooing his former colleagues such as Simone Veil, the former minister who legalised abortion and survived Auschwitz, giving her an almost saint-like reputation in France.
The anti-establishment rhetoric is going down well with voters, if you believe the opinion polls. But I've conducted my own (admittedly much smaller and much less scientific) survey among friends and taxi drivers and I've yet to find one person who seriously sees him ensconced in the Elysee palace.

Saturday 3 March 2007

Eating Pizza

'I'm not one to ask for pity, and I know there are many worse off than me, but it is becoming painful to be counting your pennies every month and to give up many of the little pleasures in life.' This is the tale of Anne Larinier, 45, a nurse at Paris' Saint-Joseph hospitals. She tells Marianne magazine that five years ago she and her family enjoyed pizza in a restaurant once or twice a month. Today, she serves pizza at home on a Saturday night. Two years ago she gave up on her love of theatre, and the last time she went to the cinema with her husband was to see the last episode of Star Wars (Revenge of the Sith which came out in 2005).
Anne is not the only one suffering. The woes of the 'middle classes' are growing, and the magazine is full of their tales of hardship: the 33-year-old forced to live in a flat-share in a Paris suburb because he can't afford to rent on his own; the commuting postal worker whose standard of living slips each time petrol costs climb a centime. The article cites a study by Paris-I university and Paris' Ecole d'economie that shows teachers are paid 20 percent less today than in 1981 (excluding inflation). Marianne says a 'revolt of middle management' is growing as they watch the gap between them and the big bosses grow.
What the article doesn't say is why living standards are slipping. If you look at France's growth rate over the past five years, the fall off should not be so dramatic given the environment of low inflation. Can the cut in purchasing power, a key issue in the presidential campaign, be the sole fault of the 35-hour work week, which has effectively frozen people's salaries? Or is there something more sinister going on in France's economy?
On the TV chat shows, each presidential candidate promises to jiggle the social security system to ease some of the suffering they are presented with. The real question is whether they have the right fomula to turn the economy around for everyone and reverse what is percieved at least as an inexorable sense of decline.