Peter Mayle (itis)
Every so often it's important to take a good long hard look at myself in the mirror. Sticking my tongue out I take a close inspection, arghhhhhhh, wider. The mouth snaps shut and I let out a sigh of relief. 'It's okay' I say to no-one in particular, 'I'm showing no signs of PeterMayleitis.
This is a condition that if not recognised can linger without the sufferer being aware that they stick out like a sore thumb, indeed the carrier feels no pain or ill affects whatsoever, they simply make everyone around them feel sick. After note: carriers are usually of English origin. Effortlessly fanning the flames of this malaise are the constant churning out of articles usually entitled La France Profonde. Now I would be the first one to admit to penning 'hammock type moment' posts leaving readers dreamy and hungry after reading juicy descriptions that can occur in the leisurely environment of the French countryside but then, (shock horror) I'm selling a product, and, dare I say it, I sell it extremely well and everyone is happy but then it's a slice of life you are getting not the whole loaf, so to speak.
Luxurious lingering on cosy scenes of bustling markets piled high with fat saucissons and tables groaning with fresh oozing cheeses indeed exist but the reality is different, you just need the sense and sensitivity to recognise it. I recite my general views on life out loud to His Lordship whilst sitting propped up in bed this morning staring out at the startling blue sky, darling little fluffy white clouds prettily bobbing past whilst the snow on the Pyrenees twinkled prettily. Or rather I sipped my lukewarm tea merely out of politeness rather than pleasure and stared at the blank dreary skyline of endless grey clouds and grumbled I couldn't see any sign of sun.
After demanding a fresh pot of tea I continue my outline for my views on life in general, we scan the latest global news. His Lordship places his cup down firmly. 'You simply can't write that' he says.
'One day I will' I say.
One day I will and there won't be a single solitary crumb of detail left out.
Comments
l find that incomers to my village have some very odd ideas about country life which seems to be based upon the imagination of Thomas Hardy.
xxx
PS Rose-tinted spectacles on or off, you always tell it beautifully, Sally. x
But yes, do spill the beans sometime.
Should this site be
labeled "Sally's Ruse" instead of "Sally's Chateau"? gasp!
Such a decision on your part - to wrestle with the feeling of responsibility to enlighten your readers (and possible boarders)or keep us pleasantly disillusioned...
I vote for the amusement factor....
I find the expats in my village "plus catholiques que le pape." Their pronouncements on the best chèvre, wine, local restaurant, affairs of the mairie are without appeal. Many still speak level 1 French after years of residence and those who do better carry on with an English lilt which is barely comprehensible to the uninitiated.
All mean well and have convinced themselves they love France because if they don't then they must have made a terrible mistake leaving home in the first place.
Many places are endowed with an unreal sense of adventure and romance; you wouldn't believe the rubbish I have heard about San Francisco!
Fiction or non-, please put them each on the platter.
I usually do not put excess sparkle in what I write about my city, usually because I just cannot write that well, just stick to reporting the facts.
xo
I think my pet hate is the phrase: 'You're so lucky to live here!' as if you have been transported with no choice or effort on your part....
In fact, I think it matters little which hat you wear- its the sense of self and place that exudes from your writing that keeps us all spellbound.
I have to say, maybe I'm an oddball, but I thought Peter Mayle was very off-putting - particularly if you were ever likely to need builders or plumbers!
t.x