1.0WordPresshttps://lire-ecouter-voir.comElodiehttps://lire-ecouter-voir.com/index.php/author/admin8220/rich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="SPfrf45CeQ"><a href="https://lire-ecouter-voir.com/index.php/2008/03/26/281/">A Year in the merde</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="https://lire-ecouter-voir.com/index.php/2008/03/26/281/embed/#?secret=SPfrf45CeQ" width="600" height="338" title="“A Year in the merde” — WordPress" data-secret="SPfrf45CeQ" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script type="text/javascript"> /* <![CDATA[ */ /*! This file is auto-generated */ !function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document); //# sourceURL=https://lire-ecouter-voir.com/wp-includes/js/wp-embed.min.js /* ]]> */ </script> de Stephen Clarke Ou les galères d’un expat à Paris. Paul West, malgré les bons conseils d’un ami, décide de travailler en France. Recruté dans une entreprise de viande, VianDiffusion, celui-ci doit développer une chaîne de salons de thé (of course !). Rien de bien difficile … Et pourtant à peine arrivé, Paul doit s’adapter très vite : l’année commence en septembre et non en janvier, oui les collègues se font la bise (entre femmes, femmes et hommes mais attention pas entre hommes), un directeur peut dire “tu” alors que son employé lui dira “vous”, et oui, Paris est la ville des chiens tenant tête aux autres capitales avec ses 650 accidents annuels dans les rues aux trottoirs minés … Parachuté au milieu qu’une équipe bredouillant à qui mieux-mieux anglais, Paul doit se livrer à de quotidiennes séances de décryptage de nos us et coutumes. Totalement immergé dans le monde du travail, il se retrouve confronté à des méthodes de management fortement différentes du modèle anglo-saxon :  dur dur de s’acclimater quand en effet une réunion = une décision en Angleterre, alors que notre chère contrée semble rongée par la réunionite aïgue… Goups … Voilà un titre et une couverture qui ne laissent pas indifférents … Mais il serait dommage de passer à côté de ce livre et de le rejeter d’un bloc pour cette seule et unique raison. A Year In The Merde dresse un portrait un brin caustique mais surtout humoristique de notre cher pays et de sa capitale: nos jolis défauts et nos problèmes franço-français y sont dépeints sous un oeil interloqué mais affectueux. Jubilatoire. Pour les non-anglophones et tous ceux que la lecture en V.O rebutent (1) le roman a été traduit en français “God save la France” … Mes morceaux choisis : Où un ami bienveillant l’alerte sur ce vers quoi il s’engage : “My good friend Chris told me not to come to France. Great lifestyle, he said, great food and totally unpolitically correct women with great underwear. But, he warned me, the French are hell to live with.[…] His theory was that the French are like the woman scorned. Back in 1940 they tried to tell us they loved us, but we laughed at their accents and their big-nosed Général de Gaulle, and ever since we’ve done nothing but poison them with our disgusting food and try to wipe the French language off the face of the Earth. That’s why they built refugee camps yards from the Eurotunnel entrance and refuse to eat our beef years after it was declared safe. It’s permanent payback time, he said. Don’t go there. Sorry, I told him, I’ve got to go and check out that underwear.” Où Paul West découvre les joies de la grève … à la française : “The Paris transport workers went on strike. And what was this strike about ? Job cuts ? Safety standards ? No. The unions were furious that the government had been rumoured to be thinking about considering the possibility of maybe looking into the purely theoretical concept that it might one day (not now but in, say, 80 years’ time) be less able to pay for transport workers to retire at 50. Wow, I told myself, let’s go to the transport company HQ this very instant to get a job application form. Dammit, though, I couldn’t get there – there was a transport strike.” Où il est important de distinguer Casino et casino … Eh oui à l’oreille la différence ne s’entend pas et pourtant dans l’assiette ! ” Instead of heading all the way back into Trou, we stopped off at Monsieur Augème’s house and I dashed through the rain with a map to ask him whether there was a country auberge nearby. […]He wasn’t too sure about auberges, but finally prodded at a town a few kilometres west and said that we could get a meal at the casino there.[…] “What did he suggest ?” Alexa asked when I got back in the car and began dripping all over her. “You’ll see. It’ll be a surprise.” It was there, I think, that I learned my lesson about the nature of mixed-race male-female relations in a post-feminist world. It was this : don’t promise anything as a surprise unless you yourself are 100% sure that the surprise will be pleasant. […] Alexa would have known that we were almost certainly not headed for a casino. We were headed for a Casino. That is, a branch of supermarket chain called Casino, which, in its larger stores, often has a cafeteria.” (1) Dommage!  vous raterez le fameux British sense of humour tellement croustillant in English … I’m fond of it ! A voir ! Site officiel de Stephen Clarke : http://www.stephenclarkewriter.com A Year In The Merde Stephen Clarke Black Swan 382 pages. 10.10€. ISBN : 0-552-15307-9http://localhost:8888/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/AYearInTheMerde.jpg