The Detective Tales cover for November

I have skipped this tradition in October, but I thought I would respect it before the end of November: as I do (almost) every month, it is now time to upload on this blog a cover from Detective Tales and comment on it. This is the cover from the November 1939 issue. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one is worth a million. Like the one I uploaded in November 2012, it is overly melodramatic, with three archetypal characters: the hero, the villain and the damsel in distress. The damsel in distress is about to be crushed between the wall bed and the wall, tied down to it, the villain, a somewhat thuggish yet soberly elegant looking man with a receding hairline, is being prevented from shooting (who?) by the hero, who is holding his wrist and about to punch him in the stomach. The elaborate method of execution for the blonde damsel in distress, tied down to the bed (Murphy bed, tells me Wikipedia), mixed with the ripped off red dress and the rather deep cleavage charge the scene with sadoerotic elements. Freud would have had a field day with this. I have to say, I am impressed. This is really edgy, in so many ways. I wonder if there is any plot going with it, or if this is just the artist's imagination responsible for this cover. If there is a story this image is based on, I want to read it.

La cuvée Ciné-cadeau 2014

C'est l'Avent demain, Noël arrive à grands pas, alors j'ai bien entendu regardé en détails l'horaire 2014 de Ciné-cadeau. Comme je le fais à chaque année, j'écris un billet éditorial à ce sujet. Je me demande souvent si ce n'est pas un exercice aussi futile que douloureux: la nostalgie brouille le jugement et qui regarde encore Ciné-cadeau une fois adulte? Il serait peut-être sage de laisser Ciné-cadeau aux enfants. Enfin bref, je trouve que la cuvée 2014 a un nombre important de films datant d'après 2000. Ca ne rajeunit personne. Si la filmographie s'est rajeunie, sa qualité semble avoir augmenté aussi. Parce que dans le Ciné-cadeau de mon enfance, s'il y avait des chef d'oeuvres, parmi eux beaucoup de méconnus, il y avait aussi pas mal de films au charme désuet, mais dont la qualité laissait à désirer.

Autre note aussi: s'il y a beaucoup de films français et belges, enfin francophones, il y a aussi de plus en plus de produits américains et britanniques. Où sont les films chinois, japonais, ou d'ailleurs en Europe? Je sais que je suis un nostalgique intempestif, mais c'est tout de même une des qualités du Ciné-cadeau de mon enfance (je suis dans la deuxième moitié de ma trentaine, ça vous donne une idée de l'époque): on nous ouvrait aussi sur une plus grande variété de cultures. Et, dans ses premiers temps, sur autre chose que des films d'animation (parfois) et également sur des trucs plus rock and roll, pas mal plus profonds et parfois plus traumatisants que ce à quoi l'on s'attendait de films pour enfants. Et vous, qu'en pensez-vous? Quelle est votre impression de la cuvée Ciné-cadeau 2014?

"Are you Italian?"

I was in the local Saturday market this morning and one of the stand owners asked me this. If I was Italian. I wonder why she thought I might be. She was selling beautiful children books, adaptations from old legends and fairy tales, books designed to encourage literacy ( will probably blog more about them). As I was looking for potential gifts for some children I know (my godson and his older sister, mainly) and I love these kinds of books, I spent a lot of time talking to her. In the middle of the conversation, as I was hesitating about which one to buy, she asked me that question, out of curiosity. I mean, I know people often wonder about my accent, but thinking it may be Italian is... unusual. So that was today's anecdote: I look and sound Italian to some people.

Les réserves de pâtés à la viande

Bon, je sais, je parle de bouffe deux fois de suite. Mais bon, ça fait presqu'un an que je n'ai pas blogué sur les pâtés à la viande. Et Noël approche, et plus ça approche plus c'est le temps des pâtés à la viande. Ca ne fait pas exclusivement  partie du repas de Noël, on peut en manger à l'année longue, mais c'est plus un met pour des températures froides. Et un repas de subsistance parfait quand on faim, facile à préparer, en autant qu'on ait des réserves. Au Québec, c'est le genre de met que l'on produit en masses, pour les Fêtes et après. Et enfin bref, ça me manque.

The Black Forest cake of Pâtisserie Valérie

I blogged about Black Forest cakes before. Tonight, as it is Black Friday and as I survived it, I thought about plugging a particular Black Forest cake, the one from Pâtisserie Valérie. Or, as they call themselves, "Patisserie Valerie", without any accent. But I don't like it without accent, so I write it as it should be. This particular Black Forest cake is more a slice of cake. They say it on their website. All the same, when I want to have a quick sugar fix and I am in the mood for this particular dessert, this is where I go. I have tasted better ones, but it is nevertheless an honest Black Forest cake. And sometimes this is all that is needed. Anyway, as the weekend is here, it is a tradition on Vraie Fiction to plug something delicious. So tonight, it is this slice of Black Forest cake.

Question existentielle (247)

C'est le temps du vin nouveau. J'en ai acheté une bouteille. Du Beaujolais. Un ami sur Facebook m'a dit que c'était philistin d'en boire. Alors voici ma question:

-Est-ce que c'est philistin de boire du vin nouveau?

Cuban rambling

A friend of mine texted me yesterday saying she was back from a holiday in Cuba. I replied back: "So how was your holiday in this communist paradise?" Not that I was jealous or anything, Cuba never really appealed to me, but I thought it was a funny line. Enough to be a great unknown line? I don't know for sure, but I have seen worse, so I decided it qualifies. So yes, she went to Cuba, where it is sunny, hot and communist.

I sent that text because I always found ironic that Cuba, one of the last few communist regimes in the world, at least in theory, has such an important touristic industry. And tourism that has the most capitalist, consumerist features. And sometimes its gloomiest, cynical aspects. But hey, if you want sea and sun (or the more cynical sort of tourist attractions) and are not American, you go to Cuba. I can't help it, I find it funny.

Compter les heures...

Bon, j'utilise sans gêne aucune une autre photo du Totnes Museum afin d'illustrer le propos de mon billet. Le pire, c'est que je ne parle même pas du Devon ou des horloges grand-pères. Mais les horloges ont été utilisées sur ce blogue depuis ben longtemps pour illustrer mon impatience lorsque j'attends l'arrivée de vacances. Et cette année, je devrais passer Noël au Québec. Je dis devrais, car depuis 2010, où j'ai dû passer les Fêtes ici de force, je me méfie de tout jusqu'à ce que je sois dans l'avion. Mais bon, je devrais y être. Et bien que Noël soit dans un mois (ou un peu moins), je compte déjà les heures...

Missing trains

Well, no, I did not miss any train today. But I miss certain things about them: the atmosphere of an old train station, which I have not seen in a while, the family's LGB electric train, and old fashioned steamed train travels like we had in Devon. This picture, by the way, was taken in the Totnes Museum. Since trains exist, it seems that children think they are the quintessential toy, the perfect setting for make belief games and a thing of wonder and excitement. I never get bored of trains, even as an adult. I was thinking about all these trains this morning, waiting for the banal train that I take every day for my commute. The station in this town is only a platform, there is not even a ticket machine. But it used to be a proper train station, with many platforms and railways going to every town around, not only in one single track. I thought about it as there were workmen building something in the large vacant space next to the platform. I don't know what yet. I know it is not new tracks. I know this town will probably never regain its past railway glory. Still, I do hope they will turn the platform into something closer to a proper train station. With the atmosphere coming with it.

Un renard dans la neige

C'est la Sainte-Catherine, mais je n'ai pas envie de bloguer sur ce sujet. J'ai reçu de nouvelles photos de mon père, prises dans le lot de mes oncles par des caméras de surveillances infrarouge. Dont celle de ce renard. Je sais que Vraie Fiction pourrait s'appeler "vie animale" ces temps-ci, mais on voit vraiment bien le renard, alors j'ai décidé de la télécharger dès ce soir. Suis-je le seul à aimer le renards? Il fut un temps où c'était mon animal préféré.

English fog

If this picture looks familiar to you, it is because I uploaded it before. I could not resist to use it again this year. I have been waiting a long while for it. Because November so far has been... foggy. Well, more often it was misty really, but we had a decent display of fog. In any case, the town and its surroundings gets blurry. There was a beautiful mist on my train journey to work this morning. It was not very thick, sadly not enough to make my commute longer, but it was nevertheless very atmospheric. English November is as its nicest when there is fog around. And no fog is as beautiful as English fog.

C'est arrivé près de chez nous

Des fois on se dit que rien ne se passe dans les villes perdues loin des grands centres. Genre: pas de drames, pas de grandes catastrophe, pas de crimes scabreux, pas de crimes du tout, en fait. Bien ma mère m'a raconté une histoire chicoutimienne qui est arrivée récemment: un vol à l'étalage d'un dopé aux métamphétamines, qui s'est enfui du lieu du larcin en prenant une voiture qu'il avait volée sous la menace (au couteau)... Un vol à l'étale au Canadian Tire de Place du Royaume. Qui ensuite a mené au stationnement d'Archambault. Lequel est, sans donner trop de détails, assez près de chez moi. Des voisins ont même été témoins d'une partie de la poursuite et de la capture manu militari de l'homme. À glacer le sang, à y penser. Mais qu'on ne vienne plus me dire qu'il ne se passe jamais rien au Saguenay.

Time for mulled wine

I took this picture last Thursday, in the local restaurant above the main street. It is a picture of the mulled wine I had. I truly discovered mulled wine last year, when I had this particular one, which was completely out of this world. This one was decent, but not outstanding. In the weeks coming to Christmas, I will make it one of my new poisons. Not to the point of replacing beer, especially not since wintery ales can be delicious, but there is just something about warming up with mulled wine on a cold winter night. If you have any recipe to suggest, please tell me.

Un cerf aux bois

Cette photo a été prise dans le Derbyshire. Elle a été prise dans le même sanctuaire où j'ai pris les récentes photos de hiboux téléchargées sur Vraie Fiction. J'y ai pensé en publiant ce billet. C'est une photo plus automnale qu'hivernale, et on n'était pas vraiment dans un bois, mais le chevreuil a des bois assez impressionnants (même si on les voit très mal), donc j'ai pensé la mettre ici. Surtout que l'automne et l'hiver se ressemblent en Angleterre. Et puis il y a le calembour atroce du titre, rien que pour ça, il fallait une photo pour aller avec.

Anthony Burgess, In Memoriam

Today, 21 years ago, Anthony Burgess died. Back in 1993, I discovered his writing when I first read A Clockwork Orange, after having discovered a few months before the movie. A few weeks before he died, actually. It was an epiphany for me, as I mentioned before. He quickly became my favorite writer. Some people remember what they were doing when they learned President Kennedy's death. I remember how I learned of his death: on my way to high school, picking up friends, as they were watching the midday news. I had only read one novel of him, and it already affected me deeply. Years later, I had the chance to meet his widow a few months before she died. But I digress. I often blogged about Burgess, but never commemorated his death until tonight. It was about time.

Les soirs d'hiver...

Je télécharge une chanson de Félix Leclerc ce soir, parce qu'elle gagne à être connue. Une des plus évocatrice, je crois. Les soirs d'hiver, parce que nous sommes déjà l'hiver, à tout le moins en esprit. Je crois que c'est une chanson qui porte sur la perpétuation des traditions. J'aime son petit côté subversif: le Diable y est vu comme un créateur. Enfin, j'aimerais bien en faire une analyse poussée, mais pour le moment je vous l'offre ici. Dites-moi ce que vous en pensez.

The Signal Box Cafe in Totnes

It is Saturday and I am carrying my weekend tradition of plugging a restaurant or a pub to celebrate the weekend. This one is a restaurant of another kind entirely. It is barely a restaurant, in fact: a mere cafe in a tiny, tiny room. That is not as small as a signal box of old, but nearly. It certainly feels like it. It is the Signal Box Cafe in Totnes train station. My wife and I stopped there for a quick breakfast before taking the train home. It was an honest breakfast, nothing more, but nothing less. Perfectly filling and delicious. In an original and atmospheric setting. I love traveling by train, I love the atmosphere of train stations. The Signal Box Cafe was the most fitting place for a hungry traveler to have a meal and it completed the experience of the journey.

Le Salon du livre de Montréal

Si jamais vous êtes à Montréal et que vous ne savez pas quoi faire en fin de semaine: le Salon du livre bat son plein. Ca a commencé le 19 novembre, j'aurais dû souligner. J'y suis allé une fois dans ma vie, ce qui est étrange, parce que j'adore Montréal (mon deuxième chez-moi) et sa vie littéraire. Bon, son Salon du livre, je ne l'aime pas autant que celui du Saguenay, mais quand même, faudrait pas bouder son plaisir. Parce que c'est toujours plaisant, un Salon du livre.

Christmas lights

Christmas is more than a month away, yet I think it is time to start putting ourselves in a Christmas mood. And I am not the only one. It was yesterday that the good town's people of the little town where we live. I could not see the huge crowd that gathered then, because I was rushing home. I took this picture much, much later, in a local restaurant on the first floor of the large building facing the main street. My wife was playing flute in a local orchestra. It was the first Christmas concert of the Season, which has not even truly started yet. I enjoyed it drinking mulled wine.

So it was a lovely evening. It may have been a cool (sadly not cold or snowy) grey night, the streets were virtually deserted, but even though you see little of the lights, they do bring a festive atmosphere. The picture is far from great, but it is nevertheless a lovely view.

Un chevreuil et une pomme

Cette photo a été prise dans le lot de mes oncles par l'une des caméras infrarouge. Un chevreuil qui mange l'appât. Je vais faire un aveu tout de suite: je ne sais pas s'il a survécu. Mais le chevreuil est tout mignon, et d'un, et cette photo est joliment hivernale. Elle accompagne bien celle-ci, publiée par mois il y a peu de temps. Alors j'ai pensé la publier pour hivernaliser le blogue. Et parce qu'elle est mignonne.

Odin, In Memoriam

I had to blog about it, even though it is very hard for me: a year ago tonight, my beloved cat Odin died, hit by a car. My wife and I were heartbroken. We are still grieving, if I am honest. I often blogged about my beautiful feline friend, before and after his death, and it struck me that while I have many memories of him, probably some I have not shared yet, I have less and less pictures of him. Anyway, he was our cat for a very short period of time, only a few months, but he was our cat nevertheless. You can read his eulogy here, if you do not know about him. Today is Wednesday, the day of his namesake. A fitting time for an anniversary, however sad it is.

Question existentielle (246)

C'est à nouveau le temps d'une question existentielle, encore une fois une question littéraire. Et en passant, la 245 n'a pas été répondue. Mais voici la 246:

-Quelle est la meilleure librairie indépendante de Montréal?

Christoph Waltz as Blofeld?

I have blogged about a year ago about the possibility of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, the nemesis of James Bond, to return haunting the British secret agent in future movies. Well, it seems that I may have my wish, at least according to the latest rumors about the production of Bond 24. Austrian actor Christoph Waltz has been apparently been cast in the movie, says the Daily Mail. And the role may be the villain of the movie and it may be Blofeld.

Now, Blofeld has been rumored to come back for a good while now, so it may be only that, the latest trend to an old non-story. But it would make sense to have Waltz in the role and I would love to see him in it. First, because like Blofeld, he is a bit of a chameleon: his face could look like the one of a wise, benevolent father figure (as in Django Unchained) or someone far more sinister, cold, efficient, lethal. He also has a face that could look a bit like Blofeld's in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, both aristocratic and malevolent even when amiable. While he is a bit older than Bond's nemesis, Christoph Ganz has about the same age and he is noticeably older than Daniel Craig, like Blofeld is older than Bond. While their respective nationalities are different: Waltz being Austrian and Blofeld Polish, Blofeld does have mixed blood and some of it is Germanic, at least this is what he claims in the novels. His name is Germanic.

So Christoph Waltz has the right look, the right background and more importantly the right acting skills. I am trying not to get too excited about the possibility, because there is truly very little evidence at this point, and far too much speculation. Still, if he plays the villain, it is a great casting choice. And he would be perfect for Blofeld.

Le pommier enneigé

Voici une photo du pommier familial sous la neige. Enfin, un des pommiers familiaux. Parce qu'il a neigé au Saguenay et partout sur le Québec. L'hiver là bas est bien arrivé. Première pensée qui m'est venue à l'esprit: les chanceux. Je veux de la neige. Ma seconde pensée: autant de pommes sont restées sur le pommier? À croire que mon père veut faire du cidre de glace. Ah oui, incidemment cette photo est une nature morte.

The owl of KANUK

Today, I am inspired about the changing seasons, as you can feel winter coming and autumn almost already gone. So I am shamelessly plugging a Quebec product, or rather its label.I have mentioned before, a couple of times, my KANUK coats. I have two: one for winter in Québec, a black one, the Coyote, and one lighter one, but which is perfect for mid-seasons and most of winter here in the UK, called the... Well, I have no idea: my father gave it to me as it didn't suit him.

What I love about Kanuk, apart from being quality clothes, is the label: the golden owl you can see on the picture. Kanuk has a bit of a bad reputation sometimes, partially because of its owl, which is very noticeable. So it has been accused to be a snobbish brand, too Montreal-centrist, too fashionable, too everything. But it keeps warm and it looks good, so I don't care. And I love the owl. Which is maybe a snowy owl. It looks like one anyway. In any case, it reminds me of home every time I wear it and makes me feel less homesick.

Message d'intérêt public

Tout d'abord, la photo du mois c'est par là. Mais ce n'est pas mon message d'intérêt public. Je voulais parler d'un récent billet du Pharmachien à propos de la vaccination. Il y dénonce de manière polie mais néanmoins mordante (c'est ce que j'aime das ses billets) le sensationnalisme de certains médias qui souvent essaient de donner une crédibilité à l'hostilité hystérique d'une partie de la population envers la vaccination. Il a écrit un autre excellent billet au sujet des vaccins par le passé. Je le recommande aussi.

How time flies

A terrible cliché for a title, but I could not find anything better. Yesterday, the daughter of one of my best friends and the big sister of my godson joined Facebook. At 13. I remember holding her in my arms when she was a newborn. It is partially because she was so fond of me that I became the godfather of her brother. The other reason is that I have known their parents since my time in cégep, when they started dating. And now their older daughter is on Facebook. This was my moment of Memento Mori recently. Nevertheless, I am glad I can get in touch with her more often.

Voir la vie en rose (la photo du mois)

C'est le moment de la photo du mois, le thème est "voir la vie en rose", choisie par Arwen. Ca a été d'une simplicité désarmante à trouver: cette photo d'Odin sur la couverture à pique-nique. Parce qu'Odin était un chat noir qui avait l'air d'une petite panthère, comme tous les chats noirs. Parce qu'il y a une panthère rose. Parce qu'il est sur cette photo sur quelque chose de rose. Et surtout parce que lorsqu'Odin était vivant, il nous faisait voir la vie en rose, tout noir qu'il était. C'est la seconde fois que j'utilise Odin pour la photo du mois. À chaque fois, il s'est imposé d'emblée.

Vous pouvez voir comment/quand les autres voient la vie en rose aux liens suivants:

A'icha, Agathe, Agnès, Agrippine, Akaieric, Alban, Alexinparis, Angélique, Ann, Anne, Arwen, Aude, Autour de Cia, Ava, Bestofava, BiGBuGS, Blogoth67, Blue Edel, Brindille, Calamonique, Cara, CetO, Champagne, Chat bleu, Chloé, Christophe, Cocazzz, Crearine, Cricriyom from Paris, Cécile - Une quadra, Cécile Atch'oum, Céline in Paris, Dame Skarlette, DelphineF, Destination Montréal, Dr. CaSo, E, El Padawan, Estelle, Eurydice, Eva INside-EXpat, Fanfan Raccoon, François le Niçois, Frédéric, Gilsoub, Giselle 43, Gizeh, Guillaume, hibiscus, Homeos-tasie, Isa de fromSide2Side, Isa ToutSimplement, Isaquarel, Josette, Josiane, Julia, Kenza, KK-huète En Bretannie, Krn, La Dum, La Fille de l'Air, La Nantaise à Paris, Lau* des montagnes, Laulinea, Laurent Nicolas, Laurie, Lavandine, Lavandine83, Les bonheurs d'Anne & Alex, Les Filles du Web, Louisianne, Loulou, Luckasetmoi, Lyonelk, magda627, Mahlyn, Mamysoren, Maria Graphia, Marie, Marion, Marmotte, MauriceMonAmour, Memories from anywhere, Milla la galerie, Mimireliton, MissCarole, Morgane Byloos Photography, Nanouk, Nicky, Philae, Photo Tuto, Pilisi, Pixeline, princesse Emalia, Renepaulhenry, Rythme Indigo, Sailortoshyo, Salon de Thé, Sandrine, Sylvie, Tambour Major, Tataflo, Testinaute, Thalie, Tuxana, Vanilla, Woocares, Xoliv', Yvette la Chouette.

Movember?

Early this month, a colleague told me: "Lots of people are doing Movember this year, why don't you join in?" I ask her why. She said: "Well, you look like you could grow a mustache easily." It is true that I had forgotten to shave the night before and that my facial hairs grow easily. Like ridiculously easily. Like it is weed. I knew I would be asked to do it sooner or later. But I replied: "I could grow a beard just as easily, and I'd rather have a beard." Which is true, and it deserves to become a great unknown line. It was my way to dodge Movember yet again. Not that I don't think the cause is bad: cancer is a terrible disease and men's cancers are not enough talked about. Cancer has hurt many members of my family and many loved ones. But like the ice bucket challenge, I often find the cause obscured by the event. And I don't think that growing a mustache would really be playing a part. I give, within my means, to many cancer charities, especially Cancer Research UK. I give money to them and I buy in their charity shops. And I find it more efficient that growing a mustache. Oh and on a side note I hate the thing.

Un souvenir à propos d'un cheval

J'ai pris cette photo au Totnes Museum. Je la télécharge parce que comme je le dis souvent, elle illustre mon propos. On avait des chevaux à bascule mes frères et moi, mais ce n'est pas à eux que je pense. Mon plus jeune frère avait un cheval à roulettes qu'il affectionnait particulièrement, allez savoir pourquoi. C'était un truc en plastique rouge qui était un peu plus petit qu'un tricycle. Or un jour, un autre enfant, un peu plus vieux que lui et plus jeune que moi, lui prit son cheval à roulettes. C'était un petit gros brutal, enfant gâté, qui aimait intimider les plus jeunes. Nous le détestions cordialement. Il avait pris le cheval de force parce qu'il en avait un semblable.

Enfin bref, mon frère avait été dévasté de ce qui lui était arrivé, tant pour la perte du cheval que de la façon dont ça s'était passé. Un jour que le petit gros et sa famille étaient partis, alors qu'on jouait dans l'arrière-cour d'un ami qui restait juste à côté, mon frère avait vu le cheval dans l'arrière-cour du petit gros, abandonné là, et il l'avais pris à bras-le corp pour le ramener chez nous, déclarant: "Je vais ramener le cheval qu'il m'a volé!" En grand frère protecteur, je lui ai fait déposer le cheval sur le sol, pour qu'il puisse rouler jusqu'à chez nous. Je me rappelle m'être senti comme un héros. Un héros terrifié que les méchants n'arrivent au mauvais moment, terrifié aussi d'être pris pour un cambrioleur, mais je sentais que nous avions la justice de notre côté. Et depuis ce jour, à chaque fois que je vois un cheval à bascule ou à roulettes, je pense à ça.

Autre détail pour terminer cette anecdote: j'ai revu le petit gros des années plus tard, au mariage d'un ami commun. Il n'était plus aussi obèse, mais il demeurait gras et, même s'il était plus jeune que moi de quelques années, il souffrait déjà de calvitie. Et je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de me rappeler la petite brute épaisse de mon enfance, et de voir son cuir pas très chevelu, ça m'a comme fait plaisir. Ah, schadenfreude!

RIP Warren Clarke

I learned that Warren Clarke died today. I did not know right away who he was, then it struck me: he played Dim in A Clockwork Orange. One of my favourite movies. So in his honour, as an homage, I uploaded two scenes from the movie. He played the fat one. As you can hear Funeral of Queen Mary (the movie take), it is a fitting tribute. Warren Clarke plays the fat one. A stupid ruffian, grunting and chuckling, but talking very little, and when he does, he does like a cruel child. Horrible person, memorable character. Warning: the second scene is very violent.

Question existentielle (245)

On va trouver que je blogue surtout sur le mois de novembre en novembre, mais qu'importe, voici une question existentielle que je crois (j'espère) inédite:

-Que lire en novembre?

Clementime!

I know, I know, what a lousy word play, and not even a new one: I used it two years ago. But, it is this time of year when clementines are available. The fruit that is my main source of vitamins C until Christmas. I love clementines, everything about them really. It is one of the few things I look forward to about November, the thing that makes me forget of the greyness and austerity of this dreary month, it makes me patient until the holidays, which I consider clementines to be one of its earliest signs. I love the color and its smell, it has something both soothing and energizing. Oh and its taste! Nothing can beat it. I bought this box at Marks & Spencer. More for the look it would have on the blog than anything else: there are not many clementines in it. In Montreal, I used to buy proper wooden boxes full of them.

Un mardi comme un autre

C'était le Jour du Souvenir aujourd'hui. On le commémore beaucoup ici, enfin surtout le dimanche. À la onzième heure, j'étais au travail comme d'habitude et je n'ai même pas songé à la minute de silence, même si j'avais le droit de l'observer. Et je n'ai même pas porté de coquelicot (parce que). Alors voilà, c'était un mardi comme un autre. Même si nous sommes le centième anniversaire de la Première guerre mondiale. J'ai un peu honte de dire que c'était un mardi comme un autre.

The world's sexiest criminal?

I know I may be reporting old news, but soon she will be in court, on the 17th of November, so this is in fact still very new. I am referring to Stéphanie Beaudoin, a cat burglar from Québec, who was dubbed "the world's sexiest criminal" by tabloids around the globe, among them the Daily Mail. Which is where I learned about her. A trashy right wing tabloid from the UK. She is, in essence, a real-life Catwoman. But from Victoriaville, Québec. And, behind the glamour shots that made her famous through social medias, she is a far more sinister than Catwoman: not only is she accused of 42 acts of breaking and entering, but she also owned illegal firearms.

That said, I must confess I have a certain fascination for the woman. Not pride, even though she is from Québec. I do not have twisted pride for home grown criminals, however good looking and famous they can be. But she is a character that belongs to crime fiction. Not merely a creature of the social medias who revealed her, but the embodiment of the archetype of the femme fatale. There is the bikini shot of course, but also the one where she is holding a machine gun, in a short dress and wearing jewelry and glasses. Elegant yet deadly. An artist would draw a female character like that, I would deem it cliché. Even her appearance going to court, with the glasses, confirms her status as a femme fatale icon: she is a bit of a chameleon, not unlike another famous cat burglar. And well, it is fascinating. I do not find crime sexy, yet I love crime news like a sucker and find it source of inspiration for crime fiction, where crime can be sexy, in a cathartic way.

Goüri Glogenflobish

Nous sommes lundi, c'est donc pour vous faire oublier le premier jour de la semaine que je vous présente un autre clip de Taquinons la planète. De l'humour absurde de François Pérusse, qui collaborait à l'émission. C'était un mariage plutôt réussi avec les Bleu Poudre, mais je ne sais toujours pas pourquoi je trouve Goüri Globenflobish si drôle.

The poppy and the needle

This is a trivial post about a non trivial subject. For something more thoughtful, you might want to read this post from 2008. Today is/was Remembrance Day. It is actually Remembrance Sunday, as it is Sunday. And like most years, while I had a poppy, I did not wear it. I know I should, but at some point something happens and I lose it or it drops or out of frustration I stop wearing it. It is very simple really: it is all the needle's fault. Every year, I buy a poppy, sometimes more as I lose the first one, then I struggle to put it on. I am rubbish with that darn needle: it does not hold the paper poppy very well, or at all, then it does not stay on me anyway. So the needle ends up prickling my skin and letting the red flower go. They should invent something else to hold it, some pegs or something of the sort. So my respect towards the sacrifices of a dead generation is thwarted by a stupid needle and my own clumsiness.

Un harfang des neiges

Cette photo a été prise lors de notre fin de semaine dans le Derbyshire, dans un sanctuaire de loutres et de hiboux et chouettes. C'est bien entendu un harfang des neiges, ou ookpik comme le disent les Inuits. Incidemment, c'est notre emblème aviaire. Je le télécharge ce soir, outre par fierté québécoise parce que c'est un très bel oiseau prédateur, mais parce que c'est un hibou hivernal et que je sens l'hiver arriver de plus en plus. Il neige à certains endroits au Québec, me suis-je laissé dire. Comme ce blogue prend les couleurs des saisons, le plumage neigeux (ça se dit?) et hivernal du ookpik illustrerait parfaitement mon état d'esprit.

Fireworks

As I am typing this, there are fireworks outside. As you may know, fireworks displays do not start and end on Bonfire Night/Guy Fawkes Night in the UK. They can usually be seen and heard during the whole month of November, or at least during the beginning of it, and in the few days before as well. It does get tiresome, but at least it gives the month a certain character it does not have anywhere else. To be honest, I am not the biggest fan of fireworks. As a child, nothing impressed me more, but not so much as an adult. As I said here, I much prefer the bonfire on Bonfire Night. What I love most now about fireworks is the smell of smoke in the cold night. There is just something about it.

Un nouveau dessert pour Prof Solitaire

Mon confrère blogueur Prof Solitaire a recommencé la guerre de la food porn que l'on avait entamée il y avait quelques mois, alors je me venge ce soir avec cette photo d'un mousse chocolat et cassis, achetée dans une pâtisserie locale. La différence avec ce qu'il blogue, c'est que moi je l'ai achetée et en ai mangé, de cette mousse. Juste pour retourner le fer dans la plaie... Avouez que je suis sans pitié aucune. Machiavélique et sanguinaire, c'est ma devise. Essaie de battre ça, PS.

Welsh rarebit

The Brits will easily identify the dish on this picture, Welsh rarebit, which is one of the great, great gastronomical discoveries I've made in my years in this country. I know it is only a glorified grilled cheese sandwich, but it is delicious all the same, especially on a cold day, like it was then and like it is now. This particular Welsh rarebit was ordered by my wife in the No Car Cafe in the middle of nowhere in Derbyshire, where we went the first weekend of October to visit her childhood friend and her husband. I made the mistake to order something else, a bagel with smoked salmon. Which was not bad, for a not-Montreal bagel, but I should have stuck with what the Brits do best. Anyway, as it is the weekend and it is a tradition on this blog to plug a dish from somewhere, here is the Welsh rarebit she had. If you visit this country, I recommend that you try it at least once.

Le loup, le renard et la belette

Je sais, je sais, la chanson s'appelle La jument de Michao, mais pour moi c'est Le loup, le renard et la belette. C'est bien breton, bien celtique et bien néo-trad et bien saisonnier. Bref, j'adore. Alors j'ai décidé de la télécharger ici, interprété par Tri Yann (connais pas). Je me trompe ou c'est une chanson absolument brillante? Je sais pas pourquoi, mais je le trouve.

On Bonfire Night

I am back from Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night, which I care little about usually. I spend it at home more often than none, but my wife convinced me to go (mainly because it was held at the school where she works). And I was surprised to enjoy myself quite a lot. Fireworks were late and it was short, but maybe when it happens in midweek, it is the way to do it. Anyway, what I love most about Bonfire Night is not the fireworks, but actually the bonfire. I LOVE bonfires, the smell of fire in the November night. Simply priceless. It makes me enjoy November, which is not small feast. There was one disappointment: I usually have Roasted Nuts on Guy Fawkes Night, which is one of my favourite beers down this side of the world. Sadly, they had already sold out when I went. So instead, I settled for mulled wine. My first mulled wine of the year. So not all was lost.

Le pont racoleur

Je tenais à bloguer sur cette décision stupide du gouvernement conservateur de changer le nom du nouveau pont Champlain en... Pont Maurice Richard. Je dis stupide, mais c'est pire que ça: c'est cynique et démagogue. Et pas rien qu'un peu. Ca me met vraiment en colère. Toutes proportions gardées, Champlain a eu une importance bien plus grande dans l'existence même du Québec que Maurice Richard, malgré toute l'admiration que je dois à ce dernier. Et un pont montréalais devrait rendre hommage à l'un des fondateurs du Québec, pas à son enfant chéri, aussi chéri soit-il. La caricature de Chapleau montre bien à quel point cette idée est grotesque.

"I create as I speak"

You know the Arameic word for it. Yes, you really do: it is abracadabra, as I learned recently. Etimologically, abracadabra means, more or less, "I create as I speak". This is the word of the day... Or the night. I know, I know, it is Bonfire Night, but I can't be bothered to blog about it. Maybe tomorrow, when I will have something about the night. So anyway, abracadabra. I never bothered wondering what it meant, I always thought it was like "mumbo jumbo". And now, knowing its meaning... I kind of like it. I create as I speak is what we do when one writes fiction... or blogs. Like I am doing now.

Humour sacré

J'ai vu ce gag sur la page d'une amie facebook (la mère de mon filleul, pour ne pas la nommer. Je dois dire que c'est tordant. Mieux: c'est blasphématoire. J'ai un faible pour l'humour blasphématoire, parce que lorsqu'il est bien fait il déboulonne les lieux communs bondieusards. J'ai par conséquent décidé de le partager ici.

Acting nostalgia

It struck me tonight: four year ago yesterday, I had my first acting class in England in a long time. I had written my first impression on acting again the next evening in a post that was thus written... four years ago tonight. And I miss it. I went to acting classes for a few months, then after the second course was completed, I stopped, because they were not offered anymore. I bumped into my former my teacher at random last year in Waitrose. A year ago or thereabout, actually. It seems to be the time for reminiscence. We live in the same town, yet we never bumped into each other. Anyway, I did not have time to speak to her for very long, neither did she, she was with two demanding (but very cute) daughters. I don't remember what she said she was doing, if she said anything. I also looked for some productions here and acting courses, I could not find any course and no amateur production that interested me enough. Maybe I am too demanding. All the same, tonight I miss acting. It made me feel active, gave me something else to do, gave me a social life. It was simply great.

Le s'quatre novembre au soir

On est le quatre novembre au soir. Et les Québécois de ma génération vont se rappeler ce clip des Bleu Poudre. Tiré de Taquinons la Planète. Ah, le Québec des années 90! L'humour absurde à son meilleur. Un classique des Bleu Poudre, mais il doivent ce gag au français laborieux de Jean Chrétien.

The best macaroni and cheese

I recently blogged about the very best macaroni and cheese I ever had, in a French post, which had a lot of success. Ironically enough, it was a success among my English readers. It is a recipe from a Rose Elliot book, my wife is quite fond of her cooking. As it is the first Monday of November, thus a doubly dreary Monday, I thought I would plug again the macaroni and cheese and give the recipe, a courtesy of my wife, who wrote it all in a blog comment last time. The secret is, I think, the capers and especially the Dijon mustard. They really make the recipe stand out. Anyway, here it is:

350g macaroni
3 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons plain flour
1 pint of milk
150g boursin cheese with herbs & garlic or black pepper (optional)
1-2 heaped teaspoons of Dijon mustard
2-3 tablespoons of capers
250 g strong cheddar cheese, grated
Freshly grated nutmeg
250g cherry tomatoes, halved
Salt and pepper
1. Cook pasta

2. Put olive oil in another pan, add the flour. Stir for a minute or two, until smooth, then add milk, a quarter at a time, whisking after each addition to make a thick sauce.

3. Remove from heat, and add the Boursin, cheddar (leaving a handful), mustard, capers – and then the cooked, drained macaroni.

4. Season with grated nutmeg, salt and pepper, then gently stir in the cherry tomatoes.

5. Put it into baking dish, adding cheddar over top. Cook for 30 mins at gas mark 6/200 C until bubbly and golden.

Ralentir le rythme

J'ai pris cette photo au Totnes Museum lors de mes dernières vacances dans le Devon. Je l'ai choisie parce que ça illustre mon propos et parce que c'est une jolie photo. De l'encre, une plume et du nécessaire pour écrire. Tout simplement pour dire que je vais ralentir le rythme un peu pour bloguer. Pour aucune raison particulière: avec novembre je manque toujours un peu d'inspiration. Et au lieu d'angoisser sur le syndrome de la page blanche, comme je le fais à chaque novembre, je préfère attendre d'être inspiré.

A missed evening with Fabian Perez?

Last week, I have received from an art gallery an official invitation, with an admission ticket to make it even more official, to go to a new exhibition by Fabian Perez. Later on, I even received a voice message on my mobile from the art gallery, asking me to confirm. I have not replied yet. Because I am afraid that I cannot be there that evening. For a very good reason: it is my wife's birthday and thus we planned something else. Of course, we could just change the plan, go there and I could buy to my wife one of his paintings as a birthday present. Except for one thing: however I love his work, I don't think I can afford any painting by Fabian Perez. And even if I could, my wife does not like his paintings nearly as much as I do, so that would be like paying myself a present, thus very selfish.

So instead I will visit the gallery at another time, when there is less pressure to buy and I won't be shamed as a cheap skate art lover in front of the maestro. I still have the internet to shamelessly download images of his paintings and shamelessly share them on my blog. This one of Champagne glasses, something I would see at the exhibition. Although the one and only time I went there, it was Prosecco that was offered.As for meeting Fabian Perez and talking to him, there will be other occasions.

Un champignon

La photo a été prise par ma cousine Amy, la photographe. Avec sa permission, j'ai décidé de la télécharger (avec sa permission) comme première photo officielle de novembre sur ce blogue. Je crois que le champignon sur la photo est une sorte d'amanite. Un champignon vénéneux. J'ai déjà blogué à propos de ma relation conflictuelle et de ma fascination pour les champignons. Pour moi, ils sont une des manifestations de l'automne et comme c'est encore l'automne, je le télécharge ici. C'est aussi une photo superbe.

The blues after Halloween

Well, today we are All Saint's Day, first day of November. Which means Halloween is over. Of course, like many of my readers, I am struck with post-Halloween blues. Like every year. I am happy with how Halloween 2014 turned out, overall, I managed to read a lot of scary stories and watch a few horror movies too. I also prepared Samhain from the end of August onwards, to enjoy it fully. If you read the posts from October, you see that I was also prolific and obsessed about it. I was inspired. And the funny thing is, I lacked time: I had far more posts about Halloween in me. It will have to wait until next year. Now I need to exorcize the season. November is a long month, I will need to vary topics a bit. But I might not be as prolific. I will need, in any case, to get rid of the post Halloween blues.

Je suis l'océan Pacifique et je suis le plus grand

"Je suis l'océan Pacifique et je suis le plus grand. On m'appelle ainsi depuis très longtemps, mais ce n'est pas vrai que je suis toujours pacifique. Je me fâche parfois, et alors je donne une raclée à tous et à tout. Aujourd'hui par exemple, je viens de me calmer mais hier, je dois avoir tout raflé sur trois ou quatre îles et autant de coquilles de noix que les hommes appellent bateaux... Celle-ci... Oui, celle que vous voyez ici, je ne sais pas comment elle a pu s'en sortir. C'est peut-être pârce que le capitaine Raspoutine connaît son métier et que ses marins viennent des îles Fidji. Ou bien parce qu'ils ont fait un pacte avec le Diable. Mais cela n'a pas d'importance, aujourd'hui c'est Tarowean, le jour des surprises, le jour de tous les Saints, le 1er novemvre 1913"

Ce que je cite plus haut est le début de La ballade de la mer salée d'Hugo Pratt, première aventure de Corto Maltese (où il n'y était alors qu'un personnage parmi tant d'autres). Je le cite parce que nous sommes la Toussaint. Fête qui marque l'arrivée de novembre et que je n'aime pas. J'ai déjà blogué à ce sujet. La Toussaint est trop austère, trop religieuse, trop tout. Mais cette citation, je l'aime beaucoup. Pratt était un écrivain à part entière. Et c'est peut-être jusqu'ici la seule allusion littéraire à la Toussaint que j'aie lue et que j'aime vraiment. Alors j'ai songé commencer le mois avec elle.