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Wednesday, July 21, 2004


The two big French pop chanteurs of late 1960s France were Johnny Halliday and Jacques Dutronc.

Both seem to have made into the movies with aplomb.

Halliday has now totally lost his golden pretty boy looks and makes a damn'd good villain, as in L'Homme du Train.

And last night I watched Merci pour le Chocolat with the utterly beguiling Isabelle Huppert and JD as her concert pianist husband. It doesn't actually go anywhere, which is Chabrol's forte, but the pace and language is pure joy to chug along with and Huppert's freckles and clean features distract from anything else going on at the time.

During my time in Tours, I virtually lived with a blonde Welsh girl (galloise, as the locals called her) and our sex life also chugged along quite nicely. One night, feeling my ardour waning, I conjured up the image of the aloof Ms Huppert and found myself instantly afire with uncharacteristic vigour and ferocity. When it was over and breath caught, Wendy said "Gosh, who were you thinking of?"

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