Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Is That A Brioche In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me …?

Tell me this: why do Parisien boulangeries staff their businesses with fat girls who exude abject misery?

A new day arrives as the sun slips free of the horizon, my heart fills with hope and positive energy pumps through the system. I pop into my local bakers to buy a 'sablé rasin' or 'croissant au beurre', only to be met by a forlorn-looking dollop with a face like a slapped arse.

At 8.30 of a morning, the shelves are already loaded up with delicious tarts, cakes and breads. Chocolate covered, fruit encrusted, hand crafted edible works of art. And just who have they employed to tempt you into buying their wares? I swear I didn't see any flinching in the facial muscle department - no lip movement, no smile, just a muffled well-practised ventriloquist delivery emanating from within: "mmm-jour".

It's a bit like having Victor Meldrew show you round Santa's Grotto ...



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