Dishing the Dirt

Readers may be wondering about the joint family. When I started the blog I decided that it was enough for the poor dears to be genetically tied to a dotty old Doris, without the humiliation of appearing as walk ons in my world famous ramblings. All parents manage to embarrass their kids - you know the disco dancing and the odd kitchen fumble or worse! Well what are breakfast bars for? And once it's washing up time where else can you be sure of being unchaperoned by brats?  Just imagine having a gushing purple proseoid as a mother. All six are fully sensible souls who have no wish to flit the gilded gamut of frills that is the realm of the romantic scribbler. My own parents were so embarrassing that even to this day I can't speak of them. Let's just raise the issue of silk loin cloths, inappropriate naturism and unexpected visits of school friends. Ah well......


So returning to the issue of family, I've always thought how terrible it must be for the family of all those caught up in public scandal. When I was about 25 I realised that I didn't know anything. One of the remedies was to install French TV in the house using money we didn't have. These days you can navigate in Europe by looking at the satellite dishes.....they all point more or less South towards planet Murdoch (for les anglais) and to planet Astra 1 for les français. By the way, if you're planning to move to France and have an old Sky box and mini dish it'll work fine. You get them for a song on e bay and you can get all the UK freeview channels. Gilles can advise on fitting it. When he gets out his tools he's a man on a mission.


Anyway - having put in this massive dish system I started to watch only French TV.( My then husband became a long distance lorry driver.) One of my favourite shows was 'Sept sur Sept' which was on a Sunday night and hosted by Anne Sinclair. Every week she interviewed a politico or celeb. I recall Silvio Berlusconi on one programme. He talked in excellent French about the great European project. Not once did he invite the impossibly blue eyed Ms Sinclair to a bunga-bunga party. I just sat there repeating what they said and thumbing through my dictionary while the kids waited for their dinner. All these years later she has turned up as the wife of DSK, who is awaiting trial in New York for an alleged sexual assault on a hotel maid. What ever the truth of it my heart goes out to her. She is rich and still beautiful but utterly helpless while an uncaring world cries "La boue sucks." Gedddit?


Emma x
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