Rue Cler on a crisp, cold, sunny morning, and tout le monde is abuzz with – what else? - the marriage of Sarko and Carla, who quickly tied the knot yesterday morning at 11am at the Elysées. Rumor has it that the bride wore white, although the grapevine is also whispering about pregnancy tests and visits to the American Hospital.
Caught up with an acquaintance who works high-level at Societé Génerale, says the weakened bank is facing a bitter takeover, perhaps from BNP who didn’t get hit as hard from the sub-prime scandal. That would make it doubly harsh given that the players degenerated to name-calling a few years ago; “pauvre con” was one insult exchanged.
Suddenly the space in front of the café is crowded, and the chat level rises a bit as French justice minister Rachida Dati passes through. Shaking hands, flashing her brilliant smile, greeting friends at the next table, she leaves brochures describing what she’ll do for the 7th arrondissement if she is elected mayor next month.
And what is happening in Italy? How did Prodi lose his grasp, and why oh why is Berlusconi being given a chance to lead again?
Meanwhile my ex from down south, who was running for councillor in the Agde area, calls to say the fisc has caught up with him and he is likely to become a clochard in the next few days. Sigh.
So here I sit at a café terrace with my chocolat chaud, while he and others struggle to stay warm; disgusted with my job, but grateful for it nonetheless; wishing I could afford to buy a nice apartment, but able to rent a decent one. “Live for today” is the slogan I grew up with, but “watch out for tomorrow” is what I’m hearing from my peers today. Without being foolish, should I concentrate on quality of life or quantity of security? History teaches us cynicism, religion preaches hope, in the end the only thing that is sure is change. I guess I’ll just do the usual Libran balancing act, put off life-changing decisions until politics and prices turn to my advantage!
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