J., a good source of amusing stories (but some of which I can't blog about), told me a story yesterday about her search for a Paris apartment. Many property-owners won't consider her because she doesn't have a permanent job contract and she has a dog.
Last week she spoke to one apartment-owner who asked her about her unusual surname, which she took when she married her Senegalese husband. "She said she'd ring me back," J. said, "but she never did."
Haha you put it on. I'm still waiting, you know. When we first were looking I was fed up of calling and got I. to call- the guy couldn't understand his accent and hung up. Welcome to France. No wonder my students couldn't understand why we didn't want a rascist fascist appearing on public paid for TV. The UK is where France was in the 80s according to one of my bright sparks, ironic when I describe Sakozy's France as being like Thatcher's Britain.
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