I came across this book in the motherland Mrs. Turnbull. I immediately said, like it could be fun to see what Australians perceive the French, their feelings on arriving in the country. But then, this nice little lady comes in the middle of a wildlife I have NEVER encountered as French. I do not know where the deuce she fell, but she describes here a universe far from what could be a little French, if we really want to summarize the French. However at least it is far from the usual clichés. Here we find ourselves in the evenings pinches in mansions amid designer handbags, drinking champagne in contemplating the navel and pending any trollop. I, who was expecting a laugh or at least smile, finding a book in the same spirit as "a year in the shit", I bored farm. By closing this book, I wanted to do was invite the author to a barbecue with pastis, baguette and sausage, a shame that hates me all these clichés. I lent the book to Australian friends who have lived in France, just to see if it was the famous French bad faith that alter my judgment! The verdict was without appeal, even worse than mine.
