Rue Rude is another one of those blogs that seem to have been going since the dawn of time.
It hasn’t really, because the dawn of time was really rather a long time ago but…
… it has been going since September 2004, which is also rather a long time ago.
I remember being entranced by Sedulia Scott’s blog when I first came across it. I then lost touch and have only managed to re-discover it all over again (a lovely process, let me tell you!) a few months ago.
Some things, like wine, mature with age but I have to say that Rue Rude came out of the bottle really rather drinkable, even when it was a young fruity blog.
So, how fruity is it?
Well, there is an article about a Nudist Countess if that sort of thing tickles your fancy.
Then again, in Saturday in Paris, a lingerie wearing cow (also wearing lipstick and high-heels – mustn’t forget that), manages to share a post with racist hooligan football fans. Now, that’s clever, that is!
And, smelling a bit fruity to me, My Favourite European Signs makes me wonder if I should start calling my study A Wax Room?
And what’s all that stuff about A Giant Pink Condom all about (I really didn’t know they made them that big? I suppose I’ve led a sheltered life….)
Interesting bits that you wouldn’t expect to find on a blog like this….
Gossip and True Stories about Husbands and Wives….
Now, I don’t like to gossip but….
Did you hear about The Neglected Wife? The poor mare.
Or what about The Bigamist?
And should we feel sorry for The 75 year old Daddy?
We should certainly feel sorry for the strict woman’s husband in Cheese Rolling.
After all, I would have thought that it is every Frenchman’s right to roll in some delicious, runny Vacherin cheese!
Beggars and Saints….
In Would you have a coin?, Sedulia asks “What is going on in this country?”
She explains… (and I’ll use her words here)
That evening in my own neighborhood, as I was running a hasty errand late in the afternoon, a thin-cheeked, fair-haired woman in an old but expensive loden coat (the aristo uniform) approached me as if to ask for directions. She was ten years older than I am and spoke with the bourgeois accent of the neighborhood, so softly I could almost not hear her.
“Madame– auriez-vous un pièce, c’est pour manger?”
Shocked, I took out my coin purse and shook it out into her hand, apologizing for the small amount. I’ve never seen someone like her begging before. It looked as if it were harder for her than it would be for me.
What is going on in this country?
One person who knew exactly what was going on was the Abbé Pierre and in her elegy to him, Sedulia shows what a feisty man the good Abbé was.
Onwards to the dining room…..
So, as it’s time to eat, let’s head over to the dining room to find out what happens when The Waiter Spills…
Or what happens to Sedulia when, in another restaurant, she can’t finish her fish (and I still have visions of the waiter explaining to the kitchen staff that… “the fish was too thick!”)
Even though there are no posts about Citroen 2CVs, I was delighted to discover… Warning, long post: The old concierge.
And the warning should really read… “will play with your emotions!” rather than “long post!”
I seem to be getting rather lucky with finding longer posts on blogs recently. Secretly, I think I want to print them out and paste them onto the wall – some posts can be read over and over again!
There’s an awful lot to get your teeth into on Rue Rude and I would seriously recommend a visit or two (there’s probably too much to devour in one sitting.)
The humour is nicely balanced by a wry, but not too sentimental, look at modern life in Paris; the only dog poop that gets mentioned is the one that the concierge slips on in the lost post described above.
And there’s not even a whisper about Johnny Halliday!
But don’t let that put you off; Rue Rude is worth the investment in time – you can always skip the bits that are set in the US or Germany, if you want to. Having said that, they’re pretty damn interesting as well!
And me? Well, I’m going to see The Principle Who Hates Children. She sounds like a teacher I used to have when I was eight or none years old.
And, to be honest, the constant beatings; the standing naked up to my neck in the village pond for the whole of December and the six months I had a dead rat tied to my head (amongst the many other punishments that I’m sure I deserved), haven’t affected me in the slightest – in fact, they’ve made me the man I now am!
If nothing else it taught me that You can get used to anything!
All the best
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