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Putain de merde! Writing 2020 off of my shoulders
The last week of the year is normally a time of reflection for me as it probably is for many people across the globe. At the end of 2020, I vowed not to. Because… why? What was the point? What could I possibly reflect upon more than what I had already demanded of myself, or screamed into my own ears, or lie curled up in a ball worrying about? With the festive season safely behind us and both feet firmly planted into the new year – that’s 2021 in case you were wondering – it’s probably time to write the traumatic experience that was 2020, off of me, and to regain a sense of hope and even a sense of humour about it all. After all… aren’t people going through so much worse on any given day and what the hell do I have to be so sad about? Well. …
Business opportunity!
Actual image of portion of our stockIf you are looking to set up a business in France, this could be the opportunity for you. Due to impending retirement we are selling our stock of 15,000+ second-hand books in English. The stock includes everything from classics, novels and bestsellers, biographies and memoirs, self-help, cookbooks, children’s books etc. Note: the image left is a portion of the actual stock. The shop has been open since 2015 and is currently based in an outbuilding on our property. For further info, please do not hesitate to contact Cindy via email – cindy.allen@hotmail.fr Until then, it’s business as usual and everybody is welcome to browse and purchase books! (Please note: the main image is generic and not representative of the inventory that is for sale.)Share this Post
Choosing a Kiss. A memoir of racism in the life of a naïve immigrant
Since the murder of George Floyd, I have been painfully aware that blacking out my profile against racism is easy. Finding words to help in the fight, not so much. But give me a minute, I have a life-story to tell. I remember well the first Algerian family that moved into my grandmother’s neighborhood in the city. I must have been around 10 or 11 and could not understand why everybody called them “Turks”. They were not from Turkey. They were Algerian. The blanket term to cover all Middle Eastern and African families that moved in after the EU opened its borders was my earliest confrontation with racism. Born in ’69, I grew up quite sheltered in the Flanders countryside. I was a shy kid, but also curious. While the people … ‘some people’ … around me grumbled and spat about the influx of migrants in our little country, I …