Ratatouille not on strike...

The character from the American blockbuster Ratatouille has suddenly entered my life, not in the cinema but on one very real evening this week. There I was, going for my second glass of beaujolais nouveau, a type of french wine that is snubbed by wine connaisseurs but generally adored by the wider pubic to the point that its release on the third Thursday of November, becomes the reason for a nationwide party. Falling prey to the inability to really distinguish between the good wines and their less sophisticated brothers, I happen to love Beaujolais, for its uncomplicated taste and lack of the acidic aftertaste of the bordeau and other known french wines. So it's at this critical point where my head was getting comfortably fuzzy grace à the second glass of this substance, which almost made me forget the prospect of having walk across Paris to get to the office the following day, that I saw Ratatouille.

But before I tell you more about my personal encounter with Ratatouille, I can't resist the opportunity to weigh in with a few cents on the french transport strike - I think it might also help put this episode in the context. And in case you are not the unlucky parisien or parisienne having to put on your walking shoes or try to sneak out of your bed to chain one of the public bikes so no bastard neighbour contemplates to snab away your only means of getting to the office - we the unlucky parisians, have been faced with a general strike of all the transport workers. The interesting feature of this strike, I must note, is not that there are no minimum service requirements on the subway, nor the sight of people virtually falling onto the rail tracks while a much awaited 45 min late train finally emerges out of the abyss, but its very unpredictability.

We simply do not know whether there is a general paralysis or just a cardiac arrest. As one subway worker explained to me when I dared to inquire in the morning about my prospects of getting home at night, "mais, ce sont des grevists, madame, bien sûr on ne sait pas s'ils viennent ou pas!" which translates into something close to "of course those who want to strike don't tell us about it in advance!". Ah oui? I guess I should have figured out the perverted logic there. It's not enough to strike, for maximum effect, lets keep it a secret from all those stupid people who will insist on perpetuating the mean capitalistic structure of our society. Voila! The next blow to capitalism in France is that the general strike of french transport workers has now turned into something of a national complaint campaign, with every organised labour group protesting against some perceived injustice and even the non-labour movements such as students finding related reasons to smash windows and walk around the streets of Paris, screaming populist slogans.

It is in this general context and I as was comfortably starting to forget the episode of having to high jack a cab to get back from the office and the less-than-comforting prospective of having to do the same on the following day, that my friend says 'est-ce une souris?'. for a moment there, I misunderstood the question, but when I turned around I saw a little grey mouse not any less daring than in Ratatouille.

As I am writing this, I am not sure what is more embarrassing, the fact that I still go to see children's cartoons or the fact that I go to bars which puts to shame Darrell's 'My family and other animals'. So, in all my naivete, I get up and summon our waiter to explain himself. Result: no one moves and I am starting to raise my tone. Finally, the neighbouring table, who, I might add, is having dinner and not just drinking wine like us, explains: 'ils savent, mais ils s'en foutent', which translates to something like 'they know, but they dont really give a !)%£!!'. Ok, clearly. Finally, the waiter slowly moves towards our table, realising that this wierd one (me), is not about to shut it, and explains in what must be one of the most 'convincing' explanations in the world: He comes here from time when it's cold outside, he is not dangerous, it's ok. oh really? HE does?!!!! So this is it, apparently, the general closure of the subway is having an impact on the local mice population, who are cold, figure it, and are coming over to have some Beaujolais as well. I think this will become my benchmark for all the illogical explanations to come...