Having found an old copy of the "New Yorker" and read this evening Julian Barnes' review of Michel Houellebecq's latest, "Platform," (well it was his latest back then) I am inclined--while it's "open season" on the French--(particularly the Proustian penchant for long sentences and subordinate clauses; doesn't W wish they had a word for "penchant") to repeat the eurojoke that Barnes quotes. "A British delegate to some E.U. committee outlines his country's proposals, which, being British, are typically pragmatic, sensible and detailed. The French delegate reflects noddingly on them for a considerable period of time, before delivering judgment: "Well, I can see that the plan will work in practice, but will it work in theory?" I realize that it's not fair to write in Franglais without translation. Thus: Absolutment correct, les euromecs. Laissez passer plus de soixante pourcent de chansons immigrants, et sur comme les oeufs sont les oeufs, avant que vous pourriez dire "Jack Robinson," le lasagne et chips, toute la boufe anglaise, vous tombera dessus comme le loup sur le fold. Quite right, chums. Allow in more than sixty percent of foreign songs and, as sure as eggs is [are] eggs, before you can say "Jack Robinson," lasagne and chips, all the rubbish that the English eat, will fall upon you like the wolf upon the fold. David Ritchie Portland, Oregon ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html