Dave Fermann

Quatre tables et pas un sucrier.
-"Jasmine, pourquoi faut-il toujours que tu planques le sucre?" grogne Dave.
-"Parce que j'aime entre le soleil dans votre voix Mr Fermann" répond la jeune serveuse en souriant, "qu'est ce qui se passe ? On croirait que Jocelyne Bachelot vient de te demander en mariage".
Un léger sourire glisse sur le visage marbré de l'homme. Sa peau brune et ses yeux vifs en trompent beaucoup, les laissant sous-estimer son avancement sur l'échelle du temps.
-"Tu sais qu'une nouvelle planète a été découverte la semaine dernière? Pluton ils l'ont appelé. On découvre des nouvelles planètes comme de champignons en automne mais moi je peux pas trouver un sucrier dans ton café!" argue-t-il. Jasmine remue ses cheveux clairs en s'amusant. Elle fait tourner son tablier bleu vers le comptoir et récupère un petit pot blanc qu'elle pose devant lui.
-"Et la vrai raison de ton humeur oncle Dave?"
-"On m'envoye à Boudeville la semaine prochaine". Il ne lui en dira pas plus, elle ne posera pas d'autres questions.
-"Je garderai Sol ne t'inquiètes pas" le rassure-t-elle. Elle se dirige vers une autre table ou deux étudiants attendent de commander.
Dave ouvre le rapport annoté "Confidentiel" posé devant lui. Il l'a déjà lu plusieurs fois et quelque chose le perturbe. Non seulement il va devoir laisser Marc en charge de l'agence, il devra aussi faire le boulot d'un autre responsable dans un bled qu'il ne connait pas. Ça n'est pas la première fois. Autre chose le chiffonne. Il décide de faire confiance à son intuition et referme le dossier. Ses yeux font le tour du café à moitié rempli. Jasmine nettoie des tasses derrière le comptoir. Des dizaines de photos sont accrochées sur le mur. Des clients, la famille, des amis. Il remarque une photo prise alors qu'il l'avait emmené camper il y a quelques mois. Il est assis à la table du petit déjeuner, son journal à la main. A ses pieds, Sol guette avec espoir la nourriture qu'il aimerait chaparder.
-"Toi aussi tu aimes le camping, n'est-ce pas Sol?". Le chien allongé sous la table se redresse et glisse sa tête sous la main de son maitre qui le tapote doucement. "Ça ne sera pas long mon ami, on retourne camper bientôt promis". Dave fait un signe à Jasmin qui apporte l'addition. Il fixe les nombres plusieurs instants puis rouvre la section médicale du dossier. Le taux de sucre moyen des habitants de Boudeville est très en dessous de la moyenne nationale. Il tourne les pages du dossier mais aucune cause environnementale ne semble l'expliquer. "Il y a quelque chose de différent dans leur comportement" conclu-t-il. Ça ne suffit pas à expliquer qu’on lui demander d’aller surveiller Boudeville. Clairement, cette histoire de sucre ne s’arrête pas là. Dave masse le haut de son nez ou des lunettes marquent la plus part des hommes de son âge.
-"Mon cher Sol, voilà qui est de mauvaise augure pour mon café".



Et voici l'intitulé de l'exercise:
Le récit se passe dans une cafétéria  pendant la prohibition (1920-1933). Le personnage principal est âgé de  45 ans, il se nomme Dave Fermann, son activité principale: responsable d'une agence de surveillance. Il faut savoir que ce personnage  est intuitif et que son passe-temps favori est le camping sauvage avec son chien. Le thème principal de cette histoire est: Doit se rendre la semaine prochaine dans un village où les gens ont des comportements bizares.

Happy New Year

Another year has ended, it's time to look back on 2013. Here are some of my "highlights".

My rugby shoes are on fire!

January:
Three touches. That's three left for a try. We need to score. I wish I could score for a change. Simon touches an Italian player. They start running backwards. Mathew throws himself between the lines and breaks them. He keeps running. I start running after him hoping the Italians won't catch up with us. We are reaching the line. Mat throws the ball at me and I crush it on the ground. Score!


February:
London in winter. Pedestrian hurrying from a door to another. Happy to leave the cold outside and enjoy the warmth of a pub. The big screens are out. It's the Six nations. At the end of the tournament, the Welsh are ecstatic. The French, bringing home the wooden spoon, are not. Italy is 4th in front of Ireland and France, that's something.

The devise I wore 3 months to keep my jaw in place

March:
They broke my jaw. They broke my jaw and now my guinea pigs are laughing at me. "Look at her cheeks" they say, "she's one of us now" would say Mitsu. "Like her stupid laugh wasn't enough" would add Tira.
I try to recognise myself in the mirror but I can't. The bandages I wear all around my swollen face make me look like an Easter egg. It doesn't hurt but I feel down. I wish I could hear reassuring words but there is no one here to tell me I'm beautiful. Only my mum and that's probably worst. 

 April:
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit". The priest has just poured the water over the little boy's head. His blue eyes are piercing through the church's roof. We come out, say hello to a few late people and head to the beautiful mansion for tea. Children are playing around, some angels, some evils. My oldest friends are standing, talking, walking, drinking. I feel good around them. I worry for some of them, sometimes. The little boy finally goes to bed. It's already late on the clock and still so early in his life.

May:
Back in the game! The surgeon gave me the green light to play the tournament. After few months without exercising I'm not a great asset to the team but it's good to be back. I make up at the 3rd half. We win, we celebrate. Chairs are banging, drinks are flooding, songs are sung loudly and badly. We are winning the party.

June:
Happy birthday me. I fly to Brittany.  The land of our enemies and some of my best friends. I am a godmother again. Sea, sex and sun. 

Brittany - Baie de St Malo.

July:
Oh Normandy, you are my home country
In Normandy, we are very apple friendly
People are so jolly, we never feel chilly
I always feel comfy in the warmth of my family
Everybody loves Normandy,  it's the place to be happy

August:

Boat on the Riviera

Tourists tourists. Who wants a tourist?  5 euros for the red German! 5 euros for the drunk English! 5 euros for the over tanned Italian! 5 euros for the bling bling Russian! Come, they're all here on the Riviera, blocking your driveway, giving an excuse to your local bar to double their prices, creating a human wall between you and the sea, turning the shop owners into rude bouncers. Come in August on the Riviera, you'll love to hate it.

September: 
Satuday morning/ Afternoon: *excited* E la nave va. Week-end on the boat, yeeeaaahh! I love boats. Sea sick? No worries I never get sea sick!
Evening: *brainless* oups I forgot I do get migraines...well, that's was fun being alone on the top desk while the other are having fun inside...
Night: *zombie* it pours! Why is my pillow turning into a washing mitt? (I'm so out I don't realise the window over my head is not fully closed)
Morning/ Afternoon : *doutbfull* It's so windy, I still feel rough from last night. Will I survive this?
Evening: *confused* I'm off the boat, why do I still feel like I'm on the boat?
Monday: *masochist* Colleague "Did you have a good time on the boat?" Me "I did, I love boats!!"

Octobre:

My horse mate

The horse experience sounds very much like the boat revival: I love horse, let's go horse riding in the beautiful Mercantour. Oh my, the size of those teeth! *scared* Ouch sore bottom. Ok let's not walk too close to the edge *scared*. I shan't be scared, horses can feel that *not scared but not relaxed*. Ouch my arse is killing me I need to get off this horse. Once off: I love it! *masochist*

Once I can feel my bottom again, I sit in a plane and fly off to Stratford Upon Avon. Lovely to walk on Shakespeare's steps. Well his and his wife's, daughter's, son in law's, cousin's, the plumber's, the wife of the plumber's cousin. Hold on, whose house is that again? Has Shakespeare actually been here?

Bye bye rainy London, hello sunny Madrid (I know it's easy but so true...). It looks like the Spanish government has employed my friend in a plot to kill the French visitor by overfeeding them. You thought it couldn't be done? Well it can, and it was!

Novembre:
I knew going out with an Irish and a Kiwi would be dangerous. I'm hangover and tired. Sitting in a plane to Sydney. Oh Australia, so beautiful, so surprising and your inhabitants, so helpful and friendly.
The blue moutains, Uluru, Alice Springs, Cairns, the great barrier, the rain forest, the lava tubes, Gold Coast, Byron bay, Brisbane, Surfer's paradise, Sydney. What a trip!
I'll tell you more "soon".

Moreton Island

December:
Australians really understand how to live. I want to relax and simply enjoy the ride, forever.
But I won't live here. For better and worst I am European and couldn't live anywhere else.  It's time to go home.
A stop by the South of France just to be remembered that it will be never be my home but that's fine, I've just been told that I'm moving back to the UK. Hop in a train for a cold Christmas in Normandy. Do you want another beautiful poem about it?