I’m not kissing you, I’m sick, I said to my neighbor the other day on the stairs, viruses are hanging around town and countryside at the start of autumn. The region is coughing. Like French finances. Our debt is at record highs.
Our debt? Is it really ours, this thing that everyone is talking about, this chronic cold which reaches 110,000 euros per person who works? And yes, in fact, it’s for our pear, our apple and our wow scoubidous…
So my neighbor invited me to have a spirit at her house, the best medicine she said. Between the pear and the cheese, she hoped that the first to tighten their belts would be those who had gorged themselves for years. Question of guts. The problem is that those who are in the habit of filling their stomachs are also the ones who talk about miracle diets without ever getting around to it. Should the pear be cut in half? Half for us and the other for those who did nothing to stop it from growing, Our debt…
Because, what is the solution before bankruptcy? Who will actually pay? I too have debts, my neighbor told me… A bill at my fruit and vegetable merchant, if I tell him that I will pay it in ten years, same day, same time, same apple, and in the meantime I’m going to have a kilo of potatoes again before the beans run out, I’m not sure he’ll bring out his old pear to celebrate… What’s certain is that France must now keep a pear for thirst.
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