Lucont - What We French Think of You British: ... And Where You Are Going Wrong

Marcel Lucont describes himself as a flneur, raconteur and bon viveur. He has attracted a cult following on the international comedy scene with his trademark sardonic musings, his sharp wit and his louche poetry. Winner of the Buxton Fringe Award 2009 for Best Comedy Individual and the Three Weeks Editors Choice Award at Edinburgh 2008, he considers himself the best French comedian on the UK circuit today.

www.marcellucont.com

This e-book published in 2011

Printed edition first published in 2011 by New Holland Publishers (UK) Ltd

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Text copyright 2011 Alexis Dubus

Photography/image copyright 2011 New Holland with the exception of the following: Alamy: p. (Ronny Stephan).

Copyright 2011 New Holland Publishers (UK) Ltd

Alexis Dubus has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.

ISBN 978-1-84773-825-7 (Print)

ISBN 978-1-78009116-7 (ePub)

ISBN 978-1-78009-117-4 (Pdf)

Publisher: Aruna Vasudevan

Senior Editor: Charlotte Macey

Senior Production Controller: Melanie Dowland

Design and illustration: Colin Hall www.typefunction.co.uk

I can only imagine how excited you must be to hold this book in your hand. This, my first book in the English language. A book, appropriately, about Britain, and its myriad wrongs. If you, reader, are British, expect to face some home truths. They may be ugly, but trust me, I am holding up this verbal mirror to your ruddied faces only to help you to better yourselves.

You are welcome.

It contains observations, suggestions, poetry and pictorials. There may also be, in the spirit of Proust, lengthy sentences which, just as you think they are about to end, continue, ever-evolving, as a Frenchmans stream of thought has a tendency to do, flowing calmly and intellectually through an undulating sea of existential postulation, moral dichotomy and social examination, perhaps to some logical conclusion, perhaps (as is more often the case), to a wider ocean of possibility, upon which a new horizon rests, stretching sublimely to infinity.

Do not fear these sentences. If you have read this far, already you have a greater span of concentration than most Britons, and are worthy of this book. Well done.

When you have finished the book, wrap it in fabric, place it in a brass tin and store it as far underground as you can dig before it inevitably begins to rain. It is a limited edition. Everything is. Including you.

Yes, apologies for this spoiler, but eventually every one of us will die. Therefore, you may as well spend your time engaged in wholesome pursuits, such as reading this book in its entirety.

And why am I passing this valuable information on to you, perhaps you ask?

For the money and adoration, mainly, but also to help curb the troubling advance of American culture on your isle. Yes, in the American style they have removed their Bush, but at this stage it is like keeping a dog inside only after it has defecated on every neighbours lawn, mauled several children and fucked everybodys leg. And invaded Iraq.Ah, but now we have Mr Obama, they say. America is cool again. I say, it depends how one defines cool. I say, whose president is fucking a supermodel?

Anyway, I will now wind down this introduction to allow you to enjoy the main thrust of the book. This is your book enjoy it, obey it, tell others about it. If you are living in Britain, it is the least you deserve.

This is my first full book in this language, so the English may not be entirely perfect, but neither are you.

A large amount of this book was written in the nude.

Plus a change

Born: Roubaix, France, 1979

Occupation: flneur, raconteur, bon viveur

Marital status: adulterer

Hair: dark brown

Eyes: dark green

Appearance: dark, handsome

Religious view: existential nihilism

Favourite type of woman: twins

Marcel Lucont is easily the finest French raconteur and entertainer working in England today. If you dont believe this, simply ask him yourself. As a self-published, self-award-winning author in his native France, to be published in England is really quite an honour, for you British.

Marcel began life in Roubaix, Northern France, in the traditional way as a boy. Raised by his father, Grard, and his various lovers over the years, he never truly knew his mother, who left in Marcels early years, never to return. Raised at a time when smoking was compulsory in France, Marcel was a natural and by the age of nine could roll a cigarette with one hand while writing poetry with the other.

Despite poor attendance at school and college, Marcel still managed to achieve extraordinarily high grades, due to a combination of reading in his spare time, extra-curricular assistance from some of the younger female members of staff and generally being better than everyone else.

plus est la mme chose

Eventually evicted by his father, due to heated arguments over the theft of cigarettes, alcohol and partners, Marcel moved to Paris to study philosophy at the Sorbonne, where his enormous talents as a performer were also realized.

Performances of his now legendary controversial cabaret shows would regularly sell out almost instantly, often featuring biting satire, classic chansons, nudity, animals and live fireworks.

Sadly, Marcels university career was ended prematurely, in 2001, after an incident involving a rogue firework, a cat and a stripper. Unable to persuade the university otherwise, even using philosophy, bribery and seduction, Marcel was forced back to Roubaix, heavily in debt and wanted dead by various animal protection groups and a pimp.

A year later, Marcels father suffered a fatal heart attack while in bed with his third wife. This came as a shock to the entire town, especially his fourth wife. A speech by Marcel at the funeral involving the phrase la petite mort