Le Soulier d’une Vie

(The Shoe of a Lifetime) A French Arthouse film

In a small, forgotten quarter of Paris, an unremarkable alley harbours a peculiar sight: a solitary shoe resting atop a weathered bin. This seemingly mundane object becomes the focal point of a poetic journey in Le Soulier d’une Vie.

As the seasons change, we witness fleeting moments from the lives of the residents who cross paths with the shoe. There’s Élodie, a dancer grappling with the loss of her passion; Pierre, an aging baker reminiscing about his long-lost love; and Léon, a young boy with an unyielding curiosity. The shoe, a silent witness, absorbs their dreams, secrets, and sorrows.

Through a tapestry of vignettes, the film delves into themes of impermanence, connection, and the beauty found in the mundane. Shot with a delicate hand and a lyrical eye, Le Soulier d’une Vie is a melancholic, yet hopeful reflection on the fragments of life that unite us all.

Log burner controversy

The modern world is one of tolerance and equality, of partnerships and collaboration, and of diversity and open-mindedness. It is a world that many have come to loathe given how different it seems from the pre-twentieth century landscape we all grew up in. I personally am still in two minds about whether it’s gotten better or worse because if I was to side with the latter then I would be throwing myself into the great rubbish tip of cancellation. If I pine for the days of cheap petrol, lad culture and “cool Britannia” (bleugh!) from the 1990s then surely I’m a racist?

Well, no, I wouldn’t be because that’s bonkers but you have to be careful as to what you say and do, especially here on the internet. One false word and my reputation (?) would be in tatters. Consider me? Consider me not, thank you. All this cancellation culture comes from a lack of tolerance, but what I will not tolerate is blatant sexism of the highest order masquerading as a cosy forum for people to interact in.

Recently Vikki was, presumably, looking up things to do with log burners what with us getting one with the house and winter practically dossing around our respective doorsteps. She happened upon this and sent it to me:

A female only group? Chatting about log burners? One which I am unable to participate in because of my gender? Outrageous! Surely this is a hate crime. If you can’t advertise for gender-specific jobs then you shouldn’t be able to advertise FILTH such as this. I’m sure there are hundreds, nay, thousands of male-only groups where they’re all out there discussing the highs and lows of using a log burner, but I don’t want in on them. I want to see the other side of the coin; I want the female perspective and I can’t because I’m a man.

Am I wrong to want to be part of something that has nothing whatsoever to do with me?

Not at all. Let me in!

2024 State of the Beans Address

Good morning. Thank you for joining me. It’s wonderful that so many of you have made the journey to be with us today here at the Hollywood Bowl. My name is His Holiness The Honourable Sergeant-Major Professor Lord Sir Elbert Louche, KBE, QC (Retired). I hope you agree that the trip to Los Angeles has been worth it, and I’d like to confirm at the outset that we are unable to reimburse your air fares.

Disappointment squared

What does disappointment look like to you? Is it a flaccid (easy now) aubergine that hasn’t managed to grow fully in your allotment? Is it a shiny new 50p coin with a huge dent in the edge? Is it learning that Claire Richards from Steps is coming back with a new solo album? It comes in many shapes and forms and sadly there is no escaping the silky, wet glove that is disappointment.

I recently went on a ship and sailed to a different part of the world. It was excellent all the time (whispers, “all the time”) and even though I must have eaten twice my weight in steak and burgers a good holiday was had by all. The ship was swimming in luxury. If you wanted to sit in a hot tub all day sipping champagne and eating tiny desserts you could. If you wanted to go to their cinema and watch four films back to back you could. If you wanted to watch a questionable stage production by one time flatmate of Robbie Williams, Jonathan Wilkes, then you could (the only time we went to the theatre was on the last day when we were leaving and there was no more time for japes).

Families with children were also catered for on a higher level. In addition to the various play rooms and activities there were pools, swimming pools, pools with pizza stations next to them and some kind of sports facility on the very top deck. I would have investigated however we all know I am allergic to 85% of sports in the general population. Did I mention the pools? They even had a night time nursery service so if you wanted to leave little Billy with a responsible adult so you could go get shit-faced in the bar and then return around 1am to pick him up then you could. You really, really could.

As two adults with no small people there was little chance that we could take advantage of any of these facilities. Not that we wanted to but, hey, nobody likes being left out. When the holiday was being booked there was the hint made by the company that some celebrities who would be onboard for a meet and greet. I heard ‘Wallace’ and ‘Gromit’ and I knew that I had to get involved in this kind of action. For four days there was no mention of them anywhere in the leaflets they left outside your day to inform you about the daily activities going on. Nothing whatsoever. Finally on Wednesday morning, cowering towards the bottom and wedged between something called ‘Jukebox Hero’ and ‘Pilates’, was the following:

“Wallace & Gromit Special Appearance – A special appearance from Wallace and Gromit. Come and say hello to the cheese-loving inventor and his faithful four-legged friend.”

We had to go. There was no way we could miss such an event as this. The queue was very long and started snaking through the whole of the atrium; clearly this was a big event for all. We decided to keep back and watch from afar rather than getting too close. Our location meant we could see everything. Like a couple of divas they were ten minutes late. What then happened can only be… well it needs… look at the damn photo:

Not even two people in suits. We’ve got a fully-sized Wallace and a tiny Gromit that he can fully pick up with one hand, no doubt sewn to his hand because he never put him down. I don’t know if the organisers of this even have ever seen ‘Wallace and Gromit’ but they’re fairly even in height due to the latter walking on his hind legs for a lot of the time. The kids that were hugging and posing for photos were fine with the arrangement; not a single one asked to speak to the manager or had some quiet words with a member of staff. It was clear that we were in the minority so we slipped away and discussed our respective disappointment over coffee and cake.

Newsboost – When the mash hits the fan

Plans were unveiled today that will shape the face of mash for the future.

While it is unlikely that there would ever be a shortage, experts today have explained the plan that will be implemented should the worst ever happen. It has taken six months for the problems to be ironed out. We spoke with demi-goth soothsayer Wordell Numbstruck.

“The most agonising part was the font size,” explains Wordell, “as we had a split divide between those wanting to use size 11 font and those who preferred size 12. For an entire month neither side would budge and it was only when some bright spark decided to order in two dozen Danish pastries did the lines of communication open once more. That was a good day.

“We were originally going to use a kind of Doomsday clock however it was put to a vote and a more traditional American Defcon-style gauge was chosen. Counting down the days wasn’t quite the right image for mash. We’re still finalising the official art so we will have to make do with some of my crude sketches:

Level 5 – Mash common state
The world stock of potatoes is plump and bountiful. Mash is commonly available and nobody has any problems trying to get any.

Level 4 – Minus mash
One of the leading potato suppliers (China, India or the Ukraine) is facing difficulties due to a poor harvest or bad stock. Mash can be still be obtained albeit for a slightly higher price.

Level 3 – Mashtronomical
All three leading potato suppliers cannot cough up the goods. Russian, the USA, Bangladesh and Germany are overwhelmed with demands and struggle to keep up. Mash is slightly rarer and prices have skyrocketed.

Level 2 – Mash hysteria
The world is begging for mash and nobody is having any of it. Stocks are gradually diminishing in every single country. You cannot find a potato for love nor money. Black market trading is rife and the other, less popular potato products (chips, boiled and new potatoes, croquettes etc.) are also suffering.

Level 1 – None shall mash!
There are no more potatoes left in the world. Mash is gone forever.

“We want everyone to understand that this is in no way likely to be something that happens in our lifetime or the next at that,” continues Mr Numbstruck, “only that a crisis could happen and should it happen we want to be able to sort it out. This system we’ve created will explain to the powers that be just how severe or negligible the situation is. I am confident that the work we have put into this today will benefit others at the appropriate time. We also have t-shirts available in the gift shop and on our website should anyone be interested.”

Newsboost – Marauding mash mutilation mandate

Conservative politician Tub Barsley unexpectedly hit out at mash today in an unprovoked attach critics are calling, “spineless”.

In this morning’s edition of the ‘Daily Porker’, in conversation with political correspondent Felicia Nonstop, Mr Barsley steered very clear of the fence and sat on a rock at least a hundred miles away when expressing his overwhelming disdain for the squashed potato wonderstuff.

“Mash is nobody’s first choice at a pub or restaurant,” explained Mr Barsley, “if you’re given the options you’ll always go with chips because they’re infinitely better. If you’re choosing mash then you need to get your head examined.” It should be pointed out that later on in the article he also compared the act of mashing a potato with dusting your living room in that both activities are completely pointless. Barsley has never been one to mince his words especially when it concerns either food or politics; we all remember his controversial housing plan from September 2020 which was universally panned and vetoed by the House of Commons.

Second in command at the British Mash Council, Christopher Marshall, fought back after reading the egregious comments.

“What kind of a world do we live in when people are allowed to say fragrant lies in the press? I personally have nothing against Tub Barsley,” quipped Mr Marshall, “but he needs to keep his attitude in check. Mash is a beloved addition to any meal and we have statistical data to show that it is a clear 50/50 split between chips and mash at the dinner table. We are hoping that this will slide in our favour given the recent advertising campaign however we are quite happy with where we are right now. Damaging, childish words should be kept under wraps and if Mr Barsley continues with this line then we will be forced to take legal action.”

Tub Barsley, who once set fire to his own mother when lighting candles on her 60th birthday cake, has not commented any further.

Emergency bean grab warning

I don’t want anyone to be alarmed by what is about to happen.

Several terrible things have happened lately, you see. One is that I haven’t been able to review the album Funky Dory by Rachel Stevens because the only CD player in the house is a portable drive that connects to my laptop by USB, and my laptop is from the future so its USB ports are all the wrong shape, and I have somehow managed to lose all the adapters I ever owned. Some new adapters arrived yesterday.

Another terrible thing was waking up this morning, looking at the calendar, and realising that February only has 28 days. I thought it was probably around the 22nd anyway, which it isn’t, but the shortness of the month leaves me with only today to make another three posts if I’m going to maintain my years-long streak of full bean counts.

Anyway, this post is here to give you fair warning that it’s going to be a bumpy ride today, with new posts landing on a very tight schedule as I try to hit the full four posts for this month. (This post is also here to count as one of the four.) Good luck everybody.

Searching for a Nightmare

“As he entered the room, the air grew stale and cool. It was abundant that the door had not been opened for a while and neither had any of the windows. Not that you could tell there were windows given how greasy and dirty they were. Thin streaks of light tried their best to illuminate the room only to greet indifference and a smell that could only be unwashed clothes and unwashed hair.

Towards the back of the room there was a doorway without a door leading to what looked like a small kitchen area. Small grunts could be heard, awash with fear and sadness. Part of him didn’t want to know what was going on in there.

He blinked. It was starting to take shape before his eyes. Along the left and right sides were a sofa and a bed respectively upon which figures covered in blankets, jumpers and hoodies, anything to obscure their features, sat huddled. They were visibly shaking; no amount of clothing could hide that. Hesitant but also inquisitive, he crimsonly approached the nearest character and pulled back the mauve hood that separated the two.

Eyes as big as spoons stared back. Bags of a similar size hung underneath. The skin was sagging and the features were difficult to look at even for the morbidly curious. Nonetheless, he was sure that he was in the right place.

“Lycos?” he asked, “Lycos is that you?”

There was no response. Either it didn’t understand or it wasn’t there, long gone into the stratosphere with the rest of the junkies and the winos.

The heavy-breather next to it was a malnourished AltaVista.

On the opposite side of the room Webcrawler was on his knees, licking a damp patch underneath the coffee table. Clearly a spill of something important to them. He could have smashed his head with a lamp and it wouldn’t have noticed.

Most of them were accounted for except the one he had been looking to find the most.

The grunting was still coming from the back kitchen.

He took a deep breath and peered around the corner. An old man faced away from him, his hands looking for something or someone. The pile of newspapers he sat on had nothing beside it. The kitchen stank of sex and shame.

“Did you want to ask me something?” the old man queried. “You can ask me anything. I want you to, I want you to ask me.”

He turned around and the drool was let loose from his mouth. It pounded the hard flooring.

“If you ask me I’ll make it worth your while. I guarantee.”

That was all he could stand and so, with the answers he had sought, he bounded from the bedsit and slammed the door behind him never to return.”

Pouring
Beans

Category: Sorrow