THE TRUE STORY OF THE COMMODORE
( A story about making love every day of your life )
For the whole of middle school, I would spend my vacations on the Côte d'Azur. Because my grandparents had bought a house there. A little bourgeois villa on Place de l'Etang. A villa that had once belonged to Henri Salvador (is that why I'd become the boute-en-train de shoes?).
Bref, dans cette petite villa, il y avait un ascenseur et sur le toit de cette villa; il y avait, parfois, des guêpes qui venaient faire leur nid. Dans cette villa aussi, il y avait une table de ping pong sur laquelle je mettais la dose à tout le monde. Il y avait aussi un sauna que mes grands-parents avaient offert à leur gendre car il était gros.
In short, they did what they could to please everyone. A sort of Algerian generosity that showered everyone with as much as it could. Everyone came to spend their vacations in this house, because it was so convenient. There was nothing to pay. The beach was on both sides. One public, one private.
Across the square was a huge boules pitch divided into several lanes. No Eddie Barclay, no Patrice Laffont. Just locals. No rosé-drinking show-offs with Asphalte pants or Balzac-dressed girls giggling at Paul Mirabel's too-lol jokes. No, back then it was simple. People were fueled by Ricard and unfiltered John Player Special. That's where I met Jo la Carapace, Johnny n'a qu'un Oeil, Bobby le Hobbit and Germain le Mitaine. I used to play frenzied games with them, lasting for days on end. I was the mascot of these old gentlemen who loved to see the new generation emerging on this square where every day we learned of the death of a colleague. Apart from the fun times I spent pushing the iron, there were also evening ballads.
My grandfather used to take me for walks along the Croisette in Cannes. After dinner. This allowed him to digest his garlic shrimps, garlic bread and onion soup. Whatever the occasion, he always ate the same menu.
From him I've kept this decadent obsession with breakfast. Every morning I enjoy a self-made granola.
The recipe? 500 grams of rolled oats. To this I add 220g of walnuts, 220g of hazelnuts and 220g of almonds. Then I prepare my peanut butter, which I mix with 3 bananas. I mix everything together and bake for an hour at 180°.
But let's get back to our evening strolls with Grandpa. His aim on the walks was to program me. Or better still, to reprogram me. Back then, I only dreamed of movies. Horror films, slashers, terror, horror. He wanted to push me in another direction. The law. Law because he'd failed to become a lawyer. The war, the family situation, etc. So he wanted me to become his perfect understudy. That I become a great lawyer or, at worst, a notary or even a chartered accountant. Basically, someone who could feel the stones. Hmmm, I could see myself middle-aged doing that kind of thing, defending people who didn't deserve it. Yet my grandfather, knowing what he was doing, had come up with a somewhat unstoppable trick: what would make me eventually lean towards law school consideration, with the right-wingers ?
- It's simple, Grandpa, a nice Amstrad computer with a built-in cassette player. Thanks to its computing power, I'll be able to think about going to a university I've got nothing to do with”.
- Never mind, my little doll, you'll get your computer.
Naturally, I was thrilled to receive my little nugget. Except... except that instead of my Amstrad, I got a Commodore. Commodore was the competition. It was the worst. At least, that's what my classmates, who had the Amstrad and made my life miserable by calling me a loser, would have me believe. I knew they were wrong. That Commodore was the absolute truth when it came to computers. In spite of this, I never went straight, nor did I take the hard line, because I deeply believe that I have the heart and soul of a child. Something that people who don't have it envy. But I don't hold it against them, because children don't hold it against anyone but themselves. So it's easy to see why this beautiful bootie is called Commodore. Because it's all about guns and roses.
