It’s nice to know that the trees lining the roads in Paris have microchips embedded in their trunks, that the city council is controlling the pigeon population by shaking the eggs to make them infertile and that the Café Voisin served elephant consommé during the 1870 siege.
It’s nice to know that the trees lining the roads in Paris have microchips embedded in their trunks, that the city council is controlling the pigeon population by shaking the eggs to make them infertile and that the Café Voisin served elephant consommé during the 1870 siege. But the pleasure of this learning comes at great personal cost.
Where an innuendo can be inserted, Stephen Clarke will insert it. If he were writing this review, he would have put ‘no pun intended’ after the word ‘insert’. Open any page at random and you will likely find two or three pairs of brackets. These are for the knowing asides, where the reader is supposed to roll his eyes in fond condescension and think about how very Parisian it all is.
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