What with the 'V' word just around the tomorrow's corner, a seasonal slinky soother could be just what the Écouter ordered. And there's none more slinky and soothing than a splash of Serge Gainsbourg. I don't understand a single syllable of his smokily mumbled mutterings (with the exception of a unexpectedly jarring - "MERDE!"). Maybe he's reading from a Ready Reckoner, the Periodical Tables or selected highlights from the Highway Code - but, whatever he's on about, it's getting him all smoochy doo, and Pepe Le Pew.
Or perhaps, it could be, that almost anything said in French is given the heated underglow of suggestion and smoulder .
As a note en bas de page Mrs PM once claimed, given the choice between Sasha Distel and Serge she'd go for Gainsbourg !
*Makes theatrical gulp, and arm wrestles with what this says about self*
How did he do it?
