Etienne Dorsay’s postcard
Author of famous account of Etienne Dorsay, who has been wandering her tweed cool in the halls of Twitter in recent months, Gerald Arno Today shares with us Etienne’s torments in the face of the revelations of the Pegasus spy case. In a postcard sent to his dear Marthe from his vacation spot, Dorsay launches into a “confession 2.0”.
I am writing to you from Palavas-Les-Flots in July 2021.
After a grueling transhumance during which I had to face many triangle sandwiches on the parking lots of motorway areas whose hazardous architecture sometimes recalls the most beautiful achievements of the Ministry of Concrete of North Korea, I rallied my haven of peace, location 63 of the Palavas Camping.
Fifteen days of laziness and absolute idleness awaited me, punctuated by crossword puzzles and games of pétanque under tension with my lifelong rival, the Lyonnais from location 108, next to the chip house.
And then this morning, while I waited in front of the sanitary facilities in a bathing suit-shirt, smile on my face and toilet paper in hand, I unwillingly intercepted a conversation between two of my companions in the queue and I learned from the outset that a thousand of our compatriots including the highest officials of the nation were being spied on by Morocco thanks to software present in our smartphones.
Ah Morocco … I remember with emotion the delights of the tagine that we had shared on the edge of a beach in Essaouira on the first evening of our honeymoon. And the thunderous tourista that followed, condemning me to unconditioned isolation for six days. I would have known of this country only a terrace, a room and an airport, but the enchanting orientality of these moments overwhelmed me forever.
With Etienne Dorsay, we chatted about teleworking, celery remoulade and longer days
How did we get there ?
The world is moving too fast my sweetheart, the end of the Minitel has thrown us into chaos and tumult. Our lives are chained to a plastoc contraption, each update of which plunges into abysmal anguish and the loss of a charger generates as much distress as that of a pet.
For my part, I hope not to be part of the list of victims of this interneto-barbouzesque forfeiture. So if ever the content of my digital Self were to leak somewhere on the web, I prefer to confess here my little deviations on the Internet, hoping that love will be stronger than a questionable browsing history.
Yes I ordered recolouring gel “Brown of Sicily” but the stinging attack which followed its first application (which I had passed off as a Quinoa allergy) dissuaded me from repeating the experience.
Yes I opened a second twitter account “Etienne Bogoss” with a picture of George Clooney in profile. And no I never met this Vanessa16541687 who asked me “Hi, how are you?” “ in private message.
Yes I subscribed to the program “Abs of steel without moving from the sofa” from the YouTube channel “Summer Body 2000 Premium” and, no, the method is not as miraculous as announced by the spirited Kevin Bissepss …
Yes, I admit that I dawdled a bit on the lingerie pages of the La Redoute catalog in January 2019. I was looking for something original to offer you for Valentine’s Day but I didn’t have the courage to go as far as end. This is the year that I gave you the bread machine, which, you will agree, notwithstanding the sad face you displayed on its discovery, proved to be very useful during containment.
Here is my confession 2.0 dear Marthe. You know everything. I feel miserable, I admit, but also deeply human.
So I get naked, I kneel on the ground, return my smartphone and my weapons, hoping that you will forgive me, that love will triumph over this ordeal like the time when I kept my cool when you had crumpled the bumper of the R16 on the occasion of a niche at least risky.
And now I have to leave you, it is 7:30 pm, the couscous evening begins….
I send you a thousand loving thoughts on jasmine.