I watched two programmes on tv3 last evening: the first was around the hunting/scavenging activities of an elderly gent who gallumphed around the rocky shallows of the Normandy coast wearing what looked like a single-breasted business suit, socks and sensible shoes, often submerging himself in the seawater to emerge, dripping wet with his serge trousers and jacket clinging to his frame, with a crab, arraignée or homard in his bare hand.
His French was rather moist but intelligible, if breathless.
The sight of his socks and shoes thrashing the surface while the rest of him was submerged was quite remarkable.
The next was the exploits of a young female vegan eco-warrior in the sticks who saves various creatures from the hunt, and fights a dangerous running battle with the local chasse. She spoke a young excitable argot that defeated my understanding even with subtitles, but her adventures running a large animal rescue venture and a huge cloture - often violated by the chasseurs, was inspiring, especially as she took her three-year old toddler with her as an extra vigilante. I could understand him, even with his dummy in