She had found her powerful and tender voice, her tireless lawyer and her inimitable portrait painter, this France which runs on cigarettes and diesel, prefers old washhouses to wind turbines, the pipes of Saint-Claude to smoky ideologues above ground, village life in the Parisian microcosm and which practices simple values - work, bistro, hamlet.
Ambassador of terroirs and folklores, telegenic troubadour of a mocked but persistent rurality, defender of the widow of Carpentras proud of her vernacular heritage and of the orphan of the bocage trained in some rare manual trade, Jean-Pierre Pernaut invited himself every day in our homes for thirty-three years.
A third of a century!
An eternity on the scale of cathodic temporalities.
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This exceptional longevity on the air, he devoted it to celebrating in his small colorful and picturesque window the variety of the country, the life of the people, the taste for simple things.
“Le 13 heures des péquenots, France seen from Beauf and
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