We can say that today in France, only one adult in two can be considered healthy weight and according to the French national statistics obesity is being developed in a truly disturbing.

Based on the diagrams and figures presented by Dr. Marie-Aline Charles it, epidemiologist with the nutritionist of Inserm Arnaud Basdevant the results of the national damage dizzy. In 2009 32% of the adult population or 14 million people is overweight and of these, 14.5%, ie 6.5 million people, is considered obese.

From '97 to now we have gone from a rate of 8.5% of the obese to 14.5%. In short, every year that passes increases the percentage of obese regularly without sparing any age group. Indeed one can say that, from generation to generation, obesity appears increasingly early in the course of life and is becoming increasingly important.

The frequency of severe obesity that correspond to the so-called group of the population most at risk have moved from one doctor, 5 to 3%, 9%. Basically in twelve years on average every Frenchman is fattened by about 3.1 kg and her belly has grown by about 4.7 cm!

Sooner or later it happens to everyone passarsela evil and live very difficult moments.

The natural tendency is to turn inward and away from others. And even if this loneliness is sometimes useful, we must be very careful not to let it penetrate too deeply in us. Less and less people want to meet you to meet them. Friends are seen less and less friends you have.

Any pretext is good to get away. No time, too much work, no money, family needs. But there is always a way to share some moments of pleasure with the people dear to us.

Here's a video of a recent and short weekend in Paris, whose main purpose was to gather around a glass (or more than one!) Along with good friends.

Recently the radio in France it is common to hear the song of Calogero in which both the title and repeated the words: "I'm rich just from my friends"

The first time I was really young, just thirteen years.

I was with my cousin and he was only eleven.

"Look," he said, "I frigates from the bag of my mother!"

Although more than two years younger than me, it was he who invited me to smoke my first cigarette. Only eleven and thirteen years, it's crazy if I think about it.

We've been in the bathroom, we opened the window and ... away with cigarettes.

We did not know hardly swallow the smoke but we felt great, it was our first act of emancipation, of affirmation and rebellion.

The taste, I remember very well, but was rather infamous was the sense of transgression of the forbidden to hack into my memory.

The second time was even more exciting, I was on holiday in Morocco with my sister Anna, a friend of hers. I was fourteen and seventeen them. Anna was really a beautiful girl and I was not that a little kid, in my eyes, she was already a grown woman and over and completely inaccessible to me.

In the evening he enjoyed making fun of:

"So little one, quand 'is that you come in my bed? I'll wait! We could do with madness! "

I danced around in her nightgown, laughing heartily. I was ashamed, blushed like a tomato and I was completely incapable of uttering a word.

My sister had to study for exams at the time of recovery of September, then I had the privilege and honor to accompany Anna to the sea.

The waterfront was dangerous and we were virtually alone on this vast sandy beach of the Atlantic Ocean.

In the absence of my sister, Anna became more sensual, mysterious, less exuberant and more hot to me. One day he had placed his towel next to my side, was lying on his stomach with a book in her hand, her long, curly red hair and sunglasses on his nose. I confess that I was literally going crazy.

Suddenly turning toward me, lowered his glasses and literally jumped in my eyes. It was so close I could feel his skin touching mine. I had never shared a similar intimacy with a girl. I imagined the fullness of her breasts, beautifully designed by his swimsuit. His smell, his breath, the warmth of his body, had a 'blast in the wake of my five senses.

The city where I live is bad, very bad, so much so that sometimes when I look at the landscape, I can think of some verses of a song of Celentano

I would like to know how people conceive of being able to live in homes today, such as canned anchovies. Born children who have already 'wrinkles. I would like to know why' people do not say anything to Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jekyll to, the manufacturers of such horrors without a face are the houses where the tooth buds already.

Yesterday I was walking along a "final rounds *, or rather along what was left: a narrow road bordered by stone walls that once marked the boundaries of orchards and vegetable gardens, just a hint of what was, these steps have not never had the slightest hope of resisting the greed of quell'edilizia wild rages in demolishing all that still is beautiful.

As I walked in that kind of a dead dog barked suddenly, making me scared to death.

Without quell'abbaio I probably went without seeing her, on the ground, hidden in the shadows, there was a woman, curled up on itself, almost invisible.