"A Year in the Merde" was originally published by the author under the protagonist's name, Paul West, as a supposed memoir - and while Clarke is indeed an Englishman who lived in France (I believe he still does), the book's true existence as a somewhat biographical novel did later come to light.

Paul West is hired by a French company to help them open a chain of English-style tea shops in Paris, and has to live there for one year. The book documents the culture clash, Paul's attempts to get the project going, his various romances, and the somewhat sinister secret dealings of his new boss, Jean-Marie.

I'm sorry to say that I didn't enjoy this book much. Practically every woman who enters this story is used by Paul for sex (and often property or career gains via that sex), and is described and treated purely as a sex object. When a woman's name is mentioned, you find yourself mentally counting lines until they sleep with Paul. Frankly, you wonder what it is about such a bland, sexist, occasionally racist and French-culture-bashing man that these obviously intelligent and talented Parisian ladies find so irresistible. Honestly, some of the descriptions of them would fit right in on r/menwritingwomen. Despite what the author seems to think, Paul is not an English gentleman, nor the marketing world's James Bond... and to Bond's credit, he did at least save the world a fair few times.

(Further, to Justin Edward's credit, his talented reading skills did give Paul a slither of charisma, and I can't fault his performance.)

Consequently, this depiction of women gets tedious fast, as do the "French workers striking" jokes. Rule of three might have worked for those, but they just keep on coming. Being an Englishwoman, I get that teasing the French is a bastion of classic British humour, but the criticisms often feel very one-sided: rather than balancing it by exposing flaws of the British culture (with the exception of British cuisine, which is mentioned), it often feels very much like a case of "we're right, you're wrong". There are a few interesting observations peppered about the text (like the visit to a French doctor, and the eating of raclette, which I had never heard of), as well as some tropes I usually enjoy (villainous boss), but it's not enough to allay the bad taste left by the constant female objectification.

In short, the book feels very "lads' humour", which, whilst possibly being more commonplace in 2004, hasn't aged well.