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A bi-lingual magazine

Racing back and forth at high speed

in an undersea tunnel across the

channel, we left scattered on the rails

pieces and titbits of an impulse that

grew stronger with each train voyage.

A true desire to shape up a link of

an artistic nature between the two

shores. This impulse is now a project,

a reality you can browse under your

fingers and is called La Manche

fanzine. Its intentions are to unveil

and give substance to the connections

between artists with eclectic

universes, mediums and languages.

We did not draw up an architype of

our reader. Our wish is that the fanzine

falls into the hands of a multifaceted

public, professional, amateur, creative,

art-connoisseur, eager or just

curious to discover original productions

and innovative approaches

around various subjects.

The goal is to research originality in

artistic productions and approaches

around a specified subject and the

invitation is extended to all. Our pages

are forever open to new collaborators

and artists who relate to the project

and are willing to bring their unique

subjective flair and sense of aesthetics

to it.

The ‘zine doesn’t impose any specific

medium, which we hope offers

the reader a palette of visuals overflowing

with creativity and contrasts.

However, we have neither the pretention

to inform nor the desire to publish

advertisement. We simply want to

invite you to observe the beautiful

in the broad sense of the term. Be it

funny, witty, grotesque, pleasant or


We invite you to take the time to

examine it, or simply leaf through

it, maybe even… at high speed in an

undersea tunnel across the channel.

The Team wishes you a pleasant read!

Au fil des voyages à grande vitesse

dans un tunnel sous la mer, balayant

à chaque fois la déception de ne

pouvoir observer les poissons par

les fenêtres de l’Eurostar, sont restés

clairsemés sur les rails des bouts

d’envies et d’idées d’un projet qui

lie les créativités des deux rives. Ce

projet porte pour nom aujourd’hui la

Manche Fanzine. Il a pour intention de

donner corps au lien artistique entre

les deux bords. Unifier dans le même

écrin des artistes qui ont des univers,

des médiums et des langues différentes.

Notre souhait est que la Manche

Fanzine tombe dans les mains d’un

public vaste, amateur, créateur,

connaisseur d’art, curieux ou désireux

de productions originales et d’approches

innovantes autour de sujets

variés. Nous ne ciblons en particulier

aucun « lecteur type ».

Notre recherche est celle de l’originalité

des approches à la production

artistique et l’invitation s’étend à tous.

Nos pages sont ouvertes constamment

à de nouveaux collaborateurs

sensibles à notre projet qui ont envie

d’y amener leur subjectivité et leur

sens de l’esthétisme.

La ‘zine n’impose aucun médium, ce

qui nous espérons offrira au lecteur

une palette de visuels débordante de

créativité et de contrastes. Cependant,

nous n’avons ni la prétention

d’informer ni l’envie de publier des

messages à caractère publicitaire.

Nous voulons simplement convier à

observer le beau au sens large, soit-il

drôle, grotesque, plaisant ou surprenant.

Prenez le temps de l’examiner, ou

simplement le feuilleter, peut-être

même ... dans un train à grande

vitesse dans un tunnel sous la mer.

L’Équipe vous souhaite une bonne

lecture !











Hello dear boy how the devil

are you

I wondered to the people that

do believe in him what in hell

they think he’s doing at the


As in , what the hell they think

he is doing ever

Leaning back into the comfiest

of cosmic rocking chairs

smoking a pipe

With plush slippers on

By a fire with a glass of water

asking it to change colour


Like the ones I saw that night

with the gold crest

worn by someone far too

young to wear emerald slippers

with a crest on

But money makes up for youth

Youth makes up for money

Its not that things aren’t like

this always

For someone I mean

It is always for very many


Dumb dumb

Can’t you see that by now

If I could tile a whole room I


If I could tile a whole house I’d

like to try

If I could tile the whole world

I’d have to borrow another

planets clay supply

The bouncy castles wouldn’t

work so well

Neither would the trampolines

Nor fields, nothing grows on

tiled fields

No rabbits burrow

Where would all the insects go

Between the cracks of course

Like dirt like time

Which are the same

Like dust

A smoking cocoon

The rubble of two others


there are two beauties in the


A beauty met a beauty in the

dry caked mud

Then they began to levitate

All the best things do

They don’t have to :

On trusting on being held

Levitating between two rusty


On an unfixed rug that will definitely


And buckle under the weight

But will have waited to hold

for a moment before

The close ground is not far at


The grass barely inches tall

barely inches away

Was mown the other day

We moaned a lot today

That this is strange this is slow

like a game paused like

it’s not happening anymore

remember now we

put our hands in our pockets

when we walk through gates

Cos they are to tempting to

touch and we mustn’t to stabilse

The balance it tricky

When pivoting through a kissing


Pillar of salt

Edith I would do the same

Although you walked with Lot,

Turn around by Head, neck,


Such an easy motion It is done.

we climbed an extinct volcano

in the winter

And maybe it would have all

been easier

After I ran away from that

supermarket that I had dropped

eggs in.

Why do you get to throw words


But I don’t care


They bloom

In pink

Thought it was easier than

being alone

And her home

But now It feels so out of


And her dog and her mum

The Incan empire

How do I undo

But how about

You know all about the crows

nest of a ship before I told you


And all that mastheads mean.

That you can use the skin of

pines as chewing gum

And burn its sap

And fasten half the seasons in

one go onto a stick

A staff with which you could

part the oceans

I’m building boats to cross

That won’t be water tight

But foil could be as good as


And the tying my stomach in

bowline knots

That I’ve not worked out how

to undo

One time when my head was

so flooded with things

That were not mine

I couldn’t speak very well

And she couldn’t see

Its heavy I feel heavy and fatigued

Easier than missing the echoer

Maybe I don’t care about anything

Why don’t I throw my feelings

at you

I’m scared they’re as heavy as

a hairdryer

And might bruise you

I miss

She Came on the first day of

the year

And again last summer

And held my hand while we


She was back as soon as she

had left

To collect her tall umbrella

Oh this funny mix of urban forest

and hippie messiah

She is both beautiful and


We were gonna see the rhododendrons

this time last year

Whether I just wanted to be

near cos I felt safe

Its their season again

But back to February

Full of chemicals we walked

across the meadows in the


She took me back to hers

And she played the saxophone

even it was all blurry

In a house with high ceilings

I miss her in that moment

Her eyes shining how they do

And the…

Nothing you just make me




Bake a leg

If you had access to the internet and

have been confined at any point in the

past 6months, and I mean confined

enough to watch all your friends’ and that

one weird guy from first year stories, you

have, without a doubt, noticed the mass

hysteria case around BANANA BREAD …

well today’s recipe isn’t about that. And to

not trigger any further your nightmares

revolving around the flour shortage,

this delicious treat will be mindful of the


Its four past twelve on a Tuesday, and

you’re all falzèda in your favorite loose

trackies which will forever sport that

one stain from the time you made your

secret, curry from a can, recipe for your

flat mates. You woke up an hour ago, and

after tending to your relationships on

Animal Crossing, it’s time for a Tuesday

Brunch, and I’m here to help

you razzle dazzle your feast.

Now if you’re not from Arab

descent, then you probably

don’t have this in your pantry

so run to your favorite/only

corner shop and get a bag

of semolina. You heard me,

I said semolina, not the

old couscous pack sitting

somewhere, not corn flour

nor quinoa, try and get fine

semolina, the finest you find

and come back home.

You home yet? good! Now google Moroccan

tea glass, and find in your kitchen

drawers, the closest thing to it you can

find, and if while doing so you see that

the dishwasher is full, take time to empty

it. And if some old plates are sitting in the

sink, find this playlist (scan thse QR Code)

listen to it while you wash them. Aren’t

you feeling better already about this day?

PRODUCTIVITY, take this @BeautySquats-


In either a blender, somewhere where a

stick blender goes in or a bowl and your

muscles can whisk, put in – using the

glass you found - two glasses of semolina,

one glass of the flour you tore of

the hands of Jessica before she made

another loaf of sad, sad bread, a one

level tablespoon of baker’s yeast, a teaspoon

of salt, a teaspoon of sugar, and

three and half glasses (the same glass)

of lukewarm water. whisk it all however

you can, manually with the help of

the playlist mentioned before, or using

the blender. Whisk it good, whisk that

liquidy dough just like you shouuuuuld,

your neck, your back, whisk that dough

and don’t crack. Then, and only then add

a teaspoon of baking soda (and while

you do that, say it in a Jamaican accent,


Move the whole shebang close to the

hobs, steal your mom’s most precious

pan, the one you’re not allowed to touch,

the one that doesn’t stick, THE ONE. If you

don’t have one, just grab your trusty pan,

it might work, I think ... I don’t

know. Put a ladle full of the

mixture in the pan heated to

the max, blaze it up. Observe

... Observe ... if you can see

bubbles forming up, you

succeeded honey, you made

it. This recipe is like your

GCSC’s, you either made

it, or you didn’t, no bubbles

means you failed. When you

see said bubble, bring your

heat down low and let them

pop and in like 10 seconds it’s

done, put it to the side and repeat, heat

high, heat low, heat high, heat low.

You’ve end up with Moroccan pancakes

(around 10) called BEGHRIR – send a

request to @lamanchefanzine and you

will unlock a voice note coaching you

on how to pronounce it. This beautiful

sun-colored, moon-craters-filled disk of

delicious is ready to receive whatever you

put on it, traditionally some melted butter

and honey, but if you chose some chocolate

spread or maple syrup, I won’t tell!

P.S: This pancake is proven better than

‘murican pancakes since the cratersper-meter

ratio compared to the American

version (plummeting to zero), allows

for a better absorption of whatever you

put on it, and is fluffier. Yes, we also deliver

science in this ‘zine.



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