<p align="justify" class="title">Marie-Louise Wirth wouldn't dream of giving up her bar in northern France, even if many of the 100-year-old's regulars have passed away.<br /><br />The tall, blue-eyed proprietor, known to locals as Marie-Lou, also has seen little reason to modernise the brick-fronted tavern with lace curtains in the town of Isbergues near the Belgian border.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">"It's been like this for 50 years," Wirth said, wiping the same Art Deco countertop she did as a 14-year-old when she began working in the bar for her father back in 1931.<br /><br />"They're all surprised there's no beer pump or coffee machine, but they don't remember the old days, because there wasn't a beer pump or a coffee machine," says the sprightly centenarian, who keeps her grey hair close-cropped and wears no makeup, except for a hint of red lipstick.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">The tiny bar -- only around 200 sq ft -- has no name. "If you have good beer you don't need a name," says Wirth, who likewise has no use for the internet, a cellphone or credit card.<br />Never married and childless, Wirth took over the establishment when her father died in 1954 and she was 37.<br /><br />Those were the days when customers ordered sweet wines like Byrrh and Dubonnet, as well as absinthe or pastis, the anise-flavoured spirit that is still broadly popular in France.<br />Wirth recalls when Isbergues, which now has a population of around 10,000, was home to a steelworks with 6,000 workers. "Back then... there were a hundred bars," she says without a trace of nostalgia.<br /><br />Wirth opens the bar at 8:15 am, sipping a glass of cherry brandy with her first customer.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">Hale and hearty, she calls herself a "little curiosity" who cannot explain her longevity. "How am I supposed to know why I'm like this? Only God knows but he doesn't speak to me!"<br />The secret couldn't be in her diet, she says: "I eat a lot of spicy food... I eat everything I shouldn't. You give me mayonnaise or jam and I'll take the mayonnaise. But I don't have cholesterol!"</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">What about exercise?</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">"You know, I live like someone who's 60 years old. I go out a lot. I like to go dancing."</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">And Wirth takes risks that may seem ill-advised for a person of such an advanced age. Her best friend Marie-Claire Legrand confirms that she took up the challenge of a treetop adventure course in the French Caribbean island of Martinique in 2013, and that the two of them have been up in a hot-air balloon.<br /><br />"I'm a daredevil!" Wirth exclaims. Regulars at Wirth's bar are becoming fewer -- "I've buried a lot of them," she says -- but she vows to keep going as long as she can.</p>
<p align="justify" class="title">Marie-Louise Wirth wouldn't dream of giving up her bar in northern France, even if many of the 100-year-old's regulars have passed away.<br /><br />The tall, blue-eyed proprietor, known to locals as Marie-Lou, also has seen little reason to modernise the brick-fronted tavern with lace curtains in the town of Isbergues near the Belgian border.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">"It's been like this for 50 years," Wirth said, wiping the same Art Deco countertop she did as a 14-year-old when she began working in the bar for her father back in 1931.<br /><br />"They're all surprised there's no beer pump or coffee machine, but they don't remember the old days, because there wasn't a beer pump or a coffee machine," says the sprightly centenarian, who keeps her grey hair close-cropped and wears no makeup, except for a hint of red lipstick.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">The tiny bar -- only around 200 sq ft -- has no name. "If you have good beer you don't need a name," says Wirth, who likewise has no use for the internet, a cellphone or credit card.<br />Never married and childless, Wirth took over the establishment when her father died in 1954 and she was 37.<br /><br />Those were the days when customers ordered sweet wines like Byrrh and Dubonnet, as well as absinthe or pastis, the anise-flavoured spirit that is still broadly popular in France.<br />Wirth recalls when Isbergues, which now has a population of around 10,000, was home to a steelworks with 6,000 workers. "Back then... there were a hundred bars," she says without a trace of nostalgia.<br /><br />Wirth opens the bar at 8:15 am, sipping a glass of cherry brandy with her first customer.</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">Hale and hearty, she calls herself a "little curiosity" who cannot explain her longevity. "How am I supposed to know why I'm like this? Only God knows but he doesn't speak to me!"<br />The secret couldn't be in her diet, she says: "I eat a lot of spicy food... I eat everything I shouldn't. You give me mayonnaise or jam and I'll take the mayonnaise. But I don't have cholesterol!"</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">What about exercise?</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">"You know, I live like someone who's 60 years old. I go out a lot. I like to go dancing."</p>.<p align="justify" class="bodytext">And Wirth takes risks that may seem ill-advised for a person of such an advanced age. Her best friend Marie-Claire Legrand confirms that she took up the challenge of a treetop adventure course in the French Caribbean island of Martinique in 2013, and that the two of them have been up in a hot-air balloon.<br /><br />"I'm a daredevil!" Wirth exclaims. Regulars at Wirth's bar are becoming fewer -- "I've buried a lot of them," she says -- but she vows to keep going as long as she can.</p>