I’ll ‘aff mine wees Fransch moutard pleese

Omborger ou Ot dog?

Hard really to work out what this country’s esteemed leader is playing at. He usually seems such a smart guy, making all the right moves and generally projecting a populist image which of course goes down well with all but the Parisian left bank intellectuals.

He has forced through a raft of fiscal policies (benefiting mainly the wealthy of course) during an extraordinary summer session of parliament, as well as some tougher transport labour laws and education reforms. It was undoubtedly a great idea to strike so quickly after a convincing electoral victory especially as he’s riding his “bubble” pretty well.

His timing is also spot on as most of the country is of course “en vacances” and unlikely to protest too strongly until it’s really time to go back to work. And that leads nicely into President S’s own choice of holiday destination……shock, horror…..the good ol’ US of A.

Come to that he’s chosen not just anywhere the other side of the Puddle. Oh no, the one who looks just a little too orange for it to be anything other than a PERMATAN has conveniently made his way to a little pad just down the road from the family “compound” of a certain George Dubbleyou. Raised eyebrows all round.

After zipping back to Paris to attend the funeral of a former Catholic Archbishop, President Orange rejoined Cecilia and the kids to continue his highly televised “look at me I’m jogging all the time” PR campaign.

Previous French presidents may have opted for discretion but that’s obviously a thing of the past. Now the Elysée’s man simply can’t resist being in the spotlight and creating waves – sometimes quite literally. Immediately after his election in May he spent a couple of days aboard a friend’s luxury yacht just off the coast of Malta “ chewing the cud” apparently – which brought howls of protests back home.

Now he has chosen to hot dog his way into the heart of a man whose political career is thankfully almost over. Surely Sarkozy must realise just how much of a liability Bush has become on the world stage. After all look at the reputation Our Tony has earned in the eyes of many internationally because of his perceived poodleness.

Sarkozy may have admitted admiration for Blair in the past, but there’s no need for him to mimic his mistakes.

He could simply have taken a leaf out of Gordy’s book and distanced himself from the Whitehouse. After all he had such a marvellous headstart in inheriting Chirac’s much-applauded stand in the past couple of years against Washington’s hegemony.

Why doesn’t he – bright guy that he is – try smooching with Hilary or Obama – or any one of the possible future leaders who, let’s face it, have got to be an improvement on the current brain dead incumbent.

Mind you, while Sarkozy was grinning at the cameras and GETTING IT WRONG, Cecilia was definitely GETTING IT RIGHT.
The enigmatic wife of the president is hard to ignore. She’s the unqualified one who swanned into Libya at the last moment to help negotiate the freedom of the Bulgarian nurses and doctor who had been sentenced to death. Madame Sarkozy – and by association hubsie – thereby took much of the glory and acres of newsprint for year’s of behind-the-scenes work by the European Union. Clever PR once again.

Anyway Madame Cecilia María Sara Isabel Sarkozy née Ciganer-Albéniz – she definitely deserves to have her noble lineage recognised – exercised her wiles and guile in deciding to give the Bush family bash a miss. Apparently she and the kiddywinks had sore throats. Ho hum.

Bit of an arrogant snub really as it was the US First Lady herself who had extended the original invitation to Cecilia, with President Orange plainly highjacking the plan for his own ends. Or perhaps that was the idea all along. Surely he cannot have been so cynical.

Interestingly enough Mrs S was seen meandering down Main Street the following day, full of the joys.

Sarkozy’s only saving grace in this sad story is perhaps the fact that he turned up late. That will have gone down a storm.

You can already the typewriters on the Left bank clattering away in disdain at the little upstart’s behaviour.

As an aside and a complete non-sequitor, it must be somewhat disconcerting back in Blighty for people of a “certain age” every time the latest report on foot and mouth hits the airwaves. Not only has the meeja seized on the story with a tenacity seldom matched by similar outbreaks here on the “Continent”, but listeners have to do a double take every time the government’s Chief Veterinary Officer is asked for her comments.

She may well spell her first name differently but how many people expect her suddenly to burst into “Aba daba daba daba daba daba daba said the chimpy to the monk. Aba daba daba daba daba daba daba said the monkey to the chimp. All night they would chatter away.”