Schizophrenie Francaise

Sarkozy President

2007-05-07T01:14:00.000+02:00

Two France's tonight greeted the news that Sarkozy is their new president. There was the 53 percent who voted for him, symbolised by the dancing happy crowds gathered in Place de la Concorde for the offcial celebrations, and the 47 percent who didn't, some of whom could be seen charging police on Place de la Bastille.
'Is there anything particularly French about these two reactions?' Herve Beroud, editor in chief of RTL radio, asked me during his election night show.
My first reaction was that two groups of people were just expressing their respective emotions. Yet the fact that they expressed themselves in the street - which under the Fifth Republic is the only place to question the president - is perhaps specifically French. Sarkozy promised to make the president more responsible, at least to the parliament and the press. Let's see what happens.
My evening began chez Segolene at the Maison de l'Amerique Latine.

When the result was announced, there was a few seconds of total silence, followed by a few whistles. How to react? Quickly a few supporters - among them stars such as Emmanuelle Beart - began chanting 'Bravo Segolene.' The crowd began clapping, and the Bravos and Thank Yous got louder.
Suddenly she was there on the stage. Her radiant smile was not that of a loser. She let the bravos wash over her for a few minutes, before descending into the crowd to thank everyone. When she spoke, she accepted defeat graciously.
'Universal suffrage has spoken,' she said in her trademark white dress, twinned with a cream jacket. Then she moved on.
'You can count on me to continue the profound renewal of the left,' she said to cheers. 'It's the condition of our future victories.'
Some people were crying. Most were defiant. Few of the people I spoke to in Segolene's first base, including Pierre Berge, former Creative Director of Yves St Laurent Group, were members of the Socialist party. They signed up to this campaign because they believed in Segolene (sorry DSK, who was offering his services as the Socialist Reformer on television stations).
'We will reconstruct and we will fight,' said Kykie Alcove, 26. a teaching assistant from the Paris region and member of the youth support group Segosphere. 'She represents a renewal of politics. Politicians who are concerned with everyday life. Her problem? Perhaps she didn't have enough time.'
In the gardens below, the stars and militants drank wine. Not champagne.
Will Segolene stick around for a shake-up of the Socialist party? Christophe Chantepy, her chief of staff, told me she intends to remain a prominent figure on the political landscape.
'With the Socialists?' I asked. `We will see. Today is for thanking the supporters. Tomorrow is another day.'

Segolene was accompanied by cheers on her short walk to party HQ at Rue Solferino. This was not the atmosphere of the losing team after a football match. She was smiling. People were smiling. Bravo, bravo. Next time.
I left the Socialists around 10 to go to RTL to give the Scottish view on the French elections. Cycling towards the studios I saw a man jogging by the Seine, unmoved by the celebrations on place de la Concorde. When I arrived, television cameras showed Sarkozy taking a break from his responsibilities only a few hours into his job. To the surprise of the media cavalcade accompanying him, he stopped at a restaurant near the Champs Elysee for dinner with a close circle of friends. Sure, he needs to celebrate. But tonight is a public night. Could he not have waited for tomorrow?
When he finally showed up at the party in his name, he gave Faudel, the singer keeping the crowd chaud, a big hug.
He asked the crowd to be 'tolerant' and 'fraternal,' and show 'an image of a united France that doesn't leave anyone at the side of the road.'
There were rumours that he might finish the evening in a nightclub.
I cycled home past the Elysee palace where the Chiracs' sleep would have been disturbed by the party at Place de la Concorde. On the ride home there was a odd toot of the horn, and several bars were full, but otherwise the atmosphere was strangely lacking. Perhaps it was happening elsewhere. There was less emotion that aftre the World Cup, understandable in a country that loves football. But this is France, and with an 85 percent turnout, you'd think politics was king.
As I zipped past the tramp asleep over the metro air vent, I wondered whether he is aware he has a new president, And whether he cares. And whether it will make a difference to him.

Is France Ready for Change?

2007-05-06T11:40:00.000+02:00

Voting day today for two candidates promising change. At the same time, both are promising to maintain the status quo.
The man polls suggest most likely to win declares grandiloquently he will enact bold and dramatic change, quietly followed by a meek retreat to more consensual policies. He calls the 35-hour working week a 'general catostrophe.' Then he says he will keep it. The government has added one-million bureaucrats since Mitterrand in 1992, he says. Yet his enthusiasm for a roll-back of the state is tempered to a gentle non-replacement promise of one retiring civil servant in two. No debate over which services need more investment, and which ones need to be cut. Sarkozy may be hailed as the most market friendly candidate, but the French social model is safe in his hands. His program is full of subsidies and short of spending cuts. Normal perhaps in an election, but the national debt isn't going to shrink under this platform.
Nor have the Socialists come up with an answer. Despite having shaken up her party (she has done more in six months than the previous 15 years according to sociologist Loic Wacquant writing in Liberation yesterday), Segolene is hampered by an entrenched us-verus-them attitude among her supporters. Anyone who criticises is considered a traitor. Anyone who points out that things could be done better is given the cold shoulder.
The left 'needs to accept the confrontation of ideas,' Segolene's special advisor Julian Dray told RFI radio yesterday after La Candidate went a bid mad in an RTL interview, suggesting an Armageddon stype situation if Sarkozy is elected. He said he is not 'one of those who consider that Nicolas Sarkozy is a threat to the French Republic and tomorrow we will have to form a resistance.'
Sarkozy puts it like this (in an interview with France Inter four days ago):
'The French left has this fantastic idea that anyone who does not share exactly their ideas is illegitimate. If I am not in agreement with them, I am brutal. I am a danger for democracy for the sole reason that I do not have leftwing ideas.'
A fairly healthy, if a little limpid, economy has helped France avoid difficult choices about how to adapt to a changing world. If its leaders avoid a real discussion, then the country is just one recession away from being forced to face up to it.

Can Women Play Chess?

2007-05-02T23:51:00.000+02:00

Tonight's long awaited and much-hyped televised debate - the only head-to-head of the campaign - was organised like a chess match. The mis-en-scene was dominated by four concave plastic triangles at the end of which was a giant counter. Segolene, Sarkozy and the presenters PPDA and Arlette Chabot sat at the other sides. All around them were images of the Elysee palace.
French law requires each candidate speaks for an exactly equal period of time - and it quickly became clear that PPDA and Arlette's main concern was watching the counter to ensure Segolene didn't overspeak. Forget the quality of debate or good TV, what mattered was the seconds. When it came to conclude, Segolene had a three minute lead over Sarkozy. He generously allowed her to keep some of his time.
The debate itself - two hours and fourty minutes - was not uninteresting and 20 million viewers tuned in. Segolene was a little shrill, dressed authoritatively in a black suit with a white shirt and on the attack from the outset. Sarkozy was Mr. Relax. Playing the perfect gentleman, he was unmoved by her emotional outburts to which he calmly responded point by point. Typically, she was unable to justify how she would finance her generous projects, promising vaguely a tax on share transactions to cover the burgeoning pension bill. Still she managed to catch Sarkozy out a couple of times, and succeeded in her aim of coming across as a strong woman.
The spiciest bit came when Segolene whipped herself up into a lather over the treatment of handicapped children in schools. Sarkozy, who reputedly struggles with controlling his temper, told her to cool it.
'To be President of the Rpublic, you have to be calm.'
'No I won't calm down. This is a justified anger,' she declared righteously.
Disappointingly, there was no big debate of ideas, rather a squabble over details and competence.
The most disappointing part came at the end however, when Segolene told France why they should vote for her.
'I know that for some of you, it's not evident to think a woman can take on the highest responsibility.' Comparing herself to German Chancellor Angela Merkel, she said: 'I think it's possible.'
At this stage in the game, the sex of the candidate should not be an issue. If a woman can be as competent as a man, which I strongly believe to be the case, there should be no need to appeal for voters to pick you just because you are not a man.

May 1: Segomania

2007-05-01T23:09:00.000+02:00

The Charlety stadium in Southern Paris was litterally overflowing with Segolene supporters when I arrived for her last big public meeting. People were scaling the fences and vaulting into the grounds while nervous security personel looked on helpless. Fearing a crush, the organisers appealed to the prefecture and closed the gates, prompting an outcry and a lot of pushing and shoving. It took me over an hour to get past the security at the press entrance, where journalists were being allowed in one by one.
'I hope she runs her country better than this,' remarked one colleague. He was one of the polite ones.
Inside, Socialists blamed foul play by the interior ministry for deliberate lack of crowd control.
Around 40,000 supporters madde it into the stadium, leaving 20,000 outside. Segolene won then, beating the measly 20,000 UMP supporters who showed up on Sunday to cheer on Sarkozy at his final meeting in the Bercy concert hall. Had they turned up for a free concert with rock stars Yannick Noah, Benabar, Indochine, and Les Tetes Raides? You might have thought so when Segolene arrived in her trademark white suit, twinned with an orange t-shirt (trying to reach out to Bayrou supporters?). She had hardly begun her speech, when she was drowned out by 'Segolene, president' and 'we are going to win.' But like so often, she appeared unable to harness and channel this energy. Instead of urging the holidaymakers to enjoy the concert, she started to talk politics, prompting a small exodus. People, many of whom were rally virgins, may have got bored. They might also have got fed up with the mediocre sound system which made it almost impossible to make out what she was saying most of the time.
'The Socialists always try to do things on the cheap and it shows,' said one colleague.
Segolene was best when she picked up on the whiff of the '68 that Sarkozy tried to crush last week.
In his speech at Bercy he claimed 'everything is the fault of May 68,' Segolene said. 'He got stung by which fly? Because May 68, it was 40 years ago!' She accused him of wanting to create a 68-style revolt, giving him the excuse to crush it. She told the crowd, where several rainbow flags were flying, that she stands for peace. And flashed her radiant smile.

May 1: Another World

2007-05-01T16:00:00.000+02:00

A completely different Labour day festival was taking place a few metro stops from Place de l'Opera and the National Front. Long haired hippies danced with sympathisers of Sri Lanka's Tamils and Zapatsitas in Che Guevara t-shirts as an enourmous march led by the CGT union left Place de la Republique. The Turkish unions made a lot of noise protesting against imperialism, racism and many other things besides. 'Vive le Maxisme, Leninisme,' read one poster. Young people distributed Trotskyiste newsletters, and I bumped into my friend from Olivier Besancenot's rally who occupying a Canadian factory to protest job cuts. Lutte Ouvriere stickers urged proletarians of all countries to unite. Communists of all colours were out in force, and capitalists were clearly not welcome.
'Together, let's fight neoliberalism,' read another banner.
Banners urged the end to genetically modified foods with the marvellous phrase: 'Les Vaches Folles du capital: Ne Soyons Pas Les Veaux.'
There was a distinct whiff of rebellion in the air, tamed only by the faint smell of cannabis. Was there anything that united this disparate and international group? Despite a deliberate lack of political direction from the unions, stickers urging 'Stop Sarko' decorated the bottoms of pretty girls and the chests of bearded men the length and breadth of the march.
'Anti-Sarko, it's in my genes,' read one poster, a reference to his belief that homosexuality and depression are hereditary.
There is something quite charming about the other-wordliness of the march, whose slogans seemed to belong to another era. And something quite remarkable about the number of people of all ages and colours who showed up (60,000 according to the CGT, 25,000 according to the police). Being labour day, it did have one thing in common with the National Front march. Street sellers offered the same lilly-of-the-valley that decorated Le Pen's botton hole, and marchers from both events sought sustenance in the form of barbequed sausage.

May 1: Manhandled by the FN

2007-05-01T13:07:00.000+02:00

I began my May 1 paying hommage to Joan of Arc, together with several thousand National Front supporters. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the atmosphere was charged as the recently defeated Jean Marie Le Pen arrived, sporting lilly-of-the-valley in his button hole, for the Front's annual ceremony. The crowd was a noxious mix of war veterans sporting rows of medals set off by berets and flags, old ladies in pearls and heavy mascara, and skinheads. The heavies from Front's own security service, the DPS, glared menacingly at the crowd which they were iin charge of controlling as they marched to the Opera.
Still, I was quite enjoying myself -- until I was manhandled by Alain Vizier, Le Pen's director of communications. Directed by members of the DPS inside the cordon protecting Le Pen's cortege, I was happily chatting with some of the veterans such as Michel Bayuet, a regional councillor for the Yvelines suburb, who had two youths ejected from the march for refusing to remove the headscarves that were obscuring part of their faces.
'It's a provocation,' the charming grand-father told me. 'They are skinheads. They come to our meetings only to cause trouble.'
Then I spied Vizier, who I had met at a dinner a few months back, smiled at him and made my way over to say hello.
'Get out of here,' he yelled at me. 'You have been here for half an hour. Get out, get out.'
'Ok I am going,' I said rather taken aback. ' I just wanted to ask you how many people are on the march.'
'Get out,' he said.
'You can't tell me how many people are here?'
'Au revoir,' he said, gabbing my arm and pushing me away from him. 'You work for which media? American I presume?'
I nodded. He was hurting my arm. 'That doesn't surprise me.'
Shocked, I started to write down his insults as I made my way out of the cortege. Once outside I stood for a few seconds, scribbling furiously. He ran over to me, thrusting his card in my face. 'Voila. So you know who I am.'
'I know who you are,' I replied. 'We had dinner together.'
He pushed his card down the front of my shirt and returned to his place in front of Jean-Marie.
I had seen more courtesy from the skinheads.
'He must be jumpy about the result,' journalists who usually follow Le Pen told me. 'He's not normally like that.'

Le Pen supporters mostly blamed Sarkozy for stealing a million voters from Le Pen, reducing his score to 10 percent in last Sunday's elections. Some blamed Marine for softening the party line, appealing beyond the traditional party base to the children of immigrants.
'He's better paying attention to people who are French by blood rather than people who are French through immigration,' said Gaetan Heneman, 21, a labourer from Dunkirk who had travelled to Paris on his own for the ceremony.
'A nice National Front voter doesn't interest anyone,' an elderly gentleman told me.
Marine, the butt of most of this criticism, brushed off the nay-sayers who she claimed 'are the chewing gum that has been stuck to our heels for years.'
Loyalty to Le Pen remained high. The crowd waited eagerly for instruction in how to vote for the second round.
'We are not sheep, we are faithful,' said one young man from the Midi Pyrenees. 'We will do what he tells us to do.'
His advice was largely anticipated. 'We want Le Pen not Sarkozy. Jean-Marie not Segolene,' the crowds chanted.
Le Pen gave them what they wanted, urging his supporters to 'abstain massively' from Sunday's vote.

`Le Pen holds the key to the election,' said Jean-Marc Lech, co-Chairman of polling company Ipsos. 'Nothing would be worse for Sarkozy if the le Pen voters don't go out to vote.' He said the Le Pen voters who decamped to Sarkozy were the wealthy, leaving Jean-Marie with a more obedient core of support.

The door to Eastern Europe opens a crack

2007-04-30T23:18:00.000+02:00

As the U.K. fills up with migrant Polish workers (prompting some towns to put up road signs in Polish to prevent lost lorry drivers reversing into their cabbage patches - and my cousin to consider changing her name to Vandorski to improve her chances of finding a job), France is planning to crack the door a little further open to the newest members of the EU.
Les Echos reported the government is extending the list of professions seeking Eastern European workers, stressing that the jobs are not only 'non qualified and unattractive.' Engine mechanics, electricians, chefs and computer professionals figure on the new list of jobs where demand is greater than supply. Plumbers, despite the shocking prices demanded in Paris, were not on the list for obvious reasons, given the election is only days away.
A latent admission perhaps, that given its aging population France will rely on immigrant labour to pay the future pensions of its workforce? Not likely. Restrictions won't be fully removed until 2011 when everyone will be used to the exotic sound of Eastern European accents on the street. Curious timing though, this annoucement...

Sarkozy Blames the Students

2007-04-29T23:55:00.000+02:00

Sarkozy, who seems to have developed a penchant for grabbing his heart these days, wouldn't have been much of a laugh as a student I imagine. Films of him as a young UMP activist have been widely broadcast, but the question today must be asked. Did he leave any time for having fun?
Much as I disagreed with the CPE protestors, had I been a student I would surely have joined them. Because marching when you are a student is fun. And you can tell your children about it when you are older and your youthful ideals have gone a bit hazy. When I was at university, the overwhelming consensus was that the time of great causes and strong beliefs (the 1970s) was over. People didn't care anymore. They just watched Eastenders and smoked dope instead. Still, I jumped at the chance of waving a banner at the then Education Minister Harriet Harman, even if I didn't give a toss about why.
We forget that it was also a little like that in 1968, when French students riots provoked by the refusal to let men into women's dormitories escalated into a full scale social movement that forced De Gaulle to dissolve parliament and call new elections. Still, the gloss of history should mean any self-respecting once-upon-a-time student pay respect to the 68ards and their glory days.
Not Sarkozy. He attacked them today in a star-studded Paris rally, blaming the 'moral crisis' in France on the social protests over 40 years ago. 'The heirs of '68 have imposed the idea that anything goes,' he told a 20,000-strong crowd. They led France to the false belief 'that a hierarchy of values doesn't exist.'
Oo-er. He IS beginning to sound a little scary....

What should you do if your friend votes Sarkozy?

2007-04-29T23:33:00.000+02:00

This was the question posed to me on Saturday night: If a friend trusted you with his or her procuration to vote, but you disagreed with their choice, should you follow their instructions?
Pressed a little further, and it was revealed that the person in question had been asked to vote Sarkozy, which they felt was like unleashing a plague of locusts on France. A moral dilema. Respect the trust of a friend, or contribute to the downfall of your country.
For me there was no question. If your friend trusted you with a task which you agreed with, there is no other option but to carry it out. You can try to persuade them otherwise, but ultimately, the choice is not yours. Not everyone felt the same, however. And I realised that not being French means my passions don't run quite as high.

The Sego-Bayrou non debate

2007-04-28T23:40:00.000+02:00

In the end, there wasn't much of a debate. The debate about the debate was more heated. Should she? Shouldn't she? Will it break election broadcast rules?
In the end she did, much to the irritation of Sarkozy who thought she should be paying attention to him, and only him. Even election opponents get jealous, it would seem.
Amid bewildered American tourists, Bayrou and Segolene installed themselves in the ballroom of a central Paris hotel and let the BFM cameras roll. They sat down next to each other to underline the fact that this was not a traditional political showdown. The questions were incredibly earnest and serious, revealing disagreements on everything from the 35-hour week to the state's role in the economy. The smiling couple insisted the gaps between them could be bridged.
Yet if Segolene caves in to Bayrou, what does she gain? Most of his 29 MPs have already come out in favour of Sarkozy, and his electorate are volatile and will make up their own minds.
'He's like the a commander in battle whose troops have deserted,' said Stephane Baumont, a professor at the university of Toulouse. 'Bayrou has been inflated by the media.'

Sarkozy Gaffes Too

2007-04-27T23:03:00.000+02:00

Sarkozy, despite being a man, sometimes gets things wrong. Though being a man, people don't tend to make as much of a fuss as they do when Segolene gaffes. In a televised interview on France 2 last night, Sarkozy said that Gordon Brown likes to meddle with interest rates to boost the economy and keep the pound under control.
'I like England very much,' he told Charles Bremner, the Scottish reporter from the Times about the Bank of England, a Scottish invention, and the Scots-born Brown. 'As soon as growth slows, Chancellor Gordon Brown and the central bank governor meet and decide to cut interest rates to make the pound fall.'
After decades of disastrous boom and bust economics, blamed on government meddling in the economy, Brown made the U.K. central bank independent 10 years ago. It was one of his first acts as chancellor, and is credited for much of the healthiness of the U.K. economy today. Much as he likes to tinker, Brown has largely left the central bank to do its job without interference.
I've been told by many French diplomats and politicians that the reason France is so critical of the European Central Bank is because it doesn't have the same tradition of central bank independence as Germany. But neither does Britain. We set the bank free because politicians realised it was better leaving the job to professionals. France's state-centric tendencies makes it difficult for politicians to surrender control, but they would do well to consider it. Given the extent of economic ignorance in France, it is quite incredible they think they could do a better job.

Why is Bayrou still here?

2007-04-27T22:10:00.000+02:00

Why is he still here? Bayrou is having a remarkable effect on the second round of the presidential election, despite as Sarkozy pointed out on France 2's A Vous de Juger last night, being a loser. Sure, his 6 million voters will decide the outcome of the second round. But a curious spectacle is set to take place tomorrow: a televised debate between Segolene and the man she defeated in the first round. Either she is making a fantastic gamble given her gap in opinion polls with Sarkozy (who is crowing that more people voted for him in the first round than for General de Gaulle in 1965). Or, as some in the Socialist party are mumbling, she is inflating Bayrou's importance in a desperate bid to woo his traditionally centre-right voters away from Sarkozy.
The problem is that the smell tends to linger when you hang out with losers, and by agreeing to a televised debate with Bayrou, Segolene may well have sullied her stature. The duel is to be held late Saturday morning on BFM television, a time and television station unlikely to attract vast amounts of viewers ahead of a long weekend. The impression is that Segolene has marginalized herself by putting her ideas on par with those of Bayrou. She is not projecting the image of a strong leader that French voters tend to lap up.
Still, Segolene's flirtation with Bayrou was immediate. While Socialist flunkies were insisting there would be no compromise Sunday evening, Le Point magazine reported she delayed her victory speech to the nation in a vain bid to reach him on the telephone. She publicly reached out to Bayrou on Monday, saying she was 'available' for a public dialogue with him during a rally in the eastern town of Valence. Meanwhile, Sarkozy dangled the carrot of ministerial positions to senior UDF figures who back him.
Bayrou's challenge is to suceed in making the most of his first round score and he isn't ready to back either contender and risk a backlash from his new electoral base. The suspense of his decision ensures he continues to exist.. He gave a press conference Wednesday, where he announced that both candidates had left messages on his mobile phone, but he'd been too busy to call them back. He poured scorn over Sarkozy, comparing him with former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi. Sarkozy's cosiness with the media, and his 'taste for intimidation and threats,' aggravated by 'his temperament' makes him a megalomaniac, Bayrou said. Royal, on the other hand, is merely misguided 'perpetuating the illusion that the state can take care of everything.' Sarkozy is a danger to democracy, Segolene to the economy, he said.
With the June parliamentary elections in mind, Bayrou announced the creation of a new 'democrat' party. His bet is clearly to unite his current UDF party (whose 29 lawmakers in the outgoing 577-seat parliament owe their poisitions to no-competition deals with the UMP) with disgruntled members of the Socialists. The success of such a bid depends on a strong defeat of Royal in next Sunday's elections. Backing Sarkozy may have made more sense, but either Sarko ain't taking the bait, or there is something about Sarkozy that Bayrou can't stomach. Leaving him to debate common ground with the woman he needs to loose.

Ce soir ou jamais

2007-04-26T01:39:00.000+02:00

A truly fabulous television show. Ce soir ou jamais by Frederic Taddei.
The subject:
The French Election seen from abroad.
Why it was fabulous?
I should perhaps been impressed by my illustrious fellow guests - which included Goncourt Prize Winner Tahar Ben Jelloun and popular Cuban writer Zoé Valdès. But, perhaps betraying my inner Anglo-Saxonne, it was the mise-en-scene rather than the quality of debate which excited me. Entering the studio felt like being granted acess to an exclusive club. White fringes hid a mirror-ball interior decorated by impossibly fashionable and skinny people lounging around drinking champagne out of white or black opaque glasses. They spent much of the debate speaking to each other, but their lack of interest didn't bother me too much. I was too busy marvelling the fact that they had come to a television show on which I was speaking. I would occasionally zone out of the serious debate to admire someone's outfit, which only once made my mind race to find something to say when Taddei posed me a question I wasn't expecting.
My press attache had instructed me to speak up as much as possible.
'Every time you do your name and your book appears on the screen,' she told me as we sneaked under the heavy curtain to get my make up done.
I was perhaps a little over-enthusiastic against the largely male guests who were largely bemoaning the lack of intellectualism in the presidential debate.
'The intellectuals are despairing' of Segolene, Ben Jelloun bemoaned.
'So what,' I cried. 'This is not the election of the president of the intellectuals. The next president of France will be elected by all of France and many people have really problems which quite naturally they want their next president to fix.'

I thought I'd done reasonably well, holding my own againt the intellectuals. But when I sought support from my fellow Anglo-Saxon Peter Gumbel, author of French Vertigo and a 'grand reporter' at Time magazine, it was lacking.
'Hello, I know your boss,' I said bouncily after the show had finished, referring to Time magazine's Paris and Brussels bureau chief. Bad start.
'He is not really my boss,' Gumbel said sniffily. 'I work pretty much independently and am now working on several projects.'
'Oh really,' I said. 'What?'
'Secret projects,' he said. 'Excuse me, I've just got to...' and then he high-tailed it away from me.

Friends assured me later that I didn't make too much of an idiot of myself.
'I was just so impressed to see one of my friends on Taddei's show that I can't really be objective,' said one. 'I was too busy looking at what you were wearing. But you looked natural. You were great!'

Fairness vs Egalite

2007-04-25T19:04:00.000+02:00

Fairness versus Egalite: That's how Bill Wells, an expert from the UK Department of Work and Pensions, described the difference between the British and French social security systems. Diplomatic speak during a briefing at the British Embassy in Paris for how the egalite of the French system helps everyone, including a lot of people who don't need it. While the British system focuses help on those who need it most.
'From a UK perspective the French system seems to focus on quite a lot of groups of people who might not need their help,' he said. 'The balance seems towards the advantaged as opposed to the disadvantaged.'
In the English, er uhum, the British system (even civil servants slip up sometimes), he said 'there has been an increasing focus on the most disadvantaged people. There is always a roundabout of jobs. The government sees its role as standing next to the roundabout of jobs and helping people onto it.'
The biggest difference in employment rates between France and the UK is among young people, women, and old people - the most vulnerable groups of the workforce - who find it harder to get a job in France.
The way the welfare system is funded can also have an effect on employment, he said. France, like the U.S., is based on 'social insurance' levying payments from employers and employees. The U.K. funds its benefits from the general tax pool. The OECD says the social insurance model is damaging to employment, Wells said, adding casually that the UK has the highest employment rate of all G7 countries. Insurance payments are regressive, he said. Because they are set at a fixed percentage of income, they punch the biggest hole in the poorest people's pockets. 'This means that people don't go to look for work.'
In response to criticisms that the British employment figures are supported by an abundance of McJobs - low paid, unstable and part-time - Wells said that the British system doesn't make 'value judgements' on different types of jobs. Students, mothers with children, those nearing retirement age, may wish for a job that doesn't come with the restrictive constraints that come from a standard contract. One size doesn't fit all. And less regulation can even lead to better jobs.
'The rules regarding temporary work are the most liberal in the world, yet there is a low level of temporary work,' he said of the UK system. 'Restrictions on permanant work means employers divert their attention to temporary work.'
'We don't have a code de travail,' he said. 'We have employment legislation which you could probably put on one page.'
Still, young people get more help than in France. And they have more security. Villepin's proposed CPE contract 'was less restrictive than the UK system,' he said because the period you can be fired with no reason is longer.

Editorial Lines

2007-04-25T06:12:00.000+02:00

Three news weeklies were published early this week giving their take on the first round. All were of the opinion that the second round is Sarkozy's to loose and Segolene's to win, but their presentation was subtly, and perhaps tellingly, different.
Le Point: 'Sarkozy, Can He Loose?'
L'Express: 'Can he be beaten?' imposed over a picture of a pensive Sarkozy.
Le Nouvel Observateur: 'Can she beat Sarkozy?' next to a picture of a smiling Segolene.

Liberation was more outspoken in its political preference. 'Ten Good Reasons Not to Vote Sarkozy' screamed the front page today.

Traitor

2007-04-24T22:00:00.000+02:00

Deception totale. Eric Besson, the former economics guru of the Socialist party, yesterday shared a stage with the man he once called a 'neoconservative American with a French passport,' delivering a mea culpa on how he had participated in the diabolisation of Sarkozy. True, his defection shouldn't come as a surprise after he savaged Segolene's competencies in a book 'Who knows Madam Royal,' published a month after he slammed the door shut on the Socialists. Yet colleagues at the Dijon rally said he looked uncomfortable. It must be strange to de fetted by the people you've plotted so long to defeat. Still, he didn't flinch, telling the crowd he believed and hoped that Sarkozy will win.
'I am a man of the left who will support and vote for a man who incarnes the right,' he said to cheers. Introducing the UMP champion, he signed off with: 'Forza Nicolas et allez la France.'

Little memories

2007-04-24T21:17:00.000+02:00

Cycling home tonight up the steep Avenue Simon Bolivar, I got beeped at by a scooter.
'Yes, it's hard work on a bike,' I said, smiling.
'You don't remember me,' said my old cavist from when I lived at the bottom of the hill in the 10th.
'But of course,' I replied to his helmet. 'How are you? I live in the 20th now. That's why I've not been in recently.'
"I saw you on the television,' he said. 'You wrote a book.'
'Yes,' I said delighted.
'Congratulations. It's a tough ride up to the 20th. Good luck.'
'Thanks - and buy the book,' I said to him as he blasted away from me up the hill.

That's just one of the wonderful little memories that make writing a book worthwhile.

Sego vs Sarko: The British Choice

2007-04-23T22:02:00.000+02:00

Difficult to imagine Segolene or Sarkozy running for election in the U.K. Thankfully, for many British people, they are seeking election in France. Still, here's a sample of Brit voxpops on the French campaign.

The Feminist view?
My money is on Sarkozy. I think a lot of British people are still recovering from Thatcher and there is still a feeling that women can be manipulated whereas Sarkozy seems a bit of a `bully boy,' strong-willed and determined.
Do men fancy having the `soft' option woman to lead them and women want the `strong' man? British people might think France a bit frivolous if they vote in a woman. Don't the French want France to look strong?

Left vs Right:
As a labour voter all my life I now don't know where I stand politically. Blair seems to be a conservative to me and I warm to David Cameron although I have never supported any conservative ever. My husband the Tory and me the Socialist seem to becoming closer in our politics. I'm not sure of the differences any more. We all want to end poverty, stop global warming and live in peace!

Island mentality:
There is an election in France?

Image politics:
We think that the French are more and more imitating Blair's style- all about the personality and not really anything else - it seems a retrograde step - look at Blair!

Sunday's News Bulletin:
I missed the piece on France, but from the news I did see, concern in
Scotland at least was more to do with sewage [in the Firth of Forth] than
Segolene or Sarkozy. Londoners were more up themselves about how they had
organised supplies of water better for the Marathon there than last
weekend's one in Paris.
Factor out Gordon B and the future is all charm - imagine David Cameron and Segolene at the summits ! What a [schmoozy] picture...
Anyhow, thank goodness she's in there for Round 2.

The skeptic:
Here is a nice British view:
I personally couldn't give a shit about any general erection (sic) apart from my own one !!!!!
Nothing against France, same for everywhere. It is just a scramble for power and position and in today's world there is not much anyone can do to make any
changes.
I suppose though it is a necessary mechanism against despotism - important to change the asshole in power for another asshole every five years.

Youth and jobs:
I think it is very exciting to have young, dynamic candidates for a change in the French election and this election appears to be idealogical decision time for france. From our viewpoint here in Dublin, it is time for France to think about employment reform and how to tap into the wasted resource of the unemployed in France. It is not clear to me that the Socialists have any new ideas on this.

From one of the rare Tories in Scotland:
Sarko has all the right, plus half the centre on which to call for the 2ième
tour, whereas Royal has only half the centre in reserve. Ergo Sarko should win.
Big question: why was the 3rd way rejected? Second big question: what can WE do
in UK to achieve a similar turn-out at the polls?

CNBC, LCP

2007-04-23T21:29:00.000+02:00

After Segolene's victory rally had petered out, I thought I'd been able to easily grab a cab home. But it was one of those nights. Each time I saw a taxi with its light on, either someone got there before me, or when I said I wanted to go to the 20th, the cab driver shook his head and drove off. Eventually I gave up and called a cab. Waiting my Madeleine for it to arrive, I was offered a lift from a man who obviously thought I was a prostitute.
'Non merci,' I said to him, holding up my computer in an attempt to show him there could be other reasons for girls to hang out alone on street corners at 2 am.
About four hours after I got home, Donato called to get me out of bed for my first appointment of the day. I was booked to talk about my book on CNBC's Squawk Box Europe with Geoff Cutmore at 8h20. Live in front of the Eiffel Tower.
'You were bellisima,' said Donato, who watched from Italy.
Afterwards I walked in beautiful sunshine away from the Champs de Mars across the Esplanade des Invalides to the studios of La Chaine Parliamentaire, right in the heart of the National Assembly. I debated the foreign reaction to last night's results with Ted Stanger, author of Sacres Francais!, a best-selling dissection of French life by a fellow Anglo-Saxon. And more delighted still to hear he'd heard of my book!

A Short Lived Victory Feeling

2007-04-23T02:40:00.000+02:00

I spent election night at the Socialist party HQ, next to the Musee d'Orsay on Paris' left bank, waiting to see whether voters would favour Segolene or Bayrou as the second choice to Sarkozy. Victory for Segolene would help her party heal its wounds after their humiliuating defeat in 2002 against Le Pen. Failure could well mean self combustion for the party that still has problems accepting the market economy - or at least admitting that it has.
Luckily for her, and perhaps women politicians in general, she did her party justice, coming second to Sarkozy with around 26 percent of the vote to his 30 percent - a difference of about 2 million voters. With the vote on the far right and left squeezed, the 6.6 million who ticked bayrou's box will determine who becomes France's next president.
By the time I arrived at 6 p.m., polls were already suggesting Segolene had a comfortable lead over Bayrou. Still, at 8 p.m. when the exit polls were announced, crowds engaged in the requisite cheering, screaming and flag waving.
`Victory is possible,' rejoiced Jean-Luc Melenchon, a senator and Fabius supporter, who had briefly flirted with the far-left after Royal's selection last year. He claimed Bayrou supporters would be more inclined to join the anti-Sarkozy movement than vote for the former interior minister's scary ulta-liberal vision for France.
Royal left her supporters to celebrate by themselves for at least 90 minutes, allowing me to chat happily with Mr. X, who made no mention of the relevations in my book of his proposition eight months ago. Had he read the reviews? Or noted my recent absence from the campaign? I didn't ask.
Eventually Madame popped up on television screens to make her victory speech from her rural constituency in Melle. In a stiff white suit, she used her hands to try and squish any jubilation from the crowds which she addressed like a school principal. She called for voters to help her ``make France advance without brutilizing it.''
The immediate question: would she be seeking a deal with Bayrou?
`This is not a Scottish election,' Patrick Menucci, one of her closest aides and a street-savy former car salesman from Marseilles, told me. `There is no proportionality. It's a presidential election. We are not changing our line. We
are not negotiating with anyone.'
For how long I wonder?
Around 10.30 p.m. Hollande and other party grandees began trickling back from the television studios where they'd been defending their vision for France. Outside, Rue Solferino was full of young people, waving flags in line with Segolene's patriotic wishes and being entertained by a DJ. When it began raining around 1 a.m., they transformed the cardboard campaign banners into hats and carried on dancing.
Four hours after her first victory speech, Segolene addressed the Paris crowd in the same white suit, though visibly more relaxed.
`Segolene Presidente,' chanted the beer drinking youngsters.
`Ouiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, ouiiiiiiiiiiii, ouiiiiiiiiiiii, write it down, ouiiiiiiiiiiiiii,' one screamed behind me as I scribbled on my notepad.
'The battle starts tonight,' she said from the DJ's stage. 'It's time to bring people together, create a dynamic.'
Inside, the team that accompanied her from Melle were less enthusiastic. Having studied the numbers (An Ipsos poll conducted five minutes after polls closed gave sarkozy a clear 54-46 lead) they were worried about their ability to attract the traditionally right-leaning Bayrou supporters after Segolene's campaign from the left.
'We've done better than Jospin,' urged Socialist party officials to boost flagging moral of Segolene's staff. `Mitterrand didn't do any better in 1981.' Segolene's people nodded weakly, picked up their suitcases, and wheeled them into the darkness to catch some valuable sleep before the gruelling second-round campaign trail begins.

Radio bo-bo

2007-04-21T22:21:00.000+02:00

Tonight, I was Patrick-Leon Emile's guest on Radio Aligre, which friends explained to me as Radio Bo-Bo.
'Everyone listens to it on Canal Saint Martin,' I was told.
Fantastic. My key audience.
Before the interview, Emile told me he'd been in a bookshop an hour before the show when someone asked for a copy of my book. I was delighted. It help ease the pain when I discovered I was going to be talking on my own for an hour, broken only by two songs.
'Help,' I said to myself. 'I haven't got nearly enough anecdotes prepared.'
In fact, the interview turned out to be nothing like I had experienced before - we covered everything from whether I had plans to write another book, to how I found time to write Schzophrenie Francaise.
'I took my inspiration from your prime minister,' I said. 'If he has time to write for an hour before checking in to run the country, I told myself I can do it.'
For the first time, an interviewer was interested in me, rather than what I had to say. It was quite un-nerving as I was totally unprepared. But very pleasant.
Created in 1981, Radio Aligre claims to be one of the last independent FM radio stations in the Paris region. It spurns advertisements, existing on hand outs from cultural benefactors, including, bien sur, the government (via the swocial affairs ministry). The studios were grotty in a kind of underground sort of way, buried in Montreuil, a corner of the 11th I didn't know. If the cafe-concert going on at the metro station when I visited is a regular event, I'll be back.

What France Wants?

2007-04-21T11:43:00.000+02:00

With polling day, tomorrow, I thought I'd share the original 'politic-fiction' ending to my book. On a Republique Francaise plane returning from a NATO summit in Riga last November, I mulled what France wants from its next president....

A low rumbling can be heard along rue du Faubourg St Honore. Deep murmurings reach as far as the Elysee palace. The windows of Prada, Chloe and other chic boutiques have been boarded up and the valet of the Hotel Crillon has been given the day off. The road of the super-rich has been re-claimed by a raggle-taggle mob of farmers, hippies and new-age savers of the planet who fill the pavement as the tractors trundle past. The sweet but distinctive smell of marijuana fills the air.

In the courtyard of the Elysee palace, the Republican guard stand motionless, expectant. Plumes of dark horses hair arch over their shined and buffed helmets then hang down their backs. A red carpet stretches between them from the palace steps all the way down to heavy iron gates on the street. Inside, Chirac sits heavily in his favourite arm-chair, toying nervously with the nuclear button which in a few minutes he will entrust to the newly elected President of the Republic. He brushes the dust absent-mindedly off its leather cover, until an aide tugs his arm.
‘Attention Monsieur le President,’ he says.
Chirac, surprised in the middle of a deep thought, looks up and wordlessly puts the button on the table. A heavy cloud of apprehension matches the humidity in the streets outside.

Slowly, the gates of the Elysee palace are heaved open, dragging on the pebbles as if resisting an unwanted intrusion. The noise from the street becomes louder and louder. Then suddenly, it stops. There is a lull, filled only by the sound of a solo tractor manoeuvring round a tight corner into the palace courtyard. The chunky American tractor scratches the gates as it turns, before churning up the red carpet beneath its wheels. Unperturbed, the tractor grinds its way towards the steps of the Elysee palace where it stops. The cortège of tractors on the street outside remains silent and menacing.

A door opens and out from the tractor strides Jose Bove. He takes a moment to light his pipe, his walrus moustache flickering in the wind. He looks up as the Republican guard raise their instruments and launch into a rendition of the Marseillaise. He jumps down from the tractor and starts singing along to the music.
‘Debout, les damnes de la terre,’ he sings in a deep, throaty voice. Bove is not singing the French National anthem, but the Internationale, a combat song of working classes all over the world. The band continues nervously.
‘Then come comrades rally!
And the last fight let us face,’ sings Bove.

There is a long pause after he has finished. Chirac, waiting silently to greet his successor at the doors of the palace, eventually makes his way down the carpeted steps.
‘Bonjour Monsieur le President,’ he says.
Bove says nothing. He looks around at the stupefied Republican guard.
‘Come on Jacques, let’s get this over with,’ he says, taking the older man’s arm and guiding him back up the steps.
‘What do we do now?’ he asks once the two men are inside.

‘There are some things I need to tell you,’ says Chirac. ‘Top secret things. Like where France’s armed forces are active in the world, and where our secret agents are mobilized.’
‘I am against war,’ said Bove. ‘Tell me where there is fighting and I will put a stop to it.’
‘But..’ says Chirac.
‘No buts,’ says Bove. ‘I am President now.’

At the end of the meeting, Chirac hands him a list of his closest collaborators whose next posting the incoming president traditionally approves.
‘What’s this?’ said Bove.
‘It’s a the list of appointments that I would like you to make.’
Bove looks down at the names. He looks up at Chirac and staring him in the eyes, he crushes the note in his hand and throws it on the floor.
‘But,’ starts Chirac.
‘Be careful,’ warns Bove. ‘Or you will be spending your last days in jail.’

Bove accompanies Chirac out on to the steps of the palace. Chirac turns to shake his hand, but Bove is already on his way back inside. Looking up at the cameras, Chirac walks slowly down the steps, across the courtyard and its crumpled red carpet, and out onto the street. There is no official car waiting to take him away. Only tractors housing hostile looking farmers.
Chirac smiles at them. They look coldly back.
‘But I fought so hard for you,’ Chirac said to a weather-hardened soul hanging out of his green wheat-cutting machine. The farmer looked at him, emotionless. ‘In the European Union, with the common agricultural policy,’ pleads Chirac. ‘At the World Trade Organisation.’ Then slowly, faltering. ‘Did none of it matter?’ The farmer looks away.
The former president of the Republic turns back towards the Republican Guard, who he is relieved to see are still standing by the palace gates.
‘Where is my car?’ he enquired. ‘I thought it would be waiting for me here.’
‘I’ll call you a taxi,’ said a sympathetic officer. ‘Your best bet is to go up to rue de la Boetie to avoid the tractors. Shall I get it to pick you up from the UMP headquarters?’
Chirac shuddered. ‘Not from there,’ he said. ‘It is ok. I will find my way.’
And with that, the seventh president of the Fifth Republic walked alone, his head held high, past the tractors. His strides were regular and calm, in contrast with the raging incomprehension buzzing inside his head. He thought his legs would give way, but somehow he made it to the only refuge he could think of. He knocked at the door of the British Embassy.
‘They didn’t even let me have a car,’ he said simply, when the door was cautiously opened a crack. The doorkeeper called the ambassador who immediately left his lodgings to greet the former president. He heaved the door open himself, and Chirac stumbled inside. The ambassador took Chirac in his arms, where the former president immediately broke down.
‘How did this happen,’ he sobbed.

It happened the day that Philippe Douste-Blazy, the joker persuaded by Chirac to run against Sarkozy, insulted the former partner of his wife, ecologist Nicolas Hulot. On the plane back from a rally in Marseilles, Douste made illusions to journalists about Hulot’s ability to satisfy a woman.
‘There are real men and then there are those who get their kicks out of hugging trees,’ Douste was widely reported to have said.
Hulot immediately aligned himself with Bove, bringing Arlette Laguiller with him to form an alternative ecological movement. The remaining candidates on the far left, Marie-George Buffet and Olivier Besancenot, crumpled after a televised slanging match over who was the best communist. Royal lost her leftist credentials after a British tabloid published photos of her locked in an embrace with Blair, supposedly tutoring her on electoral strategy. Laurent Fabius’ belated bid to supplant her failed when it was revealed he paid wealth tax and lived in a castle. On the centre-right, Francois Bayrou scored marginally more than Sarkozy and Douste who destroyed each other by leaking kinky tales of their rivals’ sexual adventures to political bloggers. As voters turned to the internet, the mainstream press was forced to break its vow of silence surrounding politicians’ private lives. National Front Leader Jean-Marie Le Pen lapped up disaffected voters propelling him into a second round run off with Bove.

Bove’s first act as president was to enable high-speed internet access in his Larzac home base, making good a regional inequality that had been driving him crazy for years. His second act was to order his farmer friends into the forests to hunt for wild boar. The animals were served on spits at a giant coronation ceremony in Bove’s village of Montredon a few days later. Bolivian Presiident Evo Morales was invited as guest of honour, together with a delegation of native Indian peasants who presented France’s new Asterix with a platter of guinea pig. Manu Chao and Zebda, the alternative rock band from Toulouse, provided the entertainment while Zapatistas from Mexico kept unwanted urban upper class Bobos out. The event was sponsored by Danone, which supplied unlimited Roquefort cheese. So great were the celebrations that Morales missed his plane home and nothing was heard from Bove for well over a week.

His third act as president was to withdraw France from the World Trade Organisation and revoke all existing trade treaties with every country except for Bolivia. Markets for Roquefort cheese evaporated overnight and even a government edict requiring citizens to consume 50 grams each per day was not enough to keep Bove’s friends in the style to which they had become accustomed. He withdrew France from the euro to allow the national bank to start printing money to keep his mates happy, sending prices spiralling out of control.

Just before everyone in France gave up hope, crackly radio broadcasts began to be picked up from across the Channel. Exiled in England, Chirac urged his citizens to resist in stirring speeches reminding France of a time when it was a great nation.
‘Whatever happens, the flame of French resistance mustn’t be extinguished and will not be extinguished,’ he said on Radio London.
He called upon Gerard Royal, an agent of the French secret services and brother of Segolene who successfully obliterated Greenpeace’s New Zealand operations, to intervene. WTO Director General Pascal Lamy arranged for Bove to be arrested on his arrival in Canada for an environmental conference. Royal led a battalion of soldiers allied with the Republican Guard, and Chirac made a final rousing speech before setting sail for France accompanied by the British navy.

Crowds lined the streets for his triumphal return to Paris, cheering as the presidential carriage made it way to the Hotel de Ville. The old warrior looked around him at the sea of people looking desperately to him for a way out of France’s impasse. He paused for a second, savouring the moment. When he took the microphone, ladies swooned in the hot August sunshine.
‘I promise not to change anything ever again,’ he said to whoops and cheers. ‘France is the greatest nation in the world. Vive la Republique! Vive la France!’

For Line: Sciences Po Students Vote Royal

2007-04-20T23:02:00.000+02:00

To satisfy Linaloca, who rejects my assertion that French students are awfully conservative, I bring you a Le Monde report of the vote at Sciences Po organised by student body BDE on April 18. Segolene scored 39.8 percent, Bayrou 26.6 percent, Sarkozy 18.7 percent, and Le Pen 4.8 percent.

Random Fan Mail and French Charm

2007-04-20T22:54:00.000+02:00

It seems every time I go into a bookshop, it doesn't stock my book.
Am I doing something wrong? I have tons of messages from friends who've picked up a copy in out of the way places, and importantly at the airport (where normally only big-selling books are stocked, according to my publisher), but I have stopped going in bookshops now to avoid disappoinment.
'They must be all sold out,' said a friend kindly.

Whilst I await the sales numbers from my publisher, I am boosting my confidence with some of lovely moments that come from having written a book. Like the mail I got from a student today, enquiring whether I'd answer some questions for her dissertation. She found my book at the airport and now thinks I am an expert worthy of academic research!
My favourite random fan-mail came after an interview I did with RTL.
Laurent told me he likes my vision of French politics, but told me I was wrong on one thing.
'Non l'Ecosse n'est pas un coin perdu d'une Ile pour les francais, mais une tres jolie region a visiter.'
He signed off with this classic comment. 'Je comprends le politicien qui vous a fait des avances car vous etes
resplendissante de joie et de bonne humeur.' Merci Laurent!

Anti-Sarko

2007-04-20T21:48:00.000+02:00

He may be the front-runner for the presidential elections, but his naked ambition has cultivated an enthusiatic anti-Sarkozy movement. Copies of Marianne magazine with the cover story 'Sarkozy: what the big media don't dare or don't want to say' have been flying off the shelves this week. The weekly said it had initially sold 300,000 copies and then put an extra 60,000 copies on sale on Wednesday, which quickly diusappeared. It printed an extra 80,000 copies containing the 12-page dossier on Sarkozy, with the conclusion that he represents a 'serious danger' for France. A punchy persona with a short temper and an apparent inability to accept criticism, Sarkozy has in vain tried to shake the image that makes people afraid. He is now claiming his isn't ashamed to provoke fear, telling TF1 that worries about de Gaulle, Mitterrand and Chirac never stopped them being elected. 'Fundemantally it's s good sign,' he claimed on Monday. Hmmmm....

Press: Liberation

2007-04-20T10:01:00.000+02:00

To read about my book in Liberation, click here.
Antoine told me his conclusion, that I end up defending the Anglo-Saxon model involuntarily, was designed to get me going.
E: 'Antoine, have you learnt nothing from our debates these past three years? There is no single Anglo-Saxon model.'
A: 'Gotcha. Hehehehehe.'

The Angry Postman

2007-04-19T06:47:00.000+02:00

Olivier Besancenot, the cherubic postman taking time off from delivering mail to stand for the second time as a presidential candidate for the Revolutionary Communist League, is angry. And guess who makes him screw up his round tanned face with barely contained rage? The capitalists bien sur.
'We are no more stupid than the capitalists,' he told a crowd of 4,000 very young supporters at the Salle de la Mutualite in Paris' chic fifth arondissement last night. With a sarcastic, bitter smile, he continued. 'If they are capable of stealing from us, then we are capable of stealing from them.' Is he talking about raising taxes I wondered? When he mentioned Johnny Hallyday, a friend of Sarkozy who fled to Switzerland to avoid taxes, the crowd booed.
Olivier is campaigning on the slogan 'our lives are worth more than their profits.' To force the message home, he wore a carton of a smiling granny on his tight black t-shirt. Her wrinkles were red. The blood of the worker.
'They try to tell us that it is the capitalists who create riches,' Olivier continued, raising his pasty white arms in the air. 'It's us,' cried the crowd. Olivier told them if he was president, he would outlaw the firing of workers and the shifting of production to cheaper countries.
Most of those who flocked to see Olivier looked just like him. Very, very young. There was barely a streak of grey hair to be seen. Looking in the faces of the teenagers and students as they raised their hands in a clenched fist and sung the revolutionary song of resistance, L'Internationale, I could see why they came. I could just about remember what it felt like to believe in a better world. But why had the old people come?
Jean Michel de Laroche, 53, a psychiatrist from Paris' fourth arondissment, said he supports Olivier because he embodies justice and equality. I admired his expensive-looking watch and beautifully coiffed grey hair, and enquired whether he'd be willing to share his money with some of the poor students around. 'I’d be happy to pay more taxes, much more.' Still, he must be in a minority. Most people rushed past the volunteers collecting campaign funds at the door without reaching into their pockets.
I understood barely a word of what Michel Lopes, 63, was saying as he thrust a leaflet heralding the workers’ occupation of a printing factory where he used to work into my hands. I made out that he belonged to the generation of '68, when students marched for a change in society, and that he despised the 'liberalisme' of Blair's Britain.
Some people had come as part of their civic duty, touring rallies as they try to make up their mind who to vote for. Documentary maker Antoine Dauer, 30, said he likes Olivier's candour, but questioned whether his economic discourse is realistic. Hedi Taleb, 28, agreed. 'It's total demagogy, but then so are the people who say everything will be solved if we cut taxes.' I asked them what they thought of Tony Blair, and suddenly found myself drawn into a debate about the Anglo-Saxon world. 'We are not all horrible capitalists,' I found myself saying as I put my journalist pen into my handbag. Then I recommended they buy my book....

L'AngloSaxonne Rules The Airwaves

2007-04-18T23:58:00.000+02:00

Today, dear reader, I rule the French airwaves. At the risk of sounding like it's all gone to my head, I'd like to share with you the delightful fact that l'AngloSaxonne featured on TV, radio and in the newspapers.
It all began very early in the morning on France Info where Mireille Lemaresquier asked me for my views on les petits candidates - CSA rules mean her radio has to give equal attention to all 12 presidentiables and she'd heard more than enough about Sego, Sarko, Francois and Jean-Marie. At work, I discovered that Jacques Hubert-Rodier had reviewed my book in Les Echos .
His favourite phrase « Viens vite, ô plombier polonais ! Paris a besoin de toi ». All because my French plumber screwed me for 700 euros for two hours work and a few plastic pipes. Then this evening, I had the great honour to be invited on Patricia Loison's evening show on i-tele. She was absolutely lovely, and I enjoyed myself enourmously, not least because the hairdresser gave me a fabulous 1980s coiffe and told me I was beautiful. Which made me feel better after Mireille told me people have been mistaking my fat tummy for the beginnings of a wee baby.

Red Noses

2007-04-17T23:46:00.000+02:00

Presidential candidates are sporting red noses everywhere in Paris. For some reason they suit women better - Segolene and Marie-George look fantastic. Perhaps because men have a tendancy to take themselves a wee bit too seriously? In any case, the only candidates to be spared by the red-nose brigade on these posters by the Sorbonne was Sarkozy and Le Pen. What does that say about French students.....

For Balance

2007-04-16T21:45:00.000+02:00

After a weekend away, I return to France to see Segolene posters are now being defaced. In this picture, taken by the canal Saint Martin at Jaures metro station, she is sporting a Hitler moustache accompanied by the title Demagogie. It's not the funniest, but I thought I should display it for balance. The best Segolene graffitti I saw was again near my house (I live in a creative neighbourhood obviously). La wannabe premiere dame de France was sporting a red nose. I wanted to take a picture.But I was late for work and cycling downhill fast. Maybe tomorrow.

The Big, Wide Blogging World

2007-04-16T21:24:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow I'm coming out of hiding. I'm going to go meet other bloggers and find out how this blogging thing works. How I can see if anyone is reading my drivel. How to make sure my drivel is read. See what inspires others to blog. A quick glance at the blogs of the bloggers inscribed to attend, and they all have something to sell. Saving the environment, justifying Segolene, promoting a film script, making folk back home jealous of the ex-pat lifetsyle. They all seem much more technologically savvy than me. But then that wouldn't be hard.

Still there is more to life than blogging. Like getting engaged. Yes really. I still can't believe it.

Sunday, driving to the airport, went something like this.

D (removing a ring he had given me from my middle finger): why don't you get the jeweller to make this smaller to fit here (placing on wedding finger)
E (joking) Are you asking me to marry you?
D Well I thought we had already agreed that
E (shocked) is this a proposal?
D Che?
E You are asking me to marry you?
D You don't want?
E Yes, but you have to ask me in a way that I have a story to tell my girlfriends.

Later, the sun set in an obligingly romantic-ish fashion as we stood outside the airport munching sandwiches and watching D's car, parked in the quick drop space, to make sure he doesn't get a ticket.
D Emma, will you be my fiance?
E Yes

Bombs

2007-04-12T21:44:00.000+02:00

I'm a little scared that something really awful is going to happen this election. After the deadly bombs that killed 33 people in Algeria, Sarkozy warned us today that the terrorist threat is 'real.' What happened in London, Spain and New York could happen here, despite France's opposition of the Iraq war, he said in an interview with Europe 1 radio.
Will Al-Qaeda try to leave its ugly fingerprints on this election, traumatising an already slightly paranoid country? It's a frightfully chilling thought. Not just for the people who could be hurt or killed. But also because of which candidates would benefit. And what this would mean for democracy.

Press: La Croix

2007-04-11T17:56:00.000+02:00

To see my interview in La Crois, click here.

France's Briget Jones

2007-04-11T07:22:00.000+02:00

'France's Briget Jones' is what the i-Tele interviewer called me.
'I hope you gave him hell for that,' said a friend afterwards. 'You are much more together than Briget.'
If only he knew.... Seeing as the interviewer was my friend Jean-Jerome, who enjoys winding me up, I said nothing.
I got a bit lost on the way to the television studios and stopped in a neighbouring building to ask for directions.
'It's over there,' said the helpful lady, before asking timidly. 'And if you don't mind me asking, who are you?'
Wearing a leather jacket makes for instant stardom I suppose.
I smiled. 'Nobody important,' I assured her. Perhaps I should have said 'Briget Jones.'

Ready, Set, Go!

2007-04-10T08:56:00.000+02:00

At midnight on Sunday, France's official election campaign began meaning all 12 candidates are allocated equal air time, preventing any serious debate and providing a real headache for broadcasters. (The schedule of the France 3 news broadcast to which I was invited in the wee hours of Monday morning was shown just after midnight, granting freedom to the late Sunday night political debate that squeezed in just before the deadline). By putting him on a par with Segolene and Sarkozy, this quaint but arcane law has blasted unknowns such as Gérard Schivardi, a mayor from a south-western village who is backed by Trotskyite Worker's Party into public consiousness. The problem with Schivardi is that thanks to his accent, noone has a clue what he is saying. Still, there is something quite wonderful about the fact that Mr. Nobody (with enough buddies among elected officials) can shoot from obscurity with little or no money and participate in the debate. Each voter they attract is someone who failed to be inspired by the main candidates.

Posters for all 12 contenders went up in front of voting centres Monday. By Monday evening the images of Sarkozy and Le Pen had already been defaced at this school just yards from my home.

Student Politics

2007-04-08T14:59:00.000+02:00

When I was at university, no self-respecting student campus would have left election posters for a right-wing party unvandalised for long. It's only when we get older and realise we don't want to share all our money with our compatriots that we are supposed to become conservative. I said it during the CPE protests. French students are middle-aged before their years....

Why Do French Toilets Never Come With a Sink?

2007-04-08T12:37:00.000+02:00

This blog was intended as a commentary on the French political campaign, continuing where my book Schizophrenie Francaise left off. So I should really be talking about the growing anti-Sarkozy movement that deprived him of chocolate in Lyon last week after protestors held up banners saying he wasn't welcome. Or Le Pen's cloak-and-dagger excursion to Argenteuil, the Paris suburb where in 2005 Sarkozy promised to rid the neighbourhood of scum, a word (in French 'racaille') which has become emblematic of his menacing tough-love approach. Or the book which cost Equal Opportunities Minister Azouz Begag his job. He reveals his dislike for Sarkozy and the former interior minister's inability to control his temper. 'Will Azouz Begag have the right to the same media promotion as Eric Besson?' asked Marianne magazine after it published serveral extracts from the book, a reference to the supposed pro-Sarko bias in the French media. Not if the anecdotes are anything to go by. Compared with Besson's insiders account of Segolene's campaign, Begag's story appears to be more about his lack of political skills and support in Chirac's government.

All very interesting stuff. But what I want to talk about today is a thought that struck me last night. French toilets, certainly in Paris, are mostly seperate from the bathroom and rarely contain a sink. A habit I had become accustomed to, thinking it reflected the small living space of most Parisiens. When my British visitors complained, I thought they were being British and directed them to the sink in the bathroom or the kitchen. When my Italian visitors expressed surprise, I began to think that perhaps it is the French who are different. And then last night, I started to think about toilet arrangements in Belgium or Spain. In each picture of appartments I have known, there was always a sink next to the toilet. Why then, in France, do you have to make a special trip to wash your hands?

Party

2007-04-06T11:21:00.000+02:00

He came! I was signing a copy of my book when I heard a familiar voice in my ear.
'Felicitations!'
And there standing next to me was Jerome Bonnafont, Chirac's spokesman.
'You came!' I exclaimed. 'How wonderful!'
I procured a book and signed it with a mention for Franco-British relations which I classed as 'notre vieux rivalitre qui nous tiens chaud au coeur.' After flicking through a few pages, he promised to let me know his opinion when he's read the book.

I was of course delighted by everyone who showed up. Old friends including my flatmate from when I worked in a Tex Mex restaurant at Montparnasse, and a former partner in crime from Brussels. New friends with flowers and smiles. My neighbour and her daughter. Old Fettesians come to show support for the Edinburgh school which we have in common with Tony Blair. French colleagues from the Association de la Presse Presidentielle and British and American colleagues from the Anglo-American press association were out in force.

I had absolutely no idea how many people would be able to come. I had total faith in Felix, who had organised everything and persuaded his mum to loan us her fabulous art gallery for the event, but I was still nervous. The white space of the Gallerie Nikki Diana Marquardt seemed awfully vast when Donato and I stood alone in the middle.

'Taste this,' said Farid as he and his Nouveaux Traiteurs set up the cocktail they'd prepared for around 200 people. It was the only time I had time to eat any of his delicious nibbles.

The first to arrive were my work colleagues, closely followed by Jean-Claude and the team from Gawsewitch. And suddenly I was in a whirl, greeting people with never enough time to chat. After a little more than an hour, we decided to welcome everyone. Donato filmed my wee speech, which I watched again today. Very Gwyneth Paltrow, though thankfully without the tears and the pink dress. Cringily though, there was lots of hand waving and touching of my heart. And my bra strap decided to jump out from under my dress and decorate my arm.
'Trop mignonne,' said a French friend kindly.

People stayed until around 11 p.m. when we ran out of wine. Donato and I left Farid to clear up, and stolled out into the romantic evening darkness of the Place des Vosges.

Postcript: To hear the Radio France interview of this morning with Dominique Andre, click here.

Anglo-Saxonne Identity Crisis

2007-04-03T22:09:00.000+02:00

Patrick Cohen doesn't get it.
'Why don't you like being called an Anglo-Saxon?' he asked me earlier during his evening show on RTL radio.
'Because they aren't very popular in France,' I told him.
Then why do you call yourself an Anglo-Saxon on your blog (someone reads it!) and on the cover of your book? he continued.
'Because I didn't think anyone would care about the opinion of a tiny wee country tacked onto the north of England,' I said.

To be clear, I should perhaps explain. 'Anglo-Saxon' is a French concept which comes with a bunch of assumptions (money-obssesed, wedded to unfettered capitalism). I don't recognise myself nor the country of my birth among them. Nor do I think English-speaking countries have enough ideology in common for them to be lumped together. Plus the word 'Anglo' is never going to be a popular epithet for a Scot. Hence I reject the concept. At the same time, I live in France and I know that for French people, I am an Anglo-Saxon. So I allow myself to be categorised in a way French people understand. And then I tell them they have got it all wrong. Capisce?

Hurray for Fast Trains

2007-04-03T21:04:00.000+02:00

'Look at it go!' exclaimed a French colleague as a TGV hurtled across television screens during the lunchtime bulletin, breaking world records with a speed of 574.8 kph.
The express train was showing-off the new Paris-Strasbourg line to its journalist passengers, and Gallic excellence to the world. Across France, people and news commentators beamed with pride and presidential candidates scurried to lap up some of the good feeling. Hang the cost! France is the champion du monde! Hurray for the TGV!!

Sex, Scandal, Sarkozy, Segolene, PMT

2007-04-02T19:49:00.000+02:00

Sorry about the misleading title. It's just that I was advised that one way of attracting people to your blog is to use words commonly searched for on google. So let's see what happens.
The PMT part is true. It explains why I am writing this blog from my bed at 8 p.m. while the sun is still shining. And why when Donato told me he has a good chance of getting a job in Paris, I found it impossible to transmit the enthusiasm I felt in my heart into the words that came out of my mouth. So the best thing for me to do now, is to have an (extremely) early night.
Buena notte.

Press: Le Parisien

2007-04-01T17:55:00.000+02:00

To see my interview in Le Parisien, click here:

Pourquoi j'aime la France

2007-03-30T20:19:00.000+02:00

Loving someone is about falling in love with that person again and again. My newest love affair with France began yesterday, the day my book went on sale.
Laurent, a friend who liked my book so much he offered to translate it, picked me up at midday and we took a tour to the Fnac store at Saint Lazare. After a quick look around the politics section, where we failed to locate my book, Laurent asked after Schizophrenie Francaise.
"Nope, nothing by that name,' said the helpful shop assistant.
My heart fell to the floor.
'Are you sure?' enquired Laurent. 'The author's name. It's Emma Vandore.'
'Ah oui,' said the rather surly fellow, indicating with his thumb somewhere behind him. 'Over here.'
I had expected the moment to feel more important. I looked back at the shop assistant expectantly.
'You have before you the author and the translator,' said Laurent helpfully.
'Ah oui,' he said without looking up.
We waited for a bit, but he continued tapping something into his computer. I considered offering to sign some copies because I'd been told the shop can't return signed copies to the publisher. Then I decided against it.
'Come on,' said Laurent. 'Let's find where they are.'
We discovered a pile of my books face upwards on a table next to a book written by another friend of Laurent.
'You are in very good company,' he said. 'What a good position.'
And he was right. I wasn't wedged into some shelf. I was laid out on a table. And I should be happy. But somehow I'd expected to be on display at the front. Dillusions of grandeur obviously. Or maybe I was just tired.

We met up with Jean-Jerome for a celebratory lunch. Then I went back to the office. A few hours later, I was released and headed to the Auld Alliance, a fabulous Scottish pub in the Marais where I'd planned a small celebration. But disaster! My lovely Scottish bar been transformed into an American watering hole, and not only that, but the commercial the re-look was in aid of had over-run by five hours. When I arrived the place looked like a building site. For a wee moment, I felt like crying. But the lovely owners, who had warned me of this eventuality an hour before, took matters in hand and directed me and the steady trickle of close friends to the bar next door. There, the barman was very friendly, even offering to buy a copy. Until he discovered it was about politics.

At such events it is always impossible to speak to everyone you want to, especially when the waitress keeps asking you to get out of the way. My favourite moment was when I showed the thank you card sent by Patrick Poivre d'Arvor around (nine words written in what I presume is his own hand-writing). Or was it talking about the benefits of English tea with Rhino?

Anyway, the night went by in a flash and before I knew it, I was in Friday morning. I hopped on the metro to trek to the other end of Paris for a debate on 'La France peut-elle vraiment changer' at BFM radio, hosted by Vincent Giret. With two appearances on France 24 under my belt, I didn't feel quite so much in awe of the others guests - Time magazine bureau chief James Graff, Jacqueline Henard of the Swiss newspaper Tages Anzeiger and Stefan Braendle of Austria's Der Standard. It still doesn't feel real, but I am learning to enjoy it all.

If I've mastered the technology right (and I probably haven't), you can find the podcast of our debate here.

When I arrived at the office, I had the most wonderful surprise. Paris Match, THE French news-weekly magazine of reference, had written a review of my book. I held my breath as I read what they had to say....

Then I began jumping around the office. And when I didn't think I could be any more excited, a colleague exclaimed: 'Look Emma, your book!' There, on France 2's lunchtime news bulletin, was my friend Jeff Wittenberg, talking about Schizophrenie Francaise (and the other book by my fellow BFM debators). 'Who was the Socialist who tried to pull you,' Jeff texted me after the show. But I ain't no kiss (there was no kissing) and tell (there will be no telling) kinda gall.

Why the French Should Drink Tea

2007-03-29T19:50:00.000+02:00

Amid the pandemonium at the Gare du Nord last Tuesday afternoon, when a stand-off between police and French youths degenerated into a pitched battle that lasted well into the evening, an English family sat calmly sipping cups of tea.
‘There seems to be an awful lot of police about,’ remarked my friend Rhino’s step-Mum. ‘Can you pass the milk?’
Below them, in the shopping centre under the Eurostar terminal where Rhino’s parents had arrived for a weekend break in the City of Light, the familiar stench of tear gas filled the air. A reminder of the tensions still simmering after the November 2005 riots that swept across immigrant neighbourhoods.
In contrast to the remarkable British sang-froid displayed by Rhino’s family, the presidential candidates worked themselves up into a pitch of excitement. Socialist candidate Segolene Royal pointed the finger squarely at Nicolas Sarkozy, who had just stepped down from his job as France’s No. 1 cop. She accused the right of failing on crime issues, while centrist candidate Francois Bayrou said Sarkozy’s policies were alienating suburban youth. Sarkozy, ignoring whistles and cat-calls as he took the train from the Gare du Nord the next day, defended the police and claimed the left were siding with hooligans and law-breakers.
France politicians, it seems, are just as excitable as the country’s youth, turning a relatively minor incident, which resulted in the arrest of 13 people, into a campaign issue. It’s a reflection of the collective madness, what I call French Schizophrenia, that is gripping the world’s sixth largest economy. There is no structure to the debate among the presidential candidates about France’s future. The campaign is unpredictable, a whirlwind of emotion, driven by the feeling of the moment rather than a clear political direction. And after five years of growing fear and uncertainty, a clear direction is exactly what France needs.

(For a first-hand account of the therapeutic benefits of tea-drinking during riots, I bring you Rhino and his fabulous Bookpacker blog.) P.S. I did not steal the wallpaper from him. It's just we both have good taste.

Amazon Reality

2007-03-28T23:09:00.000+02:00

I just checked out www.amazon.fr and if you search on my name, you can find my book!!!! It is finally finally starting to feel really real. And as my friend Isa just said, definately too late to turn back now. So from tomorrow, get clickety click click-ing! The more books are sold in French, the more my publisher will find it worthwhile to find an English publisher. Which means that my Mum will be able to understand it. Which is in fact my ultimate goal. So go forth and buy! Even if you don't understand you can decorate your coffee table with a book in French which will make you look cosmopolitan, multi-lingual, intellectual and totally au fait with French politics ahead of the most important elections in a very long time.

Brigitte

2007-03-28T07:48:00.000+02:00

I have just turned the final page of 'J'Habite en bas de chez vous,' the story of Brigitte, who survived on the streets of Paris for two years. Even in her darkest moments, she held herself apart from those with whom she shared a pavement. It wasn't that she thought herself superior, only that she refused to follow them down the path of no return. She avoided the trap of booze, drugs or the dangerous mix of both that most sans abri use to escape their reality for a few moments. She insisted on regular showers and tried to keep herself as clean as possible. She cut her hair short and dressed in dark, heavy cover-alls to make herself unremarkable. When she could, she applied a little makeup.

Two things struck me about her story. The first was her relation with her neighbours in Place des Vosges and other passers by. She recounts many tales of amazing kindness - and others of horrible cruelty. Like the well-known (and unnamed) resident who ordered the police to rid the arches around the square of the homeless who took shelter there. While she understands his fear for his family - the eviction occured after one of them was knifed by a homeless junkie - she beseeches him for not doing more to change the system so people like her can find shelter. 'Dans la rue il y a beaucoupp des gens normaux a qui le ciel est tombe sur la tete.'

The most powerful part of her story though, is how the street transformed her. You can see it in her green eyes that peer out from the cover of her book. Passively strong without being agressive. Overcoming her situation required enormous strength. She lost the soft part of her - perhaps forever. Though she has escaped the street, it has not escaped her. She likes to sleep with the windows open, and often suffers nightmares. She says she wants to forget, but not completely. The memory keeps her on her toes, reminding her that she - like you or me - could end up in the dirt, under the stars.

Reality Check from Scotland

2007-03-27T22:46:00.000+02:00

Before my little sondage, I thought that all the world was talking about the French elections. Then I got this little mail....

'Really i have no idea about the election. I presumed one was happening since Chirac's step down, but without radio or tv, we are in the dark.'

Flag Waving and all that...

2007-03-26T23:40:00.000+02:00

As voters become increasingly disillusioned by the election race, presidential candidates are trying to give their electorate a boost by telling them that they should simply feel great about being French. From a country whose self introspection and depression (among many other things) inspired me to write a book, the sudden emergence of Gallic pride is a tad unsettling.

It all began with Sarkozy who sought to reap some National Front voters by promising a Ministry of Immigration and National Identity. Oo la la! Everyone immediately began accusing the son of a Hungarian immigrant of pandering to the far-right. And then suddenly Segolene plucked the flag right out from underneath him. At a March 18 rally for 4,000 local elected officials she played the French national anthem, La Marseillaise, and urged all French people to display a flag at home.
The guns from the far left came out. José Bové, the anti-capitalist farmer, accused Royal of 'trying to Americanise our country,' a sentiment echoed by the centrist Bayrou.
I could get distracted here and warble into a long rant about flags. (To be brief: football hooligans in the U.K. destroyed any pride we may have had in out Union Jack flag which is rarely seen on public buildings in the U.K. As a teenager I was taken aback by the prevelance of the French flag, and as a 20-something equally taken aback by the fondness for the American flag in the U.S.). But I'd rather focus on the important things. Why is there suddenly this renewed call for patriotism? Often when people reach out for symbols of strength, it is because they are feeling awfully insecure.

France 24

2007-03-26T23:15:00.000+02:00

I was sipping champagne at a reception for the new British Ambassador to France, Sir Peter Westmacott, when my phone rang. It nearly tipped my glass over as I fished my phone out from the inner darkness of my Mulberry bag.
'What are you doing right now?' said F.
'I'm sipping champagne at the British Embassy,' I said, hoping to impress him.
'Great. And what are you doing in the next half an hour?'
'Er,' I said.
'Right, give me the adress and I'm sending a taxi round. France 24 want to interview you about your book.'
'But, wait, stop, um...' I bumbled. But F was insistent. He knows that I need a bit of bullying when it comes to getting around my last minute nerves. 'Great, fine, super thanks,' I said. Then went in search of some nibbles to line my stomach.
And so it was, totally unprepared and a little bit tipsy, that I did my first ever TV interview. Interviews plural I should say. In English and in French. No matter that I was filling in at the very last minute for somebody more important who dropped out. I got 30 full minutes of air time to talk about my baby in French and in English.

TV Reject

2007-03-25T17:43:00.000+02:00

I am a TV reject. Sigh, sniffle. After two telehone interviews on my book and my views on the presidential campaign, I was invited to air my views on France 2's Sunday lunchtime show 'Un Dimanche de Campagne.' The journalist told me he liked my book, loved my accent, and would send a taxi round to pick me up. Would I mind being filmed during the make-up session? No problemo. And could I speak about the British perspective on the French campaign? Mais bien sur.... I dispatched my uncle and various friends out to the pub Friday night for sample surveys....

And then Saturday, I receieved an unintelligible call on my mobile. I called back to find out that France 2 don't want me after all. They must have found someone more important with a better accent. Sniff.
After being consoled bu Donato, I got another call from the France 2 assistant informing me that my taxi had been booked.
'But I've just been told you don't want me anymore,' I said, much to the poor man's embarassement.

So France 2 may not want me. But having gone to the trouble of doing a random UK-census of the campaign, I wouldn't want my respondents efforts to go to waste.

From The Plough pub in Appleton, near Oxford.

'From a bloke-ish perspective it has to be Segolene; add the Royal name to the good looks and she's the must-win choice. Benchmarked against Angela Merkel at the Euro-summits, she looks a winner to me. She'd charm the socks off the likes of Gordon Brown, and George Bush; on the other hand if she has to handle Hilary [Clinton], that might be tougher... Didn't Nicolas Sarkozy let slip some dodgy remarks about immigrants ? '

From a proprietaire:

'I'm certainly interested in the French political scene, partly because of our property but also because it is so different from our system. I find it astonishing that they have stuck with Chirac for so long and still allow him to behave like he's untouchable.
'I also find the constant comparisons with Blair quite amusing. Blair is now very unpopular in the UK and, whilst he's trying very hard to establish his legacy, most people don't think he's got one apart from Iraq. The French seems to have difficulty in hiding their secret admiration of our system and our national character, however hard they try.'

From a Chirac admirer:

'We are happy that the French are recognising the fact that they are no longer the centre of the universe. The Brits suffered the same fate some forty years ago.
'We will miss Chirac because it is the end of supremely confident and arrogant presidents (in the style of De Gaulle) and fear that everything which comes after will be focussed on public relations rather than clear and coherent policies.'

From Scotland:

'Here all attention is on the Scottish election, the leadership battle between Blair and Brown and the possible breaking up of UK if the SNP wins which is looking like a real possibility. i haven't seen much in the British papers at all about the French elections.'

Segolene and La Joconde

2007-03-20T21:31:00.000+01:00

Segolene and La Mona Lisa (known in France as La Joconde) have the same face shape, according to computer images presented by Thierry Berrod in his Canal+ documentary on political charisma. Judge for yourself.

Jose Bove's Crazy Day

2007-03-20T20:43:00.000+01:00

Jose Bove had a very crazy Friday.
Having announced his presidential bid late in the game, Bove was reduced to a series of mad last-minute attempts to reach the quotient of 500 signatures from elected officials required of all candidates. A Cyclist was dispatched to collect a signature arriving by TGV 35 minutes before the deadline, according to Liberation. Another signature was transported by a cooperative air hostess on the flight from Marseille, the newspaper said. Once the clock had stopped, Bove could not be sure if he had reached his goal. Luckily for him, all the effort paid off and he is now officially one of the 12 wanna-be presidents.

Villepin And United Nations Dreams

2007-03-17T21:25:00.000+01:00

It will probably remain his greatest ever moment. A proud fragment of history for France and at least a point of reference for the rest of the world. Dominique de Villepin. French Foreign Minister. At the United Nations on Valentine’s Day 2003. When he urged the U.S. to listen to an old continent which, after centuries of bloodshed, had finally learned that war is best avoided. Whose applause was muffled by American television channels, and who was pictured on the front page of the New York Post with his head replaced by that of a weasel.

Did he dream of greater things than being prime minister of France? The presence of only 15 journalists at his monthly press conference in March must have brought him down to earth. And so le dauphin this week returned to the place where he felt his greatness is still appreciated. This planet is called the U.S. In New York, according to Liberation, he met with U.S. Secretary General Ban Ki-moon and spoke about his dream of becoming a global ‘crisis manager.’
Hmmmmm. Like you did with the CPE???

The aristocratic poet finally recognised (to an American public) that he ain’t no politician. He claimed he never dreamed of becoming president and accepted the role of prime minister only to take his diplomatic instincts of serving his country to the ultimate level. So that’s why he’s still shying away from running for elected office?

The Princess Diana look

2007-03-17T11:16:00.000+01:00

I have spent the last three hours trying to download the software I need to re-size pictures for this blog. It's probably just me, but the whole process seemed to be super complicated with a Mac. Computers and me have always had an uneasy relationship. So I gave up and found an easy peasy way to do what I wanted and it seems I didn't need the techy gizmo after all.

This picture was taken by my friend Jill who gave up most of her Saturday to try and make me look beautiful. My publisher had asked for some publicity pics, so we de-camped to the Champs de Mars on a sunny winter's morning. I proved to be a very shy model, unconfident in my smile and uncomfortable with my body. After an hour or so, Jill shot a series of three photos were my diffidence seemed to fade, replaced by a confident diva. For a minute, I was hot stuff. Only problem was that a green rubbish bin in the background detracted from my sultry look. We examined the photos to see the reason for my transformation.
'It seems to work when you tilt your head down and raise your eyes,' Jill instructed.
'Like Princess Diana,' friends said.
There followed a series of hilarious photos where I totally overdid the Diana look. This picture was snapped after Jill showed me the results of my attempted coquetishness. A model I am not. But we sure had a lot of fun.

Ouch!

2007-03-16T20:16:00.000+01:00

Eric Besson, whose love affair with the Socialist party ended on Valentine's day, is hitting back.
'I won't be voting for Segolene Royal,' he said in his book 'Who knows Madame Royal?' according to extracts published in Le Monde. 'Not in the first round, not in the second. Except, of course, if she is facing Jean-Marie Le Pen.'
Granted, his former job as the Socialists’ economics guru can't have been easy. But the party had been his life since at least 1997 when he first won a seat in parliament, and he must be carrying a lot of hurt or disillusionment to slam the door so firmly shut. Two days before he quit the party, I went to a debate organised by Ifrap where he was defending Segolene's economic program. He was tense, and referred at the outset to differences with the candidate. But he gritted his teeth, claiming the Socialists offered a better future for France than any of the their competitors. Only a few weeks later, he is claiming her campaign is 'deceitful and dangerous'
He delivers a damning insiders’ guide. He refers to the 'arbitrary' way she pledges huge sums of taxpayers money - in this example renewable energies, a commitment she backs out of just as quickly. Without consultation or debate. And she certainly didn't want to hear from Besson when he suggests her proposals were costing too much money.

Besson gave a press conference a week after he quit, and his strained face still haunts me. He was part of a campaign which he'd been gearing up to for the past five years. And suddenly he finds himself on the outside, looking in. He is imposing on the campaign in his own way, with the incredibly speedy production of a book (available March 20). But he has denied himself the rush and excitement of his team's competition for the Elysee palace.

In a much less dramatic way, I have also found myself on the sidelines. For the past week I've been watching the campaign from the outside, ever since I switched out of the politics team. And already I'm missing it.

You just have to learn the HTML code....

2007-03-15T23:51:00.000+01:00

A friend has been teaching me how to blog. That explains the sudden appearance of my book cover and other exciting new features. If the news articles at the bottom of the page are still about Jose Bove and General Motors then it means I haven't quite mastered how to work out all the funky functions for myself.
But what a wonderful world there is out there. In my next post I hope to add a photo all by myself (although apparently I have to download a program for re-sizing pictures first...hmmm....) When it comes to collages of photos, apparently all I have to do is nick an HTML code off some other more technologically minded blogger. Until yesterday, I wasn't aware that HTML code was accessible to anyone other than real internet nerds so I may leave the fancy stuff for a while. But I now know enough to be impressed. Blogging. It's the new flower arranging.

Youpee!

2007-03-13T22:05:00.000+01:00

My book, which I've been gently nurturing for the last year just like a wee baby, is about to be born. And this is what she will look like. In book stores near you (if you live in France) from March 29. If you click on the cover, you can read what it's all about. It's my birthday today and I couldn't ask for a better present.

Adieu Cher Jacques

2007-03-12T19:50:00.000+01:00

And it's goodbye from him.
Last night, Chirac confirmed what most of France had been waiting to hear for a long time. At 74, he's finally decided to give someone else a shot at running France. His television address, billed as a declaration of love, was more formal than the Queen's speech.
'The moment has come for me to serve in another way,' he said solemnly. 'I won't be seeking your votes for another mandate.'
Then, without revealing who he'd prefer to continue his work, he gave a list of instructions. 'Believe in yourselves and in France.'
'Seize this new world... without ever selling our French model short.'
'There is no other country quite like France.'
Finally, he revealed stiffly that 'it's with much emotion that I speak to you tonight.'
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that. Ten minutes and it was over. No tears. No awkward questions. His stiff upper lip would have done any British politician proud.
The spectacle served only to highlight the distance between a president and his people instilled in the French model that Chirac has wholeheartedly supported. He spoke at France rather than to France, in a pre-recorded message filmed from his bolthole at the Elysee palace.
Waiting in the wings were his potential successors. TF1 showed a montage of four faces ready to react to his speech. A smiling Segolene in the top left hand corner; below her a scowling Le Pen; next to him the eager Bayrou; and above him the sacked prime minister Raffarin heaping praise on his old boss en directe from the Senate. Apart from Le Pen, who qualified Chirac as the worst French president in history, there was almost universal acclaim for Chirac's vision of France. Segolene contented herself with saying 'it's time to move to the action phase.' Bayrou, riding high in the opinion polls, typecast himself as Chirac's successor, saying what makes France's more special than any other country is that 'we have a project of society.'
Less enthusiastic was Liberation the next day. `Je vous aime, nous non plus,' proclaimed the front page, a play on a famous Serge Gainsbourg song. It's time to pack your bags Jacques....

Should journalists declare their vote?

2007-03-10T12:10:00.000+01:00

Should journalists be honest about their political persuasion? This is the question posed by Marianne magazine this week after television presenter Alan Duhamel was suspended when comments he made in November came back to bite him. In a meeting at Sciences Po, he'd announced to a select crowd that he'll be voting Bayrou.

The debate is particularly pertienent for me. Last week I was asked to quit the politics team when my news organisation decided it would be inappropriate for me to continue due to the imminent publication of my book, 'Schizophrenie Francaise' (available in book stores near you from March 29).
It wouldn't be wise for me to debate this particular issue further in public. But let's take a wider perspective. Is it possible to be totally objective? Or should we be honest about our subjectivity and let the public decide for themselves whether our personal bias has affected our reporting.

Before I became a journalist, I considered becoming an engineer. In the scientific world, objectivity is key. At least that is what they claim. In experiments, the personal is removed to the extent that the 'I' is obliterated from the official version of events. Lab reports read: 'the glass container was placed on top of the bunsen burner.'
Later, when I studied social anthropology, I saw the social sciences try to ape this approach in a bid for respectability. The anthropologist sat on the veranda and observed what was going on around him, trying to ensure he didn't influence events. Then there was a revolution. Anthropologists realised they couldn't understand what was going on unless they became a part of it. Some of them took a look at the hard sciences and realised they aren't always as objective as they claim. The man who gave his name to the unit of energy, James Prescott Joule, was able to see the minute changes in the reaction of a liquid at different temperatures due to his personal experience watching liquids dance at his father's brewery.

But back to politics. Marianne reports that at the Figaro, Nicolas Beytout has decreed the newspaper will not back any candidate in order to temper critics wary of the right-wing sympathies of shareholder Serge Dassault, a military industralist and a UMP senator. The Express and Le Point also prefer their journalists keep their opinions to themselves. At Le Nouvel Obs, its up to the editorialists to decide whether or not to reveal their personal choice.
Marianne's editorial staff decided to announce their choices on the pretext that if a media can stake its position for or against the Iraq war, or on other issues, it would be hypocritical not to take a stance on the presidential elections. The result? Well it seems I was wrong about Bayrou. He is the candidate of choice for 36 percent of Marianne's redaction, putting him level with Segolene. Sarkozy won 2 percent. He was pictured in a cartoon declaring: 'I don't care if Marianne doesn't support me. I've got TF1.'

Is it just me, or are people fed up of politics?

2007-03-08T11:29:00.000+01:00

Is it just me, or are the French getting jaded of the presidential election campaign?
This campaign started earlier than ever before, and articles on the candidates' latest gaffes or triumphs appear to be slipping from the front pages, at least from the news weeklies. Diversions such as the return of French rock God Michel Polnareff (who quit France before I was born: friends have promised to help me understand the emotion of his come-back) rocket onto the cover of Paris Match, where he and his much younger girlfriend are pictured embracing -- naked execpt for his trademark white shades.
And who is the lucky man lapping up all this dissatisfaction? Step forward Francois Bayrou.
This week France's third man (the phrase has become his moniker despite the fact that one of the presidential trio is a woman) hit the symbolic bar of 20 percent of voting intentions, and his star keeps on rising. In a CSA survey he polled 24 percent to Segolene's 25 percent and Sarkozy's 26 percent. The 55-year-old farmer and former teacher is presenting himself as the candidate of compromise. His government, he promises, would be based on competence and would include ministers from the left and right (getting neatly around the problem that he doesn't have enough talent within his own party).
Bayrou's success is giving his oppenents the willies. The Socialists are desperately trying to betray him as a closet right-winger and Sarkozy is wooing his former colleagues such as Simone Veil, the former minister who legalised abortion and survived Auschwitz, giving her an almost saint-like reputation in France.
The anti-establishment rhetoric is going down well with voters, if you believe the opinion polls. But I've conducted my own (admittedly much smaller and much less scientific) survey among friends and taxi drivers and I've yet to find one person who seriously sees him ensconced in the Elysee palace.

Eating Pizza

2007-03-03T10:33:00.000+01:00

'I'm not one to ask for pity, and I know there are many worse off than me, but it is becoming painful to be counting your pennies every month and to give up many of the little pleasures in life.' This is the tale of Anne Larinier, 45, a nurse at Paris' Saint-Joseph hospitals. She tells Marianne magazine that five years ago she and her family enjoyed pizza in a restaurant once or twice a month. Today, she serves pizza at home on a Saturday night. Two years ago she gave up on her love of theatre, and the last time she went to the cinema with her husband was to see the last episode of Star Wars (Revenge of the Sith which came out in 2005).
Anne is not the only one suffering. The woes of the 'middle classes' are growing, and the magazine is full of their tales of hardship: the 33-year-old forced to live in a flat-share in a Paris suburb because he can't afford to rent on his own; the commuting postal worker whose standard of living slips each time petrol costs climb a centime. The article cites a study by Paris-I university and Paris' Ecole d'economie that shows teachers are paid 20 percent less today than in 1981 (excluding inflation). Marianne says a 'revolt of middle management' is growing as they watch the gap between them and the big bosses grow.
What the article doesn't say is why living standards are slipping. If you look at France's growth rate over the past five years, the fall off should not be so dramatic given the environment of low inflation. Can the cut in purchasing power, a key issue in the presidential campaign, be the sole fault of the 35-hour work week, which has effectively frozen people's salaries? Or is there something more sinister going on in France's economy?
On the TV chat shows, each presidential candidate promises to jiggle the social security system to ease some of the suffering they are presented with. The real question is whether they have the right fomula to turn the economy around for everyone and reverse what is percieved at least as an inexorable sense of decline.

Bunking Off Work

2007-02-26T20:41:00.000+01:00

France is the champion of Europe for bunking off work thanks to legal protections which ensure workers still get paid even after six months, according to a Saratoga and Price Waterhouse Coopers survey of 14,000 companies.

But it's not just the legal safeguards that keep people away from their desks. French people are fed up with working. You see them every day: the grumpy lady at the post-office counter, the rude bank clerk, the aggressive waitress. Strolling past a market stall in Cannes last weekend I saw a rack of t-shirts with slogans such as 'work sucks' or 'the best thing about my week is the weekend.'

It reminded me of Britain in the early 1980s when Garfield cartoons proclaiming 'I hate Monday' decorated the walls of many workplaces. Although people still prefer Fridays, the Brit attitude towards work has become less hostile. The stand-off between companies and their employees is less about workers-vs-bosses and more about ensuring that managers are doing their job properly. People take some pride if not in what they do, then at least in providing for themselves and their family.

Business is a almost dirty word in France. The economy in the minds of many French people is a sort of pump operated out of the finance ministry in Bercy. The government just needs to adjust the settings to create jobs and money. Problem is, they haven't been getting the settings right for quite some time.

It is workers and not politicians that create the wealth of a nation and the government should give credit back to its citizens. When Socialist grandees like Laurent Fabius say factory workers should be allowed to retire early because they have such a shitty job, they are stealing their self-worth. Fabius might consider working in a factory beneath him, but it ain't so bad. For some people, not relying on state handouts is a source of pride and they enjoy the banter of the workplace.

Give people back pride in their work and they might start showing up more.

French Humour

2007-02-25T12:12:00.000+01:00

When you think of France, sense of humour is not first quality that springs to mind. But it may be becoming one of the country's growth industries.
Stand Up comedy, a deeply British tradition, has come to France with the Jamel Comedy Club which this weekend welcomed Segolene Royal among its audience. And inspiration is criss-crossing the Channel with British comedian Rory Bremer stealing headline-grabbing tactics from France. The Observer revealed he'd posed as a Gordon Brown impersonator, tricking a government minister into saying exactly what she thought of her colleagues.
Just a few weeks ago Segolene Royal fell for a similar prank when comedian Gerald Dahan coaxed her to make a joke at the expense of the touchy Corsicans by pretending to be the prime minister of Quebec, Jean Charest.
Interestingly, the French media had no qualms about publishing the recording and Segolene was mocked for having fallen for the prankster. Calls of dirty tricks by her camp fell on deaf ears and in dinner parties around the French capital, Segolene was accused of having made another gaffe. In Britain, Channel Four decided not to screen the Bremner recordings because of regulations banning the use of deception unless it is in the public interest. And Margaret Beckett, the duped minister, condemned the stunt as an 'unprincipled and unpleasant breach of privacy.'

Nill Illigitimi Carborundum

2007-02-24T13:37:00.000+01:00

That's Latin for Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down.

Years ago, when my sister got screwed by the company she was working for, my Mum sent a bunch of flowers to her office and the card read: 'nil illigitimi carborundum.'

I wish she'd sent me a card like that these past months.

I've had to face 'them' down on my own. Not completely on my own, thankfully. On the other end of my skype camera each night there is always my beautiful Donato. Telling me I am doing the right thing. Keeping me sane.

I've just written a book that is a lot about why French people would be better off if they weren't so afraid of taking risks. So it would have been very hypocritical of child-less me not to follow my own advice, even if I was terrified. Even if I just bought a house and have a mortgage to pay.

And now what's done is done. And the upside -- and it is a huge, awesome, frighteningly wonderful upside -- is that I'm going to be an author. And now it's done, they can't squeeze the excitement out of me anymore.

I went for a long jog this morning. And as I rounded the turn of the hill in the Buttes Chaumont park, I caught sight of the delicate china-white Sacre-Coeur church crowning Paris' skyline. And my adrenalin finally flushed out months of worry and self-doubt and for the first time I felt a thrill of exitement about what I am doing. I am about to publish a book. And everything is going to be fabulous.

Impertinence

2007-02-22T23:12:00.000+01:00

'Apparently she might not come,' I was informed by grumpy journalists as soon as I arrived for a joint press conference with Segolene and Former Health Minister Bernard Kouchner at the Socialist party headquarters. Sure enough 'la star' failed to show.

Kouchner attempted to fill the void by presenting his alternative to Royal's boot camps for unruly teenagers: civic service training with charities or state services. Journalists were waiting for the overdue announcement of Segolene's new campaign team.
'Will you be part of the team?' the former doctor was asked. He didn't know.
Sarkozy had named Kouchner as a Socialist he could work with, and I asked the founder of Medicins sans Frontiers whether he'd be willing to work with Segolene's competitor if she failed to win the elections. While he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about the idea, he failed to rule it out either.
'Beware of opinion polls,' he said.

'You always ask impertinent questions,' said one of the press attaches as we edged out of the chilly tent erected in the middle of party HQ.
'I've been accused by the Elysee of impertinence, but I never thought I'd hear it from the Socialist party,' I said.
He grinned. 'Oh it's not a reproach. I like your questions.'

Vaffanculo

2007-02-21T23:52:00.000+01:00

To take a break one second from the French campaign.

'Siete Degli Irresponsabili , BASTARDI ; BASTARDI ; FRANCO TURIGLIATTI SEI UNA MERDA VIVENTE ; BASTARDO ;BASTARDO ; mi ritroverò con Berlusconi per colpa TUA BASTARDO PEZZO DI MERDA ; VAI A FARE IN CULO TU E TUTTA LA TUA RAZZA DI MERDA ; BASTARDI

VAFFANCULO VAFFANCULO.'

Even for those of you who don't speak Italian, I think the message is clear. This is a mail from Donato (reproduced with his permission) to the Rifondazione Communista party of Italian Prime Minister Romano Prodi's coalition government. In a vote on foreign policy in the Senate, where Prodi enjoys a one-seat majority, the communists witheld their support, forcing Prodi to quit. Though it seems likely he will be back with a new coalition, the move gave heart to Berlusconi's party. And promted this delicious reaction. No mater if you don't understand. Try reading it out loud a few times. It's a wonderful way to rid yourself of any frustrations you might be holding onto.

Segolene in a tropical paradise

2007-01-28T22:34:00.000+01:00

To escape the heat of a presidential campaign marked by practical jokes, poisonous party infighting, and a public spat with her partner over money – taxpayers money admittedly – Segolene escaped from Paris to the bathe in the ‘warmth and energy’ of the Caribbean. After a difficult month, she admitted ‘it’s not a bad thing to put some distance’ from the French capital – roughly 7,000 kilometres – and surround herself with less critical crowds on the French islands of Martinique – where she spent three years as a child and one year as a civil servant – and Guadeloupe.
For four days, she was constantly followed by the sounds of the Carribean chart hit ‘Celimene,’ tweaked to ring out her name, and men and women in bring colours clapping, singing and dancing.
‘Seg, Seg, Seg, Segolene – ooWayhe – Seg, Seg, Seg, Segolene.’
At rally after rally, the Socialiste candidate smiled and swayed her arms, though her legs seemed less eager to swing with the rhythms of her childhood.
She was also greeted with a specially composed song - ‘weclome back to the school of your youth’ - by the pupils at Saint-Joseph de Cluny, still wearing the same uniform that Segolene had once adorned, a pleated blue and red tartan skirt teamed with a white shirt.
‘I wish for you to be happy at school and to have a wonderful career which allows you to be free and fulfilled as women,’ she told her adoring audience. Segolene recounted afterwards to journalists how her Caribbean experience helped her career. ‘Afterwards I had such a nostalgia that for homework I wrote poems about Martinique which helped me win the first prize for poetry.’
In a whirlwind series of open-air meetings, dotted with colourful diversions such as a beach pick-nick and market visit, one thing struck me as quite extraordinary. As the sweat poured off her minders and the photographers jostling around her, Segolene proved she is a real lady. She didn’t even glow, let alone transpire.

In the market of Fort de France, she made her way past crates and supermarket trolleys piled high with exotic fruits – limes, melons, star fruit – to press home her advantage over Sarkozy, who was forced to cancel a December 2005 visit because a law on teaching the positive effects of colonialism prompted protests in the overseas territories partly populated with descendents of slaves.
Segolene said she would be a president of a ‘mixed race France,’ and pleased the crowds with a few words in Creole.
‘Moin se on famn doubout, nou kay casse ca,’ which translates as ‘I am a tough lady, and we’re gonna shake things up.’
Her Caribbean visit was also a welcome break for the pack of journalists following the Socialist campaign.
‘It’s better than Scotland huh?’ said more than one hack as I dipped my tired and pasty limbs into the turquoise-blue sea.
‘Dare I say it, but it’s better even than France,’ I retorted, only to be met with boos and splashing.
‘But Emma, this is France,’ replied a radio journalist, insistent that this Carribean haven is as much a part of the Republique as Le Havre or the medieval villages of Bordeau.

Vive l’Ecosse libre!

2007-01-25T20:56:00.000+01:00

On the plane to the French Antilles, discussion turned to Segolene’s latest gaffe. She’d been duped by an impostor posing as the prime minister of Quebec into joking about the possibility of Corsican independence.
‘Vive l’Ecosse libre,’ quipped her close aide Patrick Menucci as I approached the group.
‘Well the latest polls show….’ I began, relating the rise of the Scottish National Party in opinion surveys ahead of the May elections to the Scottish parliament. But his eyes had already glazed over.

Marital Squabbles

2007-01-18T20:59:00.000+01:00

‘The only failing’ of Segolene, Montebourg said with a smile on his lips. ‘Is her companion.’
His comments were met with a shocked silence. Not the reaction he’d been anticipating. When the Canal Plus show was over, he called Segolene to offer his resignation. She decided his quip merited a less severe telling-off and suspended him for a month instead. Hollande, it was reported, was not amused.
The solution may have satisfied the father of her four children, but it made her look like a school teacher. When Montebourg returns as her spokesman in a month’s time, will anybody take him seriously?

N'Ayez Pas Peur

2007-01-18T18:23:00.000+01:00

French Trade Minister Christine Lagarde said she gave up a well paid job at Chicago law firm Baker & McKenzie to come back to France beccause she thought she could help people get over their fear of globalisation.
'I'll always remember the frequency with which the words protect, protection and assistance are used in connection with what is alleged to be expected by the French people,' she told a group of Anglo-American journalists before jetting off to the World Economic Forum in Davos. 'The words I was acccustomed to use were encourage, entice, incentivise, prioritise. There is a huge fear and concern that results from globalisation and the movement of people, goods and services around the world.'
She came back to France, and may be seeking to run for mayor in her home-town of La Havre, because 'deep down you are where you are born.' As well as representing France on the world stage, Lagarde sees her job as educating French people of the benefits of globalisation, teaching school children not to be afraid.
Sarkozy, she says, is the answer. 'It is the only solution for France to take action and reform itself, accept the changes around the world and accept that it is part of what is going on. There is a huge issue of confidence, courage, that needs to be addressed.'

Queen of France

2007-01-15T23:10:00.000+01:00

A BBC radio documentary revealed the unlikely news that in 1956 the then French Prime Minister Guy Mollet came cap in hand to the British government seeking a merger between the two countries. When that didn’t happen he asked to become part of the British Commonwealth, assuring his counterpart Sir Anthony Eden that there would be no difficulty accepting the Queen as head of state!

Preposterous as it might seem today, the idea was perhaps not so crazy 50 years ago. France turned to its ancient enemy, which had also been an ally in two recent world wars, when the pressure of economic difficulties and an escalating crisis in Suez combined with a bloody war in Algeria became too much. French confidence was likely uncharacteristically weak after its inglorious actions in the Second World War. Desperate times require desperate measures and a union was first suggested by Winston Churchill in June 1940 to stave off French capitulation to the Nazis.

British newspapers had great fun imagining what such a world could have been like. The Guardian fantasised about better food and trains that run on time whilst raising concerns whether you’d be able to afford either, given France’s current employment problems. In France, the idea didn’t go down well. ‘I had a good opinion of Mr Mollet before. I think I am going to revise that opinion,’ said Jacques Myard, the short and portly UMP lawmaker.

British cabinet papers show that the proposal was eventually rejected and a year later France signed the Treaty of Rome with Germany and the four other founding members of what was to become the European Union. Indeed Jean Monnet, the Frenchman credited with creating the EU along with Robert Schuman, was one of the authors of Churchill’s offer of union. So perhaps it wasn’t all about peace and healing the wounds of two world wars. Could it be that the EU was a way of getting one up on Britain after she spurned poor old France. Could it be that Chirac and the French establishment are so sniffy about the English language due to the near reality that had Mollet had his way the corridors of power could have been resonating with the language of Shakespeare?

So how much do you earn Francois?

2007-01-15T20:51:00.000+01:00

Socialist leader Francois Hollande thought he was hitting out at the people he has said he doesn’t like: the rich. Anyone earning above 4,000 euros should be putting more into the state kitty he said, before being shouted down by Segolene and her allies. At his New Year’s wishes to the press, he insisted he’d merely been speaking his mind. It will be up to Segolene to arbitrate, he said. It seems many people earning 4,000 euros a month don’t consider themselves rich.
Hollande admitted to earning 6,000 euros per month as a law maker, but appeared unsure if this was net or brut.
‘Check with National Assembly,’ he advised journalists.
While this was an attempt at transparency, it shows that the self-declared anti-rich champion earns so much money he isn’t aware of how much is trickling into his bank account each month. Lucky for him.

Charmed by Le Pen

2007-01-12T21:10:00.000+01:00

For my own credibility, I shouldn’t admit to it. But I will. Last night, I had dinner with Jean-Marie Le Pen and I found him quite charming. Admittedly, we didn’t dwell on his more odious policies – he has been advised by his daughter to tone-down his revisionist views of history, racist barbs and virulent nationalism. But on a lot of issues, he talks a lot more sense than any of the other politicians out there. And it is this, and not solely an inherent racism among French people, that explains his widespread appeal.

‘You have to convince French people that to look at the state to take care of everything will bring certain ruin,’ he told a dinner party of mainly foreign journalists. ‘Giving freedom back to French people is to give them back responsibility.’

Successive French governments, he says, have proved incompetent. Citing the example of the growing tent city of homeless people along Canal Saint Martin, he said: ‘We have people running this country who don’t want or don’t have the means to solve the problem. They tackle the consequences and not the cause.’ To solve the tent problem ‘they make a law’ giving homeless people the right to demand a roof above their heads. ‘Laws never solve anything. How will they put in place this law?’ Homeless people ‘can’t tale a lawyer because they don’t have a centime. It’s pitiful.’

His answer of course, is better immigration controls. He denies all charges of racism, challenging a journalist who assumes that the woman appearing on National Front posters challenging state failures over assimilation is a beurette. ‘She could have been Sicilian,’ he says.

‘People will be surprised about how many people in the suburbs vote for me,’ he claims. And if his record in predicting electoral success is anything to go by, he could well be right. While she was being overlooked by the mainstream French establishment back in 2002, Le Pen picked Segolene as the next Socialist leader. ‘She has a sublime name that goes down well on the left bank and Boulevard Saint Germain,’ he said. And the party ‘needed something new.’ He also claims he predicted Jospin’s defeat in 2002.

On his own chances, he cast himself as a romantic warrior. ‘I’m like Zorro,’ he said. ‘ You never see him directly but you know he is there. You hear his horse.’

La Reine de Liberation

2007-01-10T22:07:00.000+01:00

‘Emma, today you are the Queen of Liberation,’ said Philippe Gouillaud, Elysee correspondent for Le Figaro, as we waited outside the palace, I had arrived late and the ministers were already spilling out of the doors. ‘T’es tres belle dans Libe,’ said Ludo, as he rushed past me to take a photo of Villepin. Everyone it seemed has seen the photograph. Tucked away on page 12, the prime minister was pictured with Chirac and Sarkozy. Lurking in the background was a not particularly flattering but unmistakeable picture of me.
‘Behind three great men, stands one great woman,’ texted Els, a friend from Brussels. Fame at last!
Once the Elysee has emptied, we crossed the road to Hotel Marigny, where we waited for Cope to give his weekly post-cabinet press conference. When he’d finished going through the agenda, he started taking questions. I had been asked to check out a potential dispute with the European Commission over its proposals for a common EU energy policy and I put my hand up without my much thought.
‘Did this issue come up?’ I asked him.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘But I am not sure what you are talking about. Can you be more specific?’
‘Um,’ I said, the microphone suddenly feeling very heavy in my hand. I opened my mouth slowly, weighing up whether my brain was going to recall enough of the article I had quickly skimmed through before leaving the office in time. I let out a little laugh. My brain was not cooperating. ‘It’s something I was requested to ask,’ I said playing for a little time. ‘It concerns an article in Le Figaro.’ Still nothing. ‘And,’ I said slowly. ‘I have to admit I can’t remember the details. Does anyone have a copy they could lend me to help me out?’
The room broke out in laughter. Though everyone found it funny, my colleagues were sympathetic. Cope’s spokeswoman rushed towards me and within seconds I had a copy of the newspaper in my hand, allowing me to carry on with my questioning. But Cope wasn’t having any of it.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting five years to get one over on a journalist like that.’ Though my cheeks were glowing a little, I managed to laugh along with everyone else.
Once the press conference was over, he stopped for a chat.
‘What was that all about – asking a question you didn’t know anything about?’ he teased me.
My fellow journalists quickly stepped in to help out.
‘It’s often like that at a news agency – you get asked about many things,’ said one.
‘If only journalists knew what they were talking about each time they asked a question,’ said another.
‘The problem is my head,’ I told Cope. ‘It’s not big enough to remember everything that is swimming about in it.’
‘It’s not that your head is not big enough,,’ he replied. ‘It’s that you don’t have a big head. No French person would admit to not knowing what they were talking about like that.’

Arrogant? VGE?

2006-12-29T20:35:00.000+01:00

The British Ambassador to France in 1976 painted a less than flattering picture of his host, according to declassified documents released by the British government and reported by AFP.
His origins ‘are undeniably those of the French haute bourgeoisie, a caste marked by its riches, its privileges and its sublime certainty that it has the right to govern,’ Nicholas Henderson wrote of French President Valery Giscard d’Estaing in a briefing note ahead of his trip to the U.K., the first state visit ibn16 years.
‘The more time the president can be seen with the royal family as if he was their friend, the happier he will be,’ advised a British diplomat.

Johnny Hallyday flees to Switzerland

2006-12-23T18:36:00.000+01:00

French columnists are busy scouring the lyrics of aging rocker Johnny Hallyday for something appropriately witty to explain why the 63-year old is taking his fortune to Switzerland. Johnny, who in the past has tried to claim Belgian nationality to lessen his tax bill, says he has 'had it' with the French taxman who lets him keep he only 32 centimes of every euro he earns (on an annual salary of 6-8 million euros).
After much hyped media appearances over the summer, where Johnny and his family signed up to Sarkozy's UMP party, he looked like a traitor. Yet Sarkozy resisted criticism, saying: 'when so many of our artists, creative people, and researchers say they must leave, it's our country which has problem.' Newspapers began totting up all the famous and succesful people that French taxes - particularly the walth tax known as ISF - have driven out of the country.
The ISF appears to cost France more than it brings in, as people shift themselves and their money elsewhere. Yet it appeals to the class hatred that is surprisingly easy to whip up in France, and so Chirac's government didn't dare get rid of it. While Johnny's actions as an economic actor may be understandable, Segolene's response was to lecture him for being a bad citizen. Yet to say he lacks 'solidarity' is a little naive. People, even French people, are selfish, at least to some extent, and need more carrot and less stick in enticements to being a good patriot.

The Presidential Press Association

2006-12-19T20:39:00.000+01:00

Today, French colleagues paid me the huge honour of electing me to the board of the Association de la Presse Preidentielle. One space is reserved for foreign members, and they picked me! That must mean they like me. An Anglo-Saxonne!
I could not keep the smile from my face. Especially when Philippe announced that the new board members would be celebrating with a slap-up (three hours quand meme!)) meal.

Pot Noodles in Scotland

2006-12-17T22:00:00.000+01:00

‘Is it true?’ asked Jean-Jerome. ‘In Scotland you have the right to claim a roof over your head?’
‘Yes!’ I cried exasperated, unaware of the debate that was being created in my old neighbourhood, the Canal Saint-Martin. ‘I told you this in Syria. Let go of your Anglo-Saxon stereotypes. Scottish society is fundamentally social. We don’t let people sleep on the streets, no matter who they are, what they have done. We…’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Jean-Jerome who had heard it all before. ‘But it’s really true that you have a legal right to force the government to house you?’
‘Yes,’ I cried. ‘Why does this surprise you?’
‘It’s not a question of being surprised. It is just everyone is talking about Scotland at the moment.’

And so they were. Camera crews were being dispatched to Scotland to film former street-sleepers wolfing down pot noodles that they made with water from their own kettle, in their own sitting room. France was looking for inspiration not to Scandinavian countries, who in French mentality have found a heavenly blend between social harmony and international competitiveness, but from – shock horror – an Anglo-Saxon nation. Spookily enough, in the news reports Scotland suddenly appeared to have developed an identity of its own. Viewers were treated to a short de-brief on the power-sharing arrangements of the United Kingdom, no longer referred to as England, and the words Anglo-Saxon and liberal were missing from all reports. The 2003 Homeless Scotland Act. An inspiration for France.

Augustin Legrand left his day job as an actor, locked the door of his cosy Parisien apartment and pitched his tent on the banks of the canal to show his solidarity with the homeless people living there. Their presence had been felt over the last year ever since Medicins Sans Frontier started distributing grey tents to protect against some of the winter cold. The people whose mattresses I’d jogged past in the summer had taken up permanent residence and the following summer were hosting barbeques and petanque sessions in the heart of Paris’ bo-bo district. Of course, life on the streets is a lot less fun in wintertime and Legrand and his charity Les Enfants de Don Quiote pulled at the appropriate heart-strings. The message seeped quickly into mainstream French society via the internet and soon rows of middle-class sympathisers were camping out in red tents to the extent that they became a tourist attraction.

Belatedly the government took note, and hurriedly adopted a Gallic version of Scotland’s new law, with an emphasis on the right to demand housing from local authorities rather than their ability to supply shelter. In France, creating a law is a way of silencing criticism without actually dealing with the problem or its sources. Homeless charities continued to bemoan the lack of accommodation and the party along Canal Saint Martin continued. Predictably squabbling broke out amongst the leaders who accused Lagrand of being a traitor when he left to shoot a film in South Africa. Having created a media circus he abandoned ship and left his enfants, and the charities who have been looking after the homeless for decades.

Clichy-sous-Bois and Le Front National

2006-12-11T20:33:00.000+01:00

I quit France as the suburbs began to burn last year. It was nothing to do with the riots, but to say goodbye to my father, who died just as the chaos was beginning.
While France was on fire, I didn’t care. But when my feelings began to return, I started to wonder about life on the other side of Paris’ ring-road. Charles Onana, the author of ‘Pouquoi la Franec Brule: La Racaille Parle,’ invited me to Clichy to meet some of the locals he interviewed for his book.
We agreed to meet outside of Clichy town hall. From the window in the mayor’s office, Clichy ain’t that bad. Granted, getting there from Paris is difficult. There is no direct transport link so I took the luxury of arriving by taxi. But around the bureaucratic focal-point are green spaces, trees and even an art exhibition at the cultural centre Espace 93. I crossed the road to check it out and was joined by school party of screaming children.
Behind the town hall, at the one-time ‘luxury residence’ La Forestiere,’ it’s a different story. There is little in the way of entertainment, let alone amenities. A market, a chemist, a bakery, an Aldi supermarket. Eating out comes courtesy of McDonalds. Strangely enough there is a hotel – an automated check-in Formula 1 offering rooms at 29 euros per night.
‘Lucky for the journalists who were here last year,’ said Boris Gamthety, a Forestiere resident and one of the contributors-come-authors of Onana’s book.
There is rubbish everywhere, strewn across the streets. ‘It’s a part of town that has been abandoned by everyone,’ said Onana.
Inside La Forestiere, the stairwell is dark, stinking and covered in graffiti. The windows on the ground floor are boarded up. The lifts don’t work.
‘What happened here last November shocked the rest of France and the whole world, but it didn’t shock us,’ Boris said, after leading me up the stairwell and into the apartment of a friend. ‘It has happened before, only because it was happening here, no-one took any notice.’
Boris, 31, wants to be a graphic artist. He was born in Chad but has lived in France for almost 30 years. Still, he doesn’t have a French passport, which makes it difficult to find work. As if his postcode wasn’t enough of an obstacle. His brother, Georges, wants to be a musician.
Posters for Jean-Marie Le Pen’s ultra-right Front National are appearing around France picturing a young woman with big hair and coffee coloured skin. For Boris and Georges the fact that a child from an immigrant family could be campaigning from the anti-immigration party is less remarkable than the part of her knickers that sneak above her jeans in the photograph.
‘Why,’ I asked incredulous, ‘would anyone vote for a party that prefers their families had never come to France in the first place?’
‘How can it be worse than it already is?’ replied Georges, 29. ‘Why should we keep voting for the inequalities that the others keep serving us?’
Onana agrees. ‘It’s normal that you have the Front National in places like here because people don’t want to continue to accept the lie of egalite and fraternite. France wants the world to think that it’s the country of human rights, of social protection. But there are problems here and they aren’t being solved. People are fed up of empty words.’

Montebourg Fights Evil Capitalists

2006-12-07T20:37:00.000+01:00

‘Our work for our political generation is to tame the market economy,’ said Segolene’s spokesman Arnaud Montebourg, dismissing the never-ending stream of share prices running across the television screen on which he was being interviewed. He had come to teach the capitalists a lesson. His message to supporters of the unfettered market economy is that their time has come to pass.
‘Deregulation has brought globalisation to a dead end,’ he said. ‘Environmentally, it’s destroying the riches of the planet. Socially, it’s exploding inequalities. Politically, most countries don’t accept the market economy without limits.’

To be fair, he is reflecting the wishes of French people, who a recent poll showed are the most sceptical on the planet about the benefits of free trade. A poll by the University of Maryland’s Program on International Policy Attitudes and GlobeScan showed only 36 percent of French answered ‘yes’ to the question: ‘Is the free enterprise system and free market economy the best system on which to base the future of the world?’ France was the only one of 22 countries where a majority voted against the free market.

So what is Montebourg’s answer? The Socialists want an industrial policy that protects against shareholders whose ‘single interest is profits,’ he told me. In France, ‘taxes are accepted and appreciated. Re-distribution of profits can help the economy by boosting the purchasing power of the poorest. ‘Those who feel the most deprived can participate in the re-discovered growth in France and in Europe.’

But where does the money come from in the first place? Even the rich need to make money from somewhere. ‘Arnaud Montebourg has many ideas, but on the economy he has no ideas,’ said Emmanuel Ferry, an economist with Exane BNP Paribas SA.

Russian van man

2006-11-30T21:00:00.000+01:00

There is money to be made in France for those who want it.
I found myself alone on place de la Nation holding a glass door that I had ordered over two months ago for my bathroom. I had been abandoned by the taxi driver I'd booked to take us both back to my apartment. Luckily Donato was nearby.
After 20 minutes on the phone to the taxi company, we were told that the four drivers capable of transporting my door were not interested in making money. We decided to return to the shop. They agreed to deliver the door, but it would take another week. Which would mean Donato wouldn’t be there to install it.
Against the advice of mio amore, I decided to chance my luck.
We returned to place de la Nation and I left him with the door. I approached the first white van I spotted and proposed to pay him 50 euros to take me, Donato, and my glass door up the hill.
‘No problem,’ he said.
‘You idiot,’ said Donato when we got home. ‘You offered him way too much money.’

The World Through French Eyes

2006-11-30T19:57:00.000+01:00

At first glance, the studios of France 24, the new news network designed to be Chirac’s flagship for France, and you’d think that the French worldview wasn’t that different from say, the Anglo-Saxon world. Lots of open spaces, glass walls, electronic equipment and smiling faces. The news agenda for both the English and French services seems pretty similar too: the only difference being the French presenters get the added benefit of an autocue. [Why this service is denied English speaking presenters was not made clear}.

A week before the channel went live, France 24 bosses were doing a hard-sell on the benefits of the ‘fresh perspective’ brought by a non Anglo-Saxon news service.
‘France is a rebel country,’ Chief Executive Alain de Pouzilhac a group of Anglo-American journalists in a freshly painted conference room at their studios in the dull suburb of their Issy-les-Molineaux. France 24 provides ‘the possibility to see some contradictory opinions.'
He claimed France 24 will add diversity and cultural focus to the global airwaves through regular daily debates and talk shows. Grand ambitions but sadly France 24’s financial backer – who else but Chirac – has proved unwilling to put his money where his mouth is. The channel is hoping to compete with the big boys on an annual budget of 85 million euro, a fraction of CNN’s $550 million budget. Let's hope this does not mean lots of cheap and lengthy discussions about multi-culturalism. Oh so worthy, but incredibly dull to watch.

Happy Birthday Mr. President

2006-11-29T21:43:00.000+01:00

Chirac, who turns 73 tomorrow, has wild plans for his birthday party, according to the IHT. Ditching friends and family in Paris, Chirac plans to celebrate tomorrow night in the pretty but cold Latvian city of Riga with that renowned party animal, Vladimir Putin and his Latvian counterpart Vaira Vike-Freiberga.

‘Is it true?’ I enquire of Hugues Moret, Chirac’s spokesman, as we wait to board the Republique Francaise plane to the Latvian capital for a 2-day NATO summit. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and the group of journalists around us had a good laugh at the shoddy standards of American journalism. ‘Normally the Elysee staff give him a cake, but you know Chirac, he’s not one to make a fuss about his birthday.’

When we get off the plane it’s a different story. The Baltic birthday party is on. Under pressure from constant phonecalls following the IHT article, the Elysee is admitting that Putin wants to join the party. Excluded as a non-NATO member from the first summit held in the former Soviet Union, Putin has decided to gate-crash. Glowing from the recent decoration bestowed upon him by Chirac – the Grand Croix de la Légion d’Honneur – he’s developed an affection for his benefactor and requested a seat at his birthday dinner. According to the Elysee, Chirac was ‘touched.’ All that remained to be settled was the party venue.

Then things began to unravel. When we sat down to dinner, Jerome, Chirac’s main spokesman, insists that nothing has been settled. French journalists drafted in from Russia and the Baltics get shirty about the lack of French feelings for the former Soviet Republic that Putin is hoping to upstage.
‘This is their big moment of pride,’ said one. ‘When they finally get to shake of the Soviet cloak and say look, we can play a part in the international club without you,’
Jerome avoids the full throttle defence of Russian democracy he gave at the EU summit in Finland last month, but defends the Russian leaders motives. The proposal came from Russia and the choice of venue for the hastily arranged party was merely coincidence, he insisted.
Finally a phonecall from Russia put a lid on the affair, Dinner was off for ‘logistical reasons,’ the Elysee announced.

Problem was, in accepting Putin’s invitation, France had forgotten about public opinion in Latvia and its Baltic neighbours. Latvia declared independence from Russia in 1991 after five decades of occupation and Vike-Freiberga, 68, is the daughter of refugees who fled Soviet forces first to Moscow and then to Canada.
‘Imagine an East European coming to Paris and saying to the president, there’s a country France is having trouble with and I want to invite its leader to dinner here in Paris, Estonian President Toomas Hendrik Ilves told my colleague. ‘What would the feeling in France be? I can only guess.’

Once again, France, the champion of the underdog, had trampled over the little guys feelings. In 2003, during the debate over the U.S.-led war in Iraq, Chirac lashed out at the would-be EU members for siding with the U.S., famously saying they should have kept their mouths shut. The underdog is only important to France if it helps the Hexagon in its fight against the United States. In this battle, Russia is a more useful ally. And for Chirac, it’s the only battle that counts.