Ups and downs

The respite from winter malady was all too brief. During the blighted trip to Blighty, my cough gradually got worse. Two days later I spent the day lying in front of the TV or in bed, and was driven to the doctor's surgery. For the following week antibiotics and anti-inflammatories coursed through my system, and happily seem to have more or less done the trick. Only worries now are the cough that refuses to go away chez moi, yet another in a seemingly unending procession of minor colds chez la petite actuelle, and a minor anomaly in one kidney chez la petite à venir.

Elsewhere, on foreign fields, the ups and downs also continue. A tendency to play only the second 45 minutes of each match proved enough to down the Swans and the Seagulls in the FA cup, but not enough to overcome the blue Russian not-so-nouveau riche of west London. On fields closer to home, the season for les gones has also been a bit up and down. Beaten on penalties in the first round of the French cup by a team two divisions lower (sounds familiar), but playing yo-yo with PSG and OM at the top of Ligue, OL currently lie second on goal difference to the Qatari-funded Parisians.

Talking of which (Qatari-funded sporting concerns, that is) today's edition of France Football magazine is effectively claiming the decision to award the 2022 World Cup was purchased. Not a new accusation, but what is new is the allegation that Sarkozy and Michel Platini met secretly with the Qatari crown prince ten days before Qatar was awarded the World Cup. Allegedly, the Qataris were promised the French vote in return for buying PSG and funding the new French sports channel that is currently threatening the TV football hegemony previously enjoyed France by Canal+, who Sarko viewed as a thorn in his side…

Heating up

And so the Olympics are over, life returns to normal and I get off my TV couch and high horse. If my previous blog entry gave the impression of an anti-British view of the London games in France, I should perhaps correct it. In general they have been well received in France, particularly with a minor French gold rush in the final weekend, culminating in a second successive gold for "les Experts" all-conquering handballers. It was rather France TV's sports presenters who I was ranting about, and they can be characterised as a group of grumpy old men nursing a grudge that it was the BBC rather than France TV who were the host broadcasters for the games…

Meanwhile, the domestic sporting arena has been confined to la petite performing gymnastics on the sofa, and a couple of trips to an aquatic complex that opened relatively recently just outside Lyon. With three indoor and three outdoor pools, including paddling pools, 'fun' pools and plain swimming pools it is the ideal place to take a toddler swimming. We'll cure that aversion to getting water in her eyes yet…

Elsewhere life trundles along much as normal. Another aversion of la petite coquinette, that of being examined by a doctor, is still alive, kicking and screaming you might say. A trip to the paediatrician for another jab and a certificate stating that she is safe to be let loose amongst other children in a crèche resulted in the loudest and strongest screaming and struggling fit yet. She is otherwise in perfect health.

The weather recently has been mostly warm and sunny, and the forecast is for temperatures in the upper 30s from this weekend onwards. Good job we are escaping to cool Britannia...

Sour grapes

La bienheureuse et la petite have both suffered but coped remarkably well over the last week while I feed my TV sport-watching habit, though the latter has been displaying more of her naughty side recently, perhaps as a protest at not getting enough attention. My excuse is of course that the summer Olympics only come along every four years, and the Olympics in one of my home countries only come along roughly once every thirty years. Not that I've been able to as fully satisfy my urge as I no doubt would have done had we been living back in Blighty. Coverage of the games in France has more or less been restricted to two channels, and naturally that coverage has tended to concentrate on the fortunes of home heroes. Envious of the BBC's 24 live HD streams, moi?

Early on in the fortnight, TV coverage on France Televisions adopted a tone which was a mixture of the genial and the exultant, as French golds in the swimming, canoeing and judo rolled in. Midway through the first week they were having a quiet snigger at the fact that the host country was still awaiting its first title. No doubt I'm just being cynical, but I detected a bit of revelling in schadenfreude. The games should of course have been in Paris not London.

However, it all changed a week ago when the British gold stream started flowing just as the French one dried up. Firstly the presenters on France TV made a big fuss about alleged British cheating in the cycling and rowing, judges favouring British competitors, etc, etc. The fact that the French cycling coach inconveniently admitted that they would also have deliberately crashed in the event of a poor start was largely ignored. As for the bias towards home competitors, dare I suggest it was bit of a sore point. The games after all should have been in France...

Since then it seems to this particular viewer, albeit perhaps overly sensitive, that British successes have been pointedly ignored. At one point France 2 was showing badminton, a game normally rarer on TV than tiddlywinks, while a track cycling final that ended in British victory was going on. This in a country that is home to the greatest cycling race in the world. Fortunately Eurosport was immune to partisan considerations and showed the cycling. It was almost enough to turn me into a bigoted nationalist.

There has also been constant carping by commentators about problems (transport nightmares) and perceived injustices at the London games, particularly the alleged marginalising of the French language. One presenter was outraged by the lack of announcements in French during an archery event at Lords. Well, what did he expect of an institution that only started admitting women members a little over ten years ago? It was of course a Frenchman who was the driving force behind the first modern Olympics, though a certain Shropshire village claims he got the idea from them. The modern Olympics are a British invention after all. So there…

Hubris & schadenfreude

Seems I spoke too soon about the improved mood in the French football camp. No sooner had they gained plaudits for their first two games, than they threw it all away against a team with nothing to play for. Thanks to English luck though, they still made it through to the quarter-finals, where the bad against Sweden went to worse against Spain. It seems the fissures in les Bleus had only been papered over post-Knysna.

The French public and media are reasonably unanimous in condemning the self-centredness and lack of respect displayed by some players. And squarely in the middle of all the blame flying around was one Citizen who shunned footballing idealism for huge reserves of oil-stained lucre. Quite apart from his hate-hate relationship with the French media, even his teammates were accusing him of selfishness. Now where have I heard that before? L'Équipe claims the authorities are considering banning him from the national team for two years. Hohoho…

Watching an otherwise entertaining Euro 2012 unfold on French TV has been something of a trial. Unlike previous major competitions, which have all been available on free-to-air channels, this year a new player muscled in on the scene and bought up a large chunk of the TV rights. And as it's a subscription channel, if you don't pay, you don't watch. In fact half the games, including all the knockout phase are on free channels and I thought I was quids in when the new channel appeared on our cable feed unscrambled during the first weekend. However, three days in the so-and-sos encrypted it, so I was forced to miss half the remaining group games. Which at least offered some relief in certain quarters…

In the domestic arena things trundle along happily. La petite continues to grow and develop at what I might describe as an alarming rate. Most things have to be be done by herself and help from parents is often decidedly unwelcome, which doesn't stop her becoming quickly frustrated and upset when things don't go her way. Favourite activities at the moment include taking dirty mugs and bits of rubbish into the kitchen and wearing papa's underwear.

The last couple of weekends we've kept her amused by taking her swimming on Saturday morning, where she floats and splashes happily when she's not gazing intently at all the other activity going on around her. Last Sunday we also ventured out on a day trip to the Parc des Oiseaux, where she remarkably suffered without complaint an unexpected half hour queue to get in. I guess the thing about queues is that there are always plenty of other people to keep the interest. As for the birds, well they were just birds…

Pride, prejudice, pathos

And so, Président Hollande and the Socialists duly won a thumping parliamentary majority in the second round of elections yesterday. Not that 43% of the French electorate cared enough to go out and vote. Media interest has been concentrated on various high profile circonscriptions, such as the one in Northern France where the Front National leader's gratifyingly lost by a whisker to her Socialist rival. Perhaps Mme Le Pen should have grown a beard to go with the voice. Unfortunately, 3 of her similarly inclined colleague, including her 22 year old niece, did win their seats to give the extreme right MPs for the first time.

Elsewhere, Ségolène Royal was soundly beaten in her chosen seat by the dissident Socialist who maintained his candidacy despite being ordered by the party hierarchy to stand down in favour of the 'parachuted in' Royal. The battle was given added piquancy when Valérie Trierweiler, the current partner of Hollande tweeted her support for the rebel Olivier Falorni. Mme Royal was given lukewarm backing by the president and is, of course, his ex-partner and mother of his four children. Miaow…

One novelty this year was the introduction of 11 'foreign' constituencies, among them one for Northern Europe which includes the UK, giving expat French people a minor say in what goes on in their mother country. Anybody in Westminster listening? asks one expat Brit who will lose his right to vote in the UK in less than five years…

Perhaps France was more preoccupied by the European football championships in Poland and the Ukraine, where the national team's campaign has borne a marked contrast to the 2010 World Cup, despite a mere draw with the boring English. The subsequent win over Ukraine has seemingly set les Bleus on course for the quarter-finals, barring an unlikely set of results in the next games.

The football itself was somewhat overshadowed over the weekend by the sudden death of Thierry Roland, the doyen of French football commentators. His enthusiasm for the game will be sorely missed on TV games from now on, even if TF1 had already rather rudely deprived him of his largest audience some years ago. Perhaps the best description of his commentating style was given by another larger than life character in French football, Rolland Courbis, who said he commentated as though he was watching games at home from his own sofa. RIP Thierry.

No action

Excitement about having a TV crew in the street outside proved ill-founded. Having reserved the parking both sides of the street the length of the block for the whole day, three large vans full of equipment eventually turned up in the afternoon. Technicians got out and then sat in the back smoking and watching the world go by for the next three hours. Eventually a flurry of activity: equipment unloaded and carted off. Less then an hour later everything was packed up and the vans were gone. Seems any filming that took place was in the street around the corner. Much ado about nothing.

Excitement about the new arrival continues unrequited. Five days past due date and still counting. Another checkup at the hospital this afternoon. Everything in perfect order, even the blood pressure of maman, with la petite treating the monitoring machine to one of her gymnastic specials.

Something that was resolved last week was the mystery of the missing parcel. Three visits to the nearest branch of the post office failed to throw up any trace or clue of how to find it. Last throw of the dice: try another branch further away. Nice lady there scans the bar code on the slip left by the postman and immediately tells us the parcel is at another branch, even further away. Why the fonctionnaires at the first branch couldn't have done the same, only they know. Faith in La Poste partially restored. Grumble.

And while I'm at it, another grumble. This morning I felt like a man missing all of his brain rather than just the more useful part: our internet connection went down. First time in a couple of years it has to be said, but the problem was that the phone is on the same cable connection, which meant using a mobile to call the hot line. After nearly half an hour of expensive waiting, the call was eventually answered. The man on the other end diagnosed the problem as either a faulty modem, or a problem with the network in the building. Then came the good news: the first time a technician could come round to sort it out was next Tuesday.

A week without internet, unthinkable! Fortunately, you've guessed it, the connection reappeared half an hour later. Faith in Numericable partially restored.

Still waiting

The suspense continues. Still no sign of the long awaited arrival, still no trophy with red and white ribbons. Last Friday was due date: another appointment with our now familiar friends the mid-wives at the hospital. Mother's blood tests and pressure: fine; baby's heart and activity: perfect; signs of abdominal contractions: nil. Another appointment arranged for this morning. Quick visit this time, only checks for the mother's BP and baby's heart. All still fine, contractions still conspicuous by their absence. Another checkup in two days.

Yesterday evening another wait continued less happily. Another trip to the pub, another disappointing finish to a final. Sigh…

More waiting in the street outside this afternoon. Filming for a French TV cop series is taking place. Or will take place sometime today. The lorries and technicians turned up in the middle of the afternoon. Three hours later they are all sitting around smoking and waiting. I know how they feel.

In the wider world, the foreign minister known as MAM finally paid for a series of Tunisian indiscretions with her job. Michèle Aliot-Marie 'was resigned', as they say here. Monsieur le Prèsident finally decided the woman who took her holidays in a country in the middle of a popular revolution and accepted free flights from an associate of the soon-to-be toppled dictator had to go, and replaced her with a man who was convicted of misusing public funds seven years ago.

Fire and ice

The long cold winter continues, but the Fêtes des Lumières is over for another year. Slightly muted event this year but still some impressive displays - the projections on a water spray in Place de la Rèpublique and the beautifully lit Bartholdi fountain in Place des Terreaux among the highlights. The fiery display in Parc de la Tête d'Or was also good, but it was the one place where the policy of avoiding crowd bottlenecks failed. We turned up at the same time as several thousand other people early on Saturday evening, and joined the crush trying to get in through one small gate. Getting out was even worse, despite the main gate being open by then. The complete lack of crowd control meant there was a logjam between the entrance and exit flows. Fortunately we extricated ourselves and extra bump without too much alarm…

Click here for more Lumières

After a morning visit to a new 'British èpicerie' (pretty well, and relatively inexpensively stocked with normally unobtainable staple items such as Marmite & philadelphia cheese), la bienheureuse spent last Sunday baking cakes - flapjack, lemon tart, figgy cake. Alas, not all for me, but for work colleagues to eat in celebration of her birthday (joyeux anniversaries, ma bien-aimée). Strange custom, but  she left enough at home to keep me happy for a week. When not eating, I've spent most of the last few days on traditional pursuits for the time of year - sorting out the heating, and improving our TV viewing experience. Finally decided to upgrade our cable TV subscription to take advantage of HD and a hard disk recorder. All installed fine, lovely picture, but impossible to record anything. Thus I was back in the shop yesterday attempting to exchange the decoder when I received a phone call from Monsieur le Chauffagiste, who had arrived chez moi 45 minutes early.

Not at all what one expects from a plumber, but in other respects he lived up to the stereotype perfectly. He was there to fix a pressure leak in the boiler, but I'd earlier asked him for a quote to put in a heating thermostat/programmer: 450 Euros. Beaucoup trop cher, I thought, and promptly found a suitable device on ebay, brand new for 60 euros. Phoned him again for another quote: 300 euros. Still too expensive by my book, so I figured out how to attach the thing to the boiler myself and told him as much when he was here yesterday. "You can't do that," he says. "Yes I can," I says I, "unless you want to do it for 100 euros."
He wouldn't bite but negotiations eventually concluded with a deal for 150 euros. Cash of course. Still seems steep to me, but it means I don't have to do the scrabbling around, drilling holes, running wires up and down and through walls, etc, etc…

The rest of the week has been unremarkable, save another disappointing trip to the pub on Monday night. 11 without a win in games that really matter, and still counting. Boys must become men eventually, surely…
Perhaps I'll get a clue on Saturday when I return to the sacred stadium to witness the battle against the high ball bombs of the Potters. Weather permitting, that is. Up to 10 centimetres of snow forecast here overnight. Brr…

Priceless echoes

A weekend of indulgent gratification. Thursday: la bienheureuse arrives home, pile à l'heure, despite the ongoing transport strikes. Friday: visit chez madame le medecin for second trimester scan; all elements seemingly present and at correct stage of development; estimated weight, a kickingly healthy 530g. Saturday: lazy day spent doing not very much, apart from figuring out, with limited success, how to connect the computer to our new all-singing, all-dancing goggle box, an expensive whim indulged earlier in the week. Sunday: we make a gesture at getting some exercise with a walk through the park, then I leave la bienheureuse in the kitchen (brussel sprouts soup, flapjack and roast pork - spoilt, moi?) while venturing out to the Wallace to suffer the latest instalment of nurtured football team vs purchased assembly of superstars. Fortunately the suffering is eased by an early bath, and the good guys coast to a gratifying triumph over oil-stained money.

Outside the nest, the social unrest continues on a slightly calmer course. Les vacances de la Toussaint began on Friday, meaning school students are somewhat more dispersed; le Senat has approved the new laws on pensions and retirement, meaning only one more stage before the reforms are pencilled into the statute books (expected on Wednesday when both houses of parliament vote on the new laws together). The unions have softened their stance slightly - rubbish collectors in Marseille voted to suspend their two week strike on public health grounds, three of the twelve refineries have gone back to work, and more than 75% of trains are now running. The protestors are hoping the government will agree to negotiate in the last two weeks before the President definitively promulgates the law. The precedent the unions are pinning their hopes on came in 2006, when a new law on employment reforms for young people was approved by parliament only for similar street protests to cause a government cave-in, and the law was never rubber-stamped. I somehow doubt Sarko will be quite as flexible this time…

Gold and dangerous

It's been quite instructive watching the athletics on TV over the last week. With the French team hugely exceeding expectations, commentators, competitors, pundits, and politicians alike have been cock-a-hoop, their jingoistic pride in the national team inflated by a sense of redemption after the World Cup debacle. It's reached a point where the constant harping on about the fantastic team spirit in the French camp and the lauding of the down-to-earth, approachable athletes in comparison to the egotistical footballers has become downright nauseating. Normally I tend to regard any sports event not involving 11 men in red and white kicking a football with a somewhat detached air, but over the last couple of days I've found myself cheering on the Brits with uncharacteristic nationalistic fervour. French television has a lot to answer for…

The rejoicing over sporting success has contrasted rather sharply with the polemic on the political and social field recently. The recent attacks on police by the travelling community in northern-western France, and by disaffected youths in Grenoble provoked Monsieur le Président into another rabble-rousing speech this week, in which he declared war on delinquents, and announced plans to strip criminals 'of foreign origin' of French nationality. The implicit linking of delinquency to immigration has understandably unleashed a storm of debate, not least because under the sacrosanct principles of the French constitution, a French citizen is a French citizen, regardless. And quite how he defines someone 'of foreign origin' is unclear. Most of his targets in the banlieues were born in France and Sarko himself is the son of an immigrant. It's somewhat ironic that most of the athletic heroes in Barcelona would be fingered as 'of foreign origin' if they had been throwing rocks at in the recent violent confrontations.

Meanwhile, life on the home front remains quiet, apart from the deafening sound of thunder and pouring rain outside the window as I type and a pleasant midweek barbecue chez une collègue-amie de la bienheureuse. Custom made caipirinha and boudin noir on the BBQ, and a small Armagnac to finish. Lovely. Fortunately ma bien-aimée drove home.

Since I ferried la belle-mère to the airport last Tuesday (on time despite a massive traffic jam en route - summer in Lyon is open season for road works), I've been getting down to work again, strangely heartened by a couple of rejections I've received recently from literary agents. Encouraging words are inevitably concluded with the final letdown, but encouraging words nonetheless. Common themes - well-written, good story, doesn't get going quickly enough. Another rewrite (of the first three chapters, at least) beckons…

La télé sans pub...

The Sarkozy 'reforms' continue apace. Le hyper-président is currently zooming round the country presenting his voeux to various sectors of work and society. Earlier in the week it was education, where reforms have been less than widely welcomed, though protest marches this week by high school students and teachers were somewhat less well attended than those before Christmas. The cold weather gets to us all.

Then it was the health service and more widely denounced reforms. Yesterday it was the world of culture, and the one reform that has received unanimous approval - free entry to museums for all under-25s and teachers. A cultural reform that has been somewhat less applauded has been the banning of advertising on all channels of state owned France Televisions, and the appointment of the head of France Televisions by the president himself. Sarkozy wants a completely publicly funded TV service 'following the BBC model'. Hmm, good idea or not...?

Advertising hasn't been completely banned yet - it's being phased out between now and 2011, but since le 5 janvier, there have been no ads on France 2, France 3, etc between 8pm and 6am. Protesters say the eventual outcome will be a decrease in funding and decline in quality, and with le Président decreeing who the France Televisions boss should be, independence will disappear too. The government counters that the idea is to channel money towards higher quality programming, documentaries and the like. One thing is for sure: privately owned TV channels, in particular TF1, the most widely watched channel in France, have been rubbing their hands in anticipation. France 2 is the second most popular channel: no ads on France 2 equals more advertising revenue for TF1. Sarko-detractors point out that the owner of TF1 is a close chum of Monsieur le Prèsident...

In Lyon, it was the weather causing headlines this morning. Freezing rain in the small hours, falling on frozen ground, caused the entire region to virtually grind to a halt. Road traffic accidents caused 2 deaths & several serious injuries, the three main autoroutes were closed, traffic was snarled up all around the city, lots of people didn't make it into work, and pedestrians were slipping, sliding, falling and breaking limbs all over the place. Apparently. When I went out at about ten-thirty this morning, the pavements in the city centre (perhaps warmed by the rivers) were perfectly negotiable, and the first I knew about it was when the woman on the checkout at the supermarket mentioned the problems she'd had getting there...

Adieu PPDA, rebonjour Ségolène

Entertaining political week in France. Mme Royale has been in the headlines upsetting Monsieur le Président and his supporters, first asserting that Sarkozy had nothing to do with Ingrid Betancourt's release, and then linking a recent break-in at her flat (the 3rd in 2 years where nothing was taken) with the 'clan Sarkozy'. Cue a parade of minions from the premier ministre downwards opining that Ségo had 'lost control', 'sunk to new level of pathetic stupidity', or 'like all other victims of crime, has a right to psychological help'.

Elsewhere, in Strasbourg, Sarkozy was taken to task for his decision to attend the opening ceremony of the Olympics in Beijing by the French Green MEP, Daniel Cohn-Bendit in a quite marvellous rant in the European parliament. Choice phrases include (rough tranlation): 'the more repressive the Chinese authorities get, the lower we bow before them... Monsieur Sarkozy will be given a nice dinner with baguettes in Pekin, exchange hugs & kisses and say "here you are, here's 3 nuclear power stations, 36 TGVs, and I don't know what else..." It's squalid!'

And finally, last night saw l'adieu de Patrick Poivre d'Arvor, former king of French television newsreaders, dethroned, according to himself and others, for having treated Sarko like a little boy live on TV. Wearing a suitably funereal black tie and jacket, he unemotionally read the news until his final words during which he quoted Shakespeare: "That which cannot be eschewed must be embraced."

A man with a 'colourful' past, PPDA. Father at the age of 15, first book (of over 30) published at 16 (1.5m copies sold), affair with a fellow newsreader which produced his 6th & youngest child more than 30 years after his first, conviction for fraud ten years ago, and so on...

Sarkovision

A lot of polemique in France at the moment, as usual stirred up by Monsieur le Président. A couple of months ago a government commission recommended the withdrawal of advertising from the state television channels. Up until now they've been funded in much the same way as private channels. The recommendation created enough furore on its own, but yesterday Sarkozy announced that he was accepting the commission's report and further that it would be him who would have the sole responsibility of appointing the head of France Television, instead of an independent body.

Cries of foul, from every opposition politician, union leader and most of the independent media, comparing him to the Berlusconi monopoly and control of the Italian media, and raising the spectre of state propoganda and censorship. The government claims scrapping advertising will lead to a more innovative state television slanted towards public service, but the more cynical view is that it will only increase advertising revenues for the private TV channels, notably TF1, France Television's main rival, owned & run by a close chum of Sarko's. There was a related row earlier this month when Patrick Poivre D'Arvor, the doyen of newsreaders, was effectively sacked from TF1's evening news, which he's presented for the last 20 years. PPDA (the French love their acronyms) allegedly upset Sarko during an interview when he compared the president to a little boy. Fatal error...

Adieu Thierry - la voix du foot

The French TV sporting world is in shock today, mourning the sudden death by heart attack of Thierry Gilardi, the main football commentator on TF1, the most widely viewed TV channel in France. Only on Sunday he was presented Telefoot, TF1's football magazine, and was preparing to commentate on the France - England game tonight.

His enthusiasm for all things football and rugby will be much missed, and he has achieved the not inconsiderable feat of stealing the headlines from the Sarkozy state visit to the UK. Even if the other side of La Manche, the tabloids seem more interested in son épouse Carla, Sarkozy is portrayed this side, at least by the left-wing press, as something of an Anglophile (or more generally, an 'Atlantiste', to include the US). Today's lunchtime TV news, once thirty minutes of tributes to Thierry Gilardi was over, noted Mme Sarkozy's 'severe' outfit for the state welcome at Windsor Castle. At least they had some sense of priority...

Sarko himself is meanwhile attempting to tone down his 'bling' image for the trip, and has already displayed a certain sense of taste in his choice of venue for his meeting with Gordon Brown tomorrow.

Emotions partagées

Watching English football in France has become a lot easier in recent years, at least if you subscribe to Canal+, which we don't, or frequent a 'British pub' with a UK satellite system. However, Champions league nights, or at least one of them, can be a bit more problematic, because the French broadcast rights are shared between TF1 (most popular terrestrial channel) and Canal+ (satellite chain). TF1 gets first choice and exclusive rights on the night they pick, which means only one match gets broadcast in France that night.

Yesterday was such a night, exacerbated by the fact that OL were playing in the dark side of Manchester. Thus the pubs, not surprisingly, were showing that match and were packed. There was a slim chance our local would have showed a second game on another screen, but given Barça's popularity in France, I figured Milan vs AFC wouldn't get a look in.

We thus had little choice but to stay at home. La bienheureuse watched TV coverage from the place of nightmares, while I 'followed' events in the San Siro, each following the other game via the shrieks, curses, groans and yells emanating from the other room. And all was almost alright on the night...

Le hyperprésident, les marins-pecheurs et les etudiants

Sarkozy continues to hog the headlines in France and still enjoys good popularity ratings, which seems a little paradoxical to me because the various rumblings of social discontent continue unabated. Fishermen have been blockading ports and vandalising Customs boats in protest at the cost of marine diesel (which is already untaxed), and a student rebellion over new laws to give universities greater autonomy (which they view as a short cut to privatisation and two-tier higher education) is gaining pace. Makes me feel all nostalgic for the late seventies/early eighties in Britain, when people cared about things other than their own personal well-being...

An example of Le Président's style of government occurred earlier this week. Hours before he flew off to meet Bush in Washington he charged down to Bretagne, indulged in a shouting match with a crowd of angry fishermen, caved in to most of their demands, then had time to put foot in mouth and upset the entire Tchad nation while commenting on the 'Arche de Zoe' affair before jetting off to the US. This after he'd flown to Tchad a couple days earlier to secure the conditional release of the journalists and cabin crew caught up in the affair.

His energetic omnipresence has led to him being characterised as the 'hyperpresident' - he appears on the front line of everything that falls under the media spotlight, with his ministers left to trail in his wake looking like mere poodles. There was an amusing item on the main news on TF1 (the tv channel owned & run by a close pal of Sarkozy's which rarely shows any critical coverage of the government) last night, following the (youngish, attractive, blonde, female) Education Minister during the day as she met with university and student leaders in response to the student protests. It was a fairly obvious attempt to counteract the impression that Sarko takes charge of everything and that the rest of the government aren't just sitting on their backsides watching...