2 Minute Read
Where We’d Meet
I’d pop over to Paris to meet the rather dishy French President Emmanuel Macron (recently named The Sexiest Politician Alive by Glamour magazine) in Brasserie Lipp in Saint-Germain
What We’d Wear
The handsome devil would turn up in a sharp navy suit, a crisp white shirt, tanned and tie-less.
I’d wear a Breton top, black cigarette pants, a black beret and stumble in on my charity shop Loubs. I’d have over-sprayed the Chanel No 5.
What We’d Eat and Drink
Le President would order us a Kir Royale then we’d both order the Sole Meunière, Purée de Pommes de Terre and Haricots Verts washed down with a half bottle of Sancerre…frankly, I’d have preferred to order the bottle, but c’est la vie. We’d agree to share the Tarte Tartin.
3 Things I’d Ask…and The Answer
(I’d use the occasion to practice my O’ Grade French, complete with Inspector Clouseau accent, while M. Macron would communicate in perfect English)
Q1 – Bonjour President Macron. We, le people du Grande Britannia are un petite bit envious of le people du Francez – your country produce all the cool brands in le monde, your people get to mangez le best food and drinkez the best vino, and your politicians always have more, how do you say, interesting love lives. Par example, President Sarcozy hooked up with une supermodel while in office, while you rocked up to The Élysée Palace with your wife Brigette – your former ecole teacher, who is 24 years your senior – you naughty garcon! Meanwhile, back in Le Grande Britannia, we get landed with Dave & Sam Cameron and Theresa & Philip May.
Mon question est… how can we get our politicians to, how do you say, spice up their love lives?
Answer – Ah mademoiselle, what can I say. Politicians can do no more than reflect the people that they represent. Change must come from the grassroots. If you want your politicians to be more interesting in the Art of Love then your people, must adopt the ways of the French and soon, your politicians will follow suit. Change must start with you.
And at that, Emmanuel would point at me and raise an eyebrow, I’d giggle, gulp down my Sancerre and start to think Le President is flirting avec moi!
Q2 I followed with interest your recent visit to Le Grande Britannia and was beaucoup interested to hear of your generous offer to lend us the Bayeux Tapestry. Tres Funny, if I may say so – at this point I’d nudge Emmanuel – considering it depicts, how do you say, Les Francais beating le merde out of Les English at Le Battle du Hastings in 1066. Heee Haw Heee Haw.
That got me thinking, what gift would you give to President Le Trumpety?
“Ha. You overestimate me, ma chère, we in France thought that lending the Bayeux Tapestry would be a magnificent gesture to give to our favourite neighbour – apart from the Belgians, the Luxembourgers, the Germans the Swizz, the Italians, not forgetting the Spanish – as a token of our love, respect and our continued commitment to Entente Cordiale.
As for a gift for, as you say, President Le Trumpety – what could the French people possibly give to the man who has everything, apart from Emmanuel leans towards me and whispers manners. Aside from that, it would be impossible to top the greatest gift that one nation has ever given to another when, in 1886 the people of France gave the Statue of Liberty to the People of the United States. So, in short, the answer to your question is NOTHING.
Q3 I know I should take this opportunity to ask a really hard question about Brexit – perhaps something about the future of Anglo-French relations or whether the price of Brie and Chablis will rocket post-Brexit, and if you think I’ll still be able to buy President Butter in Waitrose…so please forgive me if I sound a bit like, how do you say, une shallow numptie, but what I really would like to know is how Madame Le Macron, in fact, how all French woman manage to keep so slim?
Answer – au contraire, ma poule, you are not a shallow numptie, as a matter of fact, I have been asked the very same question by your own Madame May, as well as Madame Merkel, Madame Sturgeon, Madame Clinton and Madam Le Trumpety. Like all things in life, the answer is very simple…Moderation in all Things at this, Emmanuel cocks his head to the left, smiles and adds…apart from in the Art of Love.
At this point I’d realise that I’ve also cocked my head to the left, am smiling inanely and have finished the Tart Tartine without sharing any with Le President. Oh La La!
Any suggestions for future Fantasy Dinner companions?
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