SO ADIEU THEN

WITH A BIT OF LUCK AND GOOD WEATHER, by next Monday the world will be free of Nicolas “Fifi” Sarkozy, the present president of France and debonair bon vivant responsible for at least an attempt to rehabilitate the global image of the French male after several years of their being referred to as “foul-smelling, snail-eating surrender monkeys”.

ALAS! A PART OF ME believes that, even after all his efforts, M. Sarkozy’s tenure at the helm of La Belle France has not managed to give it the public image in the eyes of the world that it has in the eyes of French men. Of course this does not mean that we do not recognise here in the United Kingdom that French men have a certain je ne sais quoi which will never be bestowed upon our politicians in Britain, most of whom either look uncomfortable in a suit (the Labour Party) or uncomfortable in a job (the Conservatives) or just uncomfortable to be alive (the LibDems).

MUCH MORE LIKE A BRITISH POLITICIAN is the dullard François Hollande, the likely winner on Sunday, a man as exciting as a week-old croissant and, after he wins, bound to become the most forgettable French politician since Édouard Daladier.

BUT BEFORE WE SAY ADIEU to Sarkozy, we must remember his most recent contribution to the health of democracy. Yesterday he stated that if he loses on Sunday he will retire from politics. At a time when one of the most problematic issues of modern politics is the fact that hardly anyone bothers to turn up to vote, Sarkozy’s statement is surely an incentive for punters to turn up and vote against him: I have never voted, as in my opinion no politician I have ever been able to vote for has been deserving of my trust, but I can guarantee that I would vote every time if I knew that my vote might contribute towards getting someone out of politics.

ON A MORE SERIOUS NOTE, I am slightly worried about the state of France. Once again I was recently forced to pass through the country en route to Portugal, spending a night in Paris. What I can say is that in comparison to a few years ago, I sense that most French people look somewhat downhearted, or even bored. As I sometimes say about depression in general, my opinion about the French people nowadays is that they need a good shagging. But the only one who looks like she is getting this is Christine Lagarde, the French head of the International Monetary Fund, who took over from Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who apparently did his best to get a bit of action but was unsuccessful.

A REAL SAMANTHA

IT IS NOT OFTEN THAT ONE CAN witness the incorporation of a new linguistic vocabulary item into the mainstream of language usage, but those of us fortunate to be reading the Daily Mail and – since its “Samantha Brick” article – any other organ of propagating useless tittle-tattle and prattle, which more or less describes all the British newspapers and a good many websites, will now know that a new “Cockney” rhyming slang term has slipped into our everyday chat.

SAMANTHA BRICK, for those who may not have been following this utterly frivolous issue of recent times, is a lady journalist who, it seems, thinks she is attractive in the physical and sexual sense that is so beloved of men who merely see women as sex objects and describe them as ‘fuckable’, among upper class gentlemen, and ‘fit’, which is the term used by lower class chaps, occasionally, one imagines, to describe similar women.

MS BRICK PUT HER FACE on the line in writing an article in the newspaper in which she stated that “ten out of ten men fancy me" at "any dinner party", and that it is difficult for her to live her life normally and be respected because “women do not like attractive women,” and thus, presumably, the only people who like her are those who want, using her own logic, to ‘shag’ her, with their enthusiasm perhaps waning after their way with her has been had.

TO BE PERFECTLY HONEST, I am not sure what the fuss is all about, although I see a certain parallel in our political world. We do want our politicians to be exciting, invigorating and challenging individuals who will take us to places new, and give us pleasures we have not discovered before. That is perhaps not the case of our two leaders Cameron and Osborne, with the hanger-on Clegg, pictured above. Altogether they are a right set of Samanthas.

PALM SUNDAY

TODAY IS THE DAY we celebrate the triumph of the entrance of our Saviour into the land of both his promise and in which he was the promise to its inhabitants, in a curious palindrome of hope and need that should be seen as some form of reflection on our daily lives; as indeed should be the case – at least – with the stories that come out of what we call the “Bible”.

THE MESSAGE OF PALM SUNDAY is perhaps uncomfortably clear: Christ comes into Jerusalem on Sunday, and “everyone” is lining the way, and “everyone” throws down palm leaves, bibs and bobs of this and that, and even their own clothes – anything that Jesus might touch with his feet as he passed by would become hallowed. This was the coming of the Lord for the Jews.

FOUR DAYS LATER and the leaders of the Jews were getting a little pissed off, as Jesus had not come to them to make a deal that would “cut them in on” whatever future this young whippersnapper was flogging. And so were the people of Jerusalem, who expected great things, more than great things, from Jesus, such as publicly stiffing up the leaders of the Jews and perhaps, to use the language of the time, “casting them out into barren parts.”

YET JESUS DID NONE OF THESE THINGS. The few days leading to Jesus becoming a figure of hatred after having been acclaimed as the cat’s pyjamas are there to remind us that people are fickle and that if one does not serve those above and below then our days are numbered.

I MENTION THIS AFTER A DIFFICULT week for David Cameron. It was not so long ago that Cameron was brought in triumph to lead the Conservative Party on its journey to glory, perhaps not on a donkey, but to some extent in a falsely humble manner. The events of the last week, much like those of Holy Week for Jesus, have shown that Cameron is not the saviour of the meek at heart; not the saviour of the mild (Dinnergate); not the saviour of the poor (Pastiegate); and not the saviour of those who cry out for want of aid (Petrolgate); more dammingly for Cameron – and this is what in the end led to Jesus being stymied this Holy Week – he is not doing enough to snuggle his Hapsburg chin into the lap of those who dish out power and influence, and who are not happy with the haphazard way in which the Tory party is being led, particularly about the issue of homosexual marriage and, more importantly, about the fact that the press knows more about Conservative Party policy than the party itself does before it is announced.

THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY is the only party which can actually “crucify” its leaders without, as our American friends term it “due process”. One only needs two serving Conservative MPs to suggest a leadership election for one to go ahead. My view is that we have never been closer to this since Cameron took over, and that senior Conservatives are reminding “Dave” of this situation at the moment. Next week is Easter Sunday. And both Dave and his “Rock” are looking a little worried.