‘Sorry, darling, but I’ve decided you’re not genetically suitable to be part of a breeding programme, so I’m going to chop you up and feed you to the lions.’
One of the pleasures of spending the summer in France is that I can turn aside from our national problems and concentrate on those of our neighbour. They are similar but gratifyingly worse. You have to know someone quite well before they will open up about their own politics to a semi-outsider. I used to
