Never got that notion of Frenchmen being sexy. Name a seriously good looking French actor, then, go on. Gerard Depardieu? I think not. There’s a whiff of unmade beds in a budget hotel about that man.
Never got the notion, either, of politicians being sexy. Anyone recall Dr Henry Kissinger?
Dr K could barely move in the 1970s for various hotties hanging off his arm. Candice Bergen, Jill St John and Shirley MacLean, to name but a few, and believe it or not, the Playboy Bunnies of 1972 – a serious think-tank of intellectual heavyweights, I’m sure you will agree – voted Harry K the man they would most like to have dinner with. Yes, I know, I was shocked, too. Playboy Bunnies get to eat?
All this thrown at a man who bore an overwhelming resemblance to an East Renfrewshire Council environmental health inspector.
Even our politicians harbour dark secrets. Only a few of us fully recovered from the revelations by Edwina Currie that she and John Major – a man so grey he sometimes doesn’t show up even on high definition television – had been, well, you know . . . I know! Imagine that! No, don’t. It can take years of therapy to get over it.
So the combination of a French male politician being attractive to more than one woman is, to say the least, baffling. Yet they all seem to be at it. There was Nicolas Sarkozy and that tall girl, whilst Mitterrand had an entire second family and now the current president, Francois Hollande, below, has apparently been visiting a terribly glamorous actress in the early hours of the morning – and all this, mark you, whilst his equally glamorous partner presumably dozed all unknowing at the Elysee Palace.
The president, it is alleged, has taken to zipping about on a motorcycle through the streets of Paris to his “love nest”.
The idea of a politician skulking about the capital is, I’ll grant you, rather a refreshing one. Our current Prime Minister barely stirs across the door without his PR people planning every move. But then he is terribly posh and probably has people to do that sort of thing for him.
But here’s the thing. It’s got nowt to do with me, or even the people who voted “Monsieur Normal” into office.
Is the president still doing what he was elected to do? Did he stand up at any time and pledge to the people of France that, if elected, he would immediately start the hunt for First Lady 2? Was it part of his election manifesto? No? Well, then, what has it got to do with us?
Hillary would be useful shoulder to cry on
The injured party in all this, France’s First Lady, Valerie Trierweile, has taken herself off to hospital and is, according to her friends, in a bit of a huff.
Too right, matey.
As Premiere Dame, Valerie gets staff, a driver, fancy cars, private jets and I’ll wager she gets designer duds galore – and before you claim I’m being shallow, this is a woman who can seriously rock a frock.
She was just about to get to do a state visit to the US, where I bet she would have got the full rock ‘n’ roll treatment.
Now, because her bloke has taken to this frolicking business, it looks like she’s out of a job, and through no fault of her own.
Well, I think the least old Monsieur Normal can do is take her along.
For one thing, at the state dinner, she could sit next to Hillary Clinton, if they have been invited. They would have a lot to talk about.
And for another, the Obamas must have got over the shock by now. Why, the US security services probably knew months ago exactly what the French president was getting up to.
I’VE MAID A MISTAKE
What politicians do when the front door is shut is up to them.
If William Hague chooses, in the privacy of his own home, to dress up in a wipe-clean PVC maid’s outfit, fishnet stockings and high heels to sit down of an evening to work his way through the vital business of the realm, then so be it.
I am so sorry. I do realise what I’ve done. That image, coupled with the earlier notion of Curried Major will probably give you nightmares.
French have just swept sex scandal under the shrug
Of course, our French cousins have reacted in entirely the way I would expect them to behave.
They have shrugged. And that, my friends, is the right answer. It has to be said that whenever British politicians are unmasked in the act of extra-marital frolicking, as a rule we tend to react with bafflement, if not downright amusement.
Two Jags John Prescott? Remember that? David Blunkett, left? Really?
And the roll call of dishonour goes on and on, with David Mellor, Cecil Parkinson and Chris Huhne, who really should have just stuck to a bit of frolicking.