As
you should know by now, I am an unashamed Francophile. I make no
excuses for having good taste. After the glamorous wedding I couldn't
resist stopping off in Paris for a few days chez Millicent Tendency, who
lives in the “red belt”, the ring of left-wing boroughs around the
periphery of Paris. Not that you would know. The French invented
caviar socialism. When I lived there, I was always impressed by the savoir-faire of the lower orders. My concierge
drank better champagne than was served at the Ambassador's functions,
and happily voted for the Communist Party, which still enjoyed a
grudging respect due to their fierce resistance to the Nazis during the
war. Despite a negligible membership, the French Communists still put
on one of the best street parties each September with the Fete de
l'Humanite, where the top French bands fall over each other to top the
bill, seeing no conflict between supporting the ideals of the left and
being resident in Monaco for tax purposes. Lobster and foie gras are
not just for the wealthy over that side of the Channel, and it is
considered totally naff to take one's lunch to work in a Tupperware box,
however hard-up you are. Lunch is the reason you go to the office.
Ritual and tradition still rule in France, and the result is a nation of
mostly well-mannered citizens with the most enviable lifestyle in the
world. The only difference between the rich and the poor in France is
how much money they've got.
This
is a far more healthy attitude to class differences than is the case in
the UK. Rather than whinge and moan about the rich and their
high-rolling lifestyle, French workers treat themselves to 5-star
campsites on the Cote d'Azur and eat and drink just as well in the
backstreet estaminets of Cannes as “le peepol” in their swanky hotels.
Better still, they can sing at the tops of their voices on the way home
and even fall over drunk with no fear of ending up on the front page of
Allo Allo magazine. A French working-class hero is something to be.
Most
western countries' authorities believe in giving the people what they
want. In the case of the UK it is mindless TV, even more mindless
newspapers, and unlimited means to indebt and ruin themselves. In
France it means allowing them to gorge themselves on fabulous food,
drink sublime wines, and smoke themselves and each other to an early
grave. I was amused to
see people still puffing away on fags in Parisian restaurants, when it
has been banned in Belgium, Italy, Spain, the UK and Ireland. I have
long believed that France is the ideal place to retire, and am on the
lookout for a suitable place to hang up my pearls when the time comes.
The Alps look highly appealing, and the perfect excuse to buy a 4x4
(hybrid of course). I could just see myself in a pinafore (although
frankly my current wardrobe owes more to the Baroness) twirling around
on the top of the mountain and bursting into song:
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