Diary – 3 September 2004

Whenever I feel psychotically depressed about this country — which, as I contemplate another nine years of Labour rule, is more and more often — I find myself being thankful that I do not have as my head of state President Chirac. I have come to believe that he is the price France pays for having Ravel, Manet, Cheval Blanc, Paris, foie gras and all those gorgeous pouting actresses. At the time of writing, slimy Jacques has not resolved the latest problem facing his country, the kidnapping of two French journalists in Iraq. Their captors have demanded that France drop the law forbidding the wearing of religious symbols in schools: they want girls to be able to wear la voile to preserve their modesty. The law is just another example of Chirac’s moral cowardice, and his attempt to deal with the fears many of his fellow countrymen have about Muslims by offending absolutely everyone.