My foolproof recipe for a better world

It is always a pleasure to watch Paris burning. On the surface a civilised country, but scrape a little deeper and France is revealed as a nation of kind of faux-Arabs (aside from that rapidly growing proportion who are actual Arabs): easily incensed into an incandescent toddler fury at real or imagined iniquities, things not working out quite the way that they had hoped. An inchoate existential rage, hilariously — in this case — exhibited by people wearing those absurd yellow fluorescent jackets.

They have latterly realised that their leader, Emmanuel Macron, is a smarmy, loquacious, incompetent idiot with strange sexual tendencies. We knew that all along. We told you to vote for Marine — but you wouldn’t listen, and instead, as ever, made your own histrionic descent into the abyss, following a mock-populist metrosexual snake-oil salesman. You can burn down the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower and the Moulin Rouge if you want — I’ve no sympathy.