What the French are really talking about
The other day, in writing about you-know-what, I mentioned that the French couldn’t give a toss about … you know what. This is because, like all EU member states, France has its own preoccupations and its own agenda. If I were to ask my Breton neighbour, Jean-françois, what he thinks of the the European Commission’s proposal for a common regulatory area made up of the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, I feel fairly confident he would have no idea what I was talking about. He already thinks I’m English. When I mention every now and again that I am planning a trip home to Belfast, he always looks blank, as if I’d said Timbuktu, or Narnia.
His sincere ignorance reminds me of the numerous occasions during the Troubles when I would be told, in all seriousness, that the Eyes of the World were on what was happening in the Bogside, or Drumcree, or the Shankill Road, regardless of the parochial, and stultifyingly tedious, nature of the dispute.
French disdain for les rosbifs is, of course, returned with disinterest. How often, do you suppose, does pub talk in rural England turn to the real “issues” facing France, or indeed Germany or Poland, or anywhere else on the other side of the Channel. To most Brits, France is a Ryanair trip to Paris, with a morning spent traipsing through the Louvre followed by a night at the Crazy Horse Saloon, or else long car journeys on motorways leading south to the Riviera, Biarritz or Spain. Francophiles, meaning those who like strong cheese, good wine at a reasonable price and boiling hot summers in the Dordogne, spend most of their time contemplating dinner while photographing cathedrals or enjoying a good book next to the pool.
You will note that I don’t say all Brits take this view. But most do, and that’s fine. Life is too short to fixate on the difficulties faced by a people with whom we have been at war intermittently for most of the last thousand years.
So let me fill you in. I have by my side copies of Le Figaro and Aujourd’hui – the latter a popular tabloid known in the capital as Le Parisien.
According to Figaro, the big story of the day on Wednesday was that President Macron is ready to use strongarm tactics to defeat trade union attempts to repel his proposed reforms of SNCF, the state railway system.
No one doubts that something has to be done about SNCF, whose unionised members have jobs for life and frequently retire on full pensions in their early fifties. The state-owned company is losing money hand over fist, forcing it to raise fares to an extent that would impress even its profit-obsessed UK counterparts.
Previous presidents have looked at the railways and turned away, preferring to tell themselves that France’s high-speed trains are the envy of the world. Not Macron. A classic autocrat, cast in the mould of the Bourbons, the former investment banker could easily push his reforms through the National Assembly in which his party, La République en Marche, has an unassailable majority. But the truth is, he can’t be bothered. Instead, he plans to press ahead through a series of presidential decrees, thus alienating not only the unions, and the Left generally, but many in his own camp. Union leaders, who up until now have been wary of the new man in the Elysée, are starting to talk tough, and a series of damaging national strikes looks certain. Figaro’s editors are nervous. They know what can happen when industrial disputes spill over into the streets. But it’s now or never, they conclude. Watch this space.
Further down Figaro’s front page is the news that the Disney Corporation plans to invest two billion euros in Disneyland Paris – once a white elephant, now a jewel in the crown. New attractions will include a Star Wars ride and something to do with the Snow Queen, a villainous character out of the Marvel comics. Bob Iger, the boss of Disney, tells the paper that the sheer volume of cash his company is coming up with represents a massive vote of confidence in the French economy. And it probably does, too.
Aujourd’hui (or, in our case, Hier), also finds space for Disneyland and the SNCF. But readers are treated in particular to a lengthy interview with Dany Boon, probably France’s most popular movie star, whose new film La Ch’tite Famille once again features characters from the deeply unfashionable Pas de Calais, known (for their accent) as les Ch’tis. Ten years ago, his first outing in this genre, Bienvenue Chez les Ch’tis, telling the story of a Riviera postal worker exiled to a town just south of the frontier with Belgium, proved a huge commerical and critical success. Both funny and moving, it did much to remove the stigma attaching to the people around the dismal Channel ports.
Boon, raised in Armentières, a border town whose motto is Pauvre mais fière (Poor but proud), told his interviewers, “When I arrived in Paris … producers said I had to lose my accent. ‘If you continue to talk like that, you won’t have a career.’ Happily, I didn’t listen.”
If you get a chance to see La Ch’tite Famille, you should take it – especially if you are a Geordie.
Meanwhile, La Bête de L’Est – the frigid weather from Putin’s Russia – has crossed the Channel, reaching as far south as Corsica, where palm trees, in a state of shock, have been photographed covered with snow. Aujourd’hui took the opportunity to show off the range of phrases different countries use to describe the arctic conditions. Il fait froid comme le téton d’une sorciere, was one, of American origin, which probably requires no translation. Another, from Romania, was Un froid de hulement de loups – cold like wolves howling. And from Wales, Il fait un froid à geler un pet – cold enough to freeze a fart.
You wanted to discover what the French are really talking about? Well, now you know.