Hardly have I had time to turn my back, and look what has happened to France. A circus has taken over at the Elysée, TF1 is about to ditch Patrick Poivre d'Arvor, better known as PPDA, television news anchorman for the past century or two, and it's been raining.
The rain bit is unfair. If fact the day it did pour was welcome after months of Middle Eastern sunshine and in the awareness that still hotter, more humid fare awaits my return. But after the surprising heat of Gothenburg, the Var has not been south of France hot, even if the short break has ended in glorious June fashion.
PPDA? Much of France will miss his comforting, shall we say non-confrontational approach to interviewing on the main evening bulletin. I met him before I left Paris and warmed to him, though I would be more upset about the changes if TF1 also decided to get rid of Claire Chazal, whose serene, unageing presence continues to seduce male viewers without irritating the women.
TF1 will tell you, if you ask, that things have got to move on, that room must be made for yoof. Sarkozy, I suppose, acted on similar impulses, hardly wasting a minute in replacing Cecilia with Carla in the presidential nest.
When I asked a French friend what he made of events in his country, I did so in the knowledge that he would not have wanted Ségolène Royal in Sarko's stead, with or without her own domestic baggage. But it would be an exaggeration to say the still newish president has impressed him in office. "The choice," my friend said sombrely, "is between cholera and the plague".
Some things, I am relieved to report, change little. There are strikes and blockades, I still cannot persuade the automated Orange billing system to add credit to my mobile phone (despite following all the prescribed steps), the Var is beautiful...........and it's still the best country in the world that I know of.
But at least as I begin the journey back to the Gulf, I can be sure of returning to a clean environment. A young colleague, Elysia, appointed herself temporary office fridge monitor after being appalled by what she found on peering inside one lunchtime.
There, while looking for a spot for her own doubtless fresh and unblemished lunch, she found a feast for rats: "half-finished juice, boxes of milk, rotting salads and lots of mouldy food". And that was probably the expurgated description.
Elysia set a deadline and then cleared the shelves (except for those objects that were so old and rancid that they may have been able to escape on foot before she pounced).
But I fear she may be holding something back. She's packing up her husband and fleeing back to America.
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