Internet Commentator

It is hard to resist the conclusion of many of my free-market confreres that France, while doing the right thing by voting out the proposed EU constitution, has done so for the “wrong” reason of opposing Anglo-Saxon “ultra-liberalism” but resist it I will. Now, I’m a pretty “ultra-liberal” kinda guy. In French terms I’m probably a notch or two past “ultra”, (perhaps a “mecha-liberal”?). But, this highlights the basic problem with the entire EU integration project: If France doesn’t want “ultra-liberalism” - or more accurately a slightly more reformed and liberalised version of dirigisme - why should she be forced to endure it? What better reason can there be for saying “Non”?

In rejecting the constitution because the compromise on offer was still a step too far for France’s cherished “social model”, the French voters have (for once!) done a valuable service by demonstrating that there is unlikely ever to be one economic model which will suit every EU country and it is folly to pursue this chimera.

Nous disons “Non”!

Moving into the new house tomorrow. I said it was almost finished exactly a month ago and it still is almost finished, but at least it’s now habitable (and connected to the interwebpipe to boot).

I’m rendered (almost) speechless by Liverpool’s Lazarus act last night. I thought they were dead and buried at 2-0, Milan’s third goal, just before half-time, a cruel and unnecessary coup de grace. But this “bipolar” Liverpool side had other ideas.

United’s defeat to Arsenal in the FA cup was frustrating - and fitting for a season in which dominance in possession has not translated into goals and wins - but no disgrace: there was no glory for Arsenal fans in the manner of their winning a cup they barely deserved to lift. So, although I was disappointed after Saturday, I wasn’t as galled as I was last night to see a flawed Liverpool team dispatch United’s conqueror’s Milan - deservedly on penalties- and join United as the only Premiership teams to lift the current trophy.

The Times has a story today on how Freddie Ljungberg’s penchant for tattoos jeopardised his career:

The Swedish forward, due to appear in today’s FA Cup Final [actually, he hasn’t started - FMCG], underwent tests for Aids and cancer this year as doctors tried to establish the reason for his persistently inflamed hip. After two weeks of examinations they realised that the player was experiencing a rare allergic reaction to the ink used in his tattoos.

Ljungberg, 28, a part-time model, had two tattoos of panthers on his back. The ink had caused a lymphatic gland to inflame, which was pressing on a nerve in his side.

He had an operation to remove the gland and missed four weeks of the season.

Real “professional” that. Someday, when I muster up the enthusiasm and allocate the requisite time, I’ll do a post on the bizarro world that is professional football and the distorting effect of its customs on the way the market and incentives normally operate outside of football. But, I really think it’s disgraceful that Ljungberg should have to pay no penalty for his foolish choices - it’s his club which loses out. And in case you think that this is just (sorry Q!) schadenfreude on my part let me affirm that the same principle applies to Rio Ferdinand. In fact, the loss to Manchester United during his drug test ban was far greater.

Abiola took the American English test so I thought I’d give it a bash…

Funny thing is there are a few genuinely Irish “linguisticisms” that are more American than English. I’d even wager that the arrow of influence goes the opposite way to how one might imagine. For instance, I would pronounce “aunt” and “ant” the same way, not because I’m, say, influenced by American tv and film but because we tend to use the flatter ‘a’ sound fairly liberally here. Young Irish children (at least hitherto*) tend to call their mothers “mammy” rather than the more English “mummy” or American “mommy”. My guess is that this characteristically Boston-sounding syllable - “pahk the kah” - derives from the Irish influence on that city.

* Today’s Irish wannabe-soccer-moms, dropping their kids off at school in huge SUVs, tend to insist on “Mommy”.

United rant sets out an excellent summary of this peculiar story to date, some of the more sinister elements of which newspapers seem curiously disinclined to cover:

Some time after the transfer was announced Mikel began - so we are to believe - to receive death threats from people “in London and Nigeria”. The immediate suspects were criminal gangs from Nigeria looking to make a quick buck and/or Chelsea fans aggrieved at missing out. After all they had form, just ask Anders Frisk. However, in the days that have followed it seems that the pressure placed on the player may have been even closer to his family’s home in Nigeria.

Indeed by May 10th Mikel had gone on record to say that he was scared and had received threats. He gave separate interviews to Norwegian media on that day speaking in Kick Off and Aftenposten. He said:

“I have received messages and phone calls with threats from both Nigeria and England. I feel afraid.”

Yet on the 10th he was still professing his delight to have joined United. He said to Aftenposten:

“I will join Man United in January. It’s a dream come true for me. Yes, I don’t have 75 percent of international games and that could affect my chances of getting a work permit but the club officials have assured me they will sort that out when the time comes.”

So just to make that clear on May 10th - ten full days after the agreement had been signed with the Reds and Lyn - Mikel was still claiming that it was a “dream come true” to join United. It was all to change very rapidly….

Hugh Green reveals a cautionary tale:

As I waited for my girlfriend to try on a garment in the changing rooms, I had an absent minded browse among the skirts on display. A woman moved alongside me and picked up a dress, gave it the once over, replaced it on the rack and moved away as quickly as she had arrived, in direction of the far corner of the shop.

As soon as she had left, I was enveloped by a faintly sulphorous, eggy odour. She had pulled up alongside me to let one off, probably supposing that a solitary man is a more plausible culprit for a bout of farting in a ladies’ department store. The store attendant who passed a couple of seconds later picking up a couple of coathangers could barely conceal her distaste.

Oh dear!

I’m generally wary of the “It’s politically incorrect, but..” caveat. But, I can’t think of any other way of prefacing the link to this, ahem, “politically incorrect” post about French newsreader Melissa Theuriau:

Sometime during the 90’s when cable TV introduced waaay too many sources for getting your daily news fix, stations started ditching their Quaker Oats, grandpa-look-a-like anchormen and replaced them with young, barely literate beauty queens. I mean, who really gives a shit anyways about war, natural disasters, or how some little bitch in China can’t do his Falun Gong. That shit’s worse than devil worshipping. What could be more informative than a low cut blouse, two slutty eyes, and a sexy voice flawlessly breaking news about mass dysentery in Bangladesh!? Sure, CNN’s face of news is looking sweeter than ever, but what’s seen abroad is so f**king hot it can barely even be compared.

Melissa Theuriau brings the evening news, like an upscale Paris call-girl, to millions of lucky French men. I can just imagine the all too common, husband-to-wife scenario each night before the broadcast: “soooo I need to watch the news in private again, it’s.. quite emotional for me.. yea I’ll be needing all that tissue paper.”

Get ready to Windex the plasma!

Abiola points to a Guardian piece on the book - “Pourquoi les français sont les moins fréquentables de la planète*” by (Frenchmen) Olivier Clodong and Jose-Manuel Lamarque - on how the French are perceived by their fellow Europeans and suggests:

Mon dieu! Could it be that there just may be a touch of truth to the stereotypes about the land of the Franks?

Well, there’s no smoke without fire, I guess. But, I suspect that what the British (chauvinists, stubborn), Germans (pretentious, haughty), Italians (snobbish, arrogant) and Greeks (egocentric bons vivants) are mostly responding to is the “official” idealised notion of Frenchness peddled by the political, diplomatic and cultural elite, rather than direct experience of ordinary French people. I’ve generally found French people, at home and abroad, to be friendly, approachable, polite, helpful - more or less the opposite of the stereotype. Which, of course makes it all the more difficult for me to fathom the bottomless well of political obtuseness they demonstrate when, er, demonstrating or voting.

[* “Why the French are the Worst Company on the Planet”]