Good afternoon or bon apres-midi!
There is the most glorious French twist to our show tonight which I will share with you a little later. Suffice to say, at this stage, that it involves the former squeeze of the author of "You Look Wonderful Tonight"; a suburb with a thing about trams; and a cheeky dinner invitation to the most powerful man in Europe, until the rotating presidency rotates again.
That should hook the political ones among you while I reckon "Wonderful" should do the trick for the rest.
Before all that we've another very difficult mess down at the Yard. Well two, in fact. The family of Mark Saunders - the divorce lawyer shot by Police to stop him, they say, from shooting up Chelsea, several of its very attractive buildings and a few of it's residents - have gone to Court to challenge the impartiality and efficacy of the independent inquiry into the event. Among their objections, the fact that coppers can compare "notes" before they make "notes" about what happened. The other: he was found gripping his gun in the hand he doesn't use for any sort of exertion.
Meantime, Ali G used to get a laugh with "Is it cos I is black" until people remembered the true power and meaning of satire and irony... apart from Richard Madeley. Put bluntly, Tarique Ghaffur reckons he hit a white ceiling because he is Asian and now the most senior Muslim woman at the Met reckons she is the victim of racism and bullying for similar reasons. Now, either a bandwagon is rolling or there is something fundamentally wrong with the way our Police force is being run. Nick has been trawling the canteens, the interview rooms and the cells for answers.
The parents of a teenager who went on holiday with his mates to Kos want some answers, too. The lad tried to hire a 50cc Quad bike - my youngest has one and they perform like aero-dynamic lawn mowers. But when it didn't start he was given a 250cc Quad - (I have a 350cc myself and they go like "what the roses love" off a "digging implement"). He was a novice and is in a coma, having careened into a tree. Your thoughts, please, on freedom of the individual and, I imagine, the lunacy of those of us who own and enjoy Quad bikes.
I neither own a football club nor do I especially enjoy the game. But I love it when it yields tension, crises and charismatic clashes - Abramovich vs The Special One; Sir Alan Sugar and the White Hart Lane lads; Louise Redknapp interviewing Harry Redknapp while Jamie Redknapp played in England vs The Rest of The World - then it all comes alive. Whoever the genius is behind the signing of former Chelsea icon Zola to be the new manager of West Ham, should write scripts for the Two Ronnies or The Fast Show. Genius! Makes Little Britain look pedestrian. Marcus, still a grinning Gooner, mocks all concerned. Faye, festooned in flowing grey and another pair of extraordinary, capillary crushing jeans, kept calling the new manager "Budd", after the barefoot South African runner, only to say she kept getting him muddled up with Vialli. "What do I know?" she asked. A silence fell, blended with affection and forgiveness.
I thought Zola was a great French writer - Dreyfuss and all that but maybe that was Vialli.
Now to our "amuse bouche" of a story: little Nicolas Sarkozy, President of the Republic of France and rotating President of the EU, says he wants his troubled suburbs to be born again as "les petites Croydons". You remember the French suburbs? They burned worryingly well and he said the aggressors should be hosed off the streets: hoodies of Croydon be warned! This could become a two-way thing. Anyway, a local businessman in Croydon has invited little Nic to "un grand repas" to discuss the matter... on condition la belle Carla accompanies him. Jon explores the viability of this new "entente cordiale".
We also have a little girl who break-dances. Many adore it. Some feel a little uneasy. You, as ever, are better arbiters than any of us - and it is certainly a great achievement for a delightful family. But the music? Oh, go on, give it a whirl.
Lucy is talking to Nick Moran (a "hottie" according to Faye - a word for which I can find no translation but she tells me it is how I might describe Madame Sarkozy in an unguarded moment) about the London film festival and his latest offering.
Faye's final offering to the meeting was to say, of the Met' stories, " Grande merde dans petit Chine!". No, me neither. Good thing I adore her and only have O-level French.
Chrissie shines with her weather; London's papers continue to harm Brazil but for a higher cause - your information; and that is it.
See you at 6.
Alastair and Katie.
