Cecilia goes shopping

I've been offline a while, not because of the disappointment of the rugby (to tell you the truth, I didn't think we'd get out of the pool, so I was dead chuffed just to see us reach the final) but because I've been brought low by an 'angine blanche'. This illness has recently had a political outing, because according to the Elysée's press machine, the reason Cecilia Sarkozy, ex-First Lady of France, could not attend a picnic with the Bushes, was because she too had an 'angine blanche'.

Now none of us would want to attend a picnic with the Bushes. There'd be the obligatory ants, there'd be far too much toe-curling small talk, laboriously relayed through interpreters (although I have it on good authority that Sarkozy is merely feigning incompetence in English) but most of all it would be teetotal. One shudders at the white-gloved, forced-pleasantries social awkwardness of the thing. I would probably be forced to commandeer a tray of sandwiches from a passing waiter just to allow me to get away from the hosts.

What is just plain stupid, if you're going to use 'angine blanche' as an excuse, is to be caught out shopping the next day. I can tell you that when you have an 'angine blanche' the bug in question eats away through the back of your throat and launches itself down into your glands in a bid for general mastery and domination of the lymphatic system. It takes three days for the antibiotics to kick in. You can't swallow, you are exhausted, you can't sleep for snuffling snot that is maddeningly lurking just between the sniff and hawk ranges and you can't get up even to feed yourself. Between that (although Scouse Doris tried her best, bless her) and the fever, in three days I lost three kilos, (there's always a silver lining). You are in any case in no condition to slip on your high heels and have a quick blast around the shopping centre with the girls.

There must be plenty of plausible excuses for not having to attend a picnic with the Bushes. Having a 'family' prior appointment (i.e. to rearrange your sock drawer), for instance, or being virulently allergic to Chicago School economics. What amazes me is that no-one ever seems to have the courage to tell the Bushes straight that they've got better, more useful, more fun things to do than waste an entire afternoon on diplomatic niceties over ant-filled obesity-inducing American stodge. Like governing another country, for instance. No wonder Cecilia went shopping.

So what would your excuse be?

Chasing the egg.

I'm so excited. I can't wait for the big match.

England 14 and France 9, and going, ahem, home.

Would someone who can reach please give Chabal a hug? I would, but I don't think having his knees hugged would help.

Also I'm English, which might not be favourite right now.

Christmas shopping recommendation

Zoe's book is out. It's a very cute little hardback with an alarmingly accurate, as far as I can tell, Lucy Pepper cartoon of Q and Z on the front. Buy it here.

OMG

The French have sent the Kiwis packing. Now THAT was unexpected.
Obviously standing up to the haka properly, and not going into a girlie huddle like the Italians, is what a team needs to do.

We're through

How I don't know, but I suspect the Australians are beginning to hate Jonny Wilkinson's left boot.
Well done guys.

"Big girl's blouse"

A British general election is looming, and the cut and thrust of political debate in the mother of all democracies (Except, as they would have it, Greece. And Iceland. And....) is beginning to heat up again. It's within this context that the Conservative party seems to think its recent Conference opinion spike will cause it to gain from an earlier snap election. Traditionally the bastion of highly educated wordsmithery, it has unleashed a veritable barrage of Pythonesque French taunting at the Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, in order to try and sting him into calling a general election as soon as possible. Boris Johnson has called him "a great quivering jelly of indecision" and that if he didn't call a snap election this weekend he'd be "a big girl's blouse". George Osborne suggested he'd "bottle it".

Firstly, what sort of language is this for the Party of Tradition? No wonder they're leaving themselves open to accusations of hug-a-hoodieism. They might as well saunter up and say, "Yo, Gordon. Yo' Mama" in an upper-class accent. Risible.

Secondly, what sort of a glove in the face is this to a dour, religious, uptight Scot? An absolutely ineffective one, that's what. Brown's blood runs much colder than that. If the Tories really want a fight, they should stop sitting on the policy fence and produce a manifesto. None of this "Are you thinking what we're thinking" business. Let's see the colour of their flag. THEN we'll be squaring up for a decent scrap.

I LOVE British general elections.