Lundi

Donc, I am dans my very impressive bedroom, packing for my trip at the end of the week to visit avec les rosbifs.

“Mon cherie,” says Brigitte, “C’est freezing over there. Take a jumper.”

“Non!” I am shouting, “Je suis un Jupiterian god! Et Jupiter was not told what to wear by his mother!”

“Mais, je suis not your mother,” says Brigitte.

“Ah oui,” I say. “Whoops.”

Alors, then we are discussing notre strategy for les rosbifs. Et I am saying they will wish to discuss Le Touquet, our treaty on migrants. As a result of their amusing belief people will still want to go there after Brexit.

“Oui,” says Brigitte, “mais n’oublie pas the ill feeling, still, from 1973. For I have read