AS GEORGE OSBORNE appeared before Germany’s business leaders at their annual conference on November 3rd, dozens of them rose and shuffled off for lunch. Britain’s chancellor of the exchequer was not put off. There followed a well-calibrated speech articulating the Wertegemeinschaft (community of values) uniting the two nations: German firms use components made in Britain, Mercedes builds its racing cars there and both exhibit a commitment to balanced books, hard work and new technology that is not entirely shared by other European countries Mr Osborne could mention. Nonetheless, it was not all flattery. Under the girders of a former station for mail trains in Berlin, the chancellor warned that Britons are worried about Europe’s economic decline, fed up with the EU’s idealistic commitment to “ever closer union” and tired of having decisions—like Britain’s later-overturned participation in the Greek bail-out—foisted on them by the euro-zone countries that dominate Brussels.

No problem, reply the Germans. That Europe needs to become more digital and competitive is uncontroversial. Ever closer union was, in effect, killed off by an EU statement last June recognising that member states want different levels of integration. Wolfgang Schäuble, the counterpart of Mr Osborne—who took him out for an Italian meal on the eve of the speech—was talking about a multi-speed Europe over two decades ago. Germany is closer to most non-euro-zone members of the EU than to Italy and Greece and thus wants to keep states like Britain and Denmark influential. Though some in Berlin grumble about Britons trying to cherry-pick the benefits of integration (access to the single market) without the costs (taking in migrants and subbing bail-out funds), all hope that they will vote to stay in the EU in their upcoming referendum. Before Mr Osborne arrived at the conference, Angela Merkel had urged delegates to tell him: “Stay in!”

Still, in a country convulsed by the arrival of some 10,000 migrants a day, the fact that Britain might flounce out of Europe over such a vague list of complaints seems odd. As The Economist went to press, David Cameron was about to write to Donald Tusk, the president of the European Council, setting out his asks; incorporating the concerns voiced by Mr Osborne in Berlin as well as a bid to curb migrants’ right to claim benefits. In other words: Britain is about to demand things that are variously symbolic, uncontroversial and already in train—but with plenty of noise.

Why, then, is it making such a fuss? Blame Mr Cameron’s commitment in 2013 to reconfigure Britain’s EU membership ahead of a plebiscite by 2017. His problem is that the “renegotiation” has unveiled a story too pro-European to chime with the British public. It started with the Balance of Competences review, a grand bid to identify fields in which “Europe” had too much power. This was launched to great fanfare in 2012, but its final report (a fine, detailed study of the Britain-EU relationship) was buried because it concluded that the balance was broadly right. Since then talk of “renegotiation” has given way to that of “reform”. The hope for imminent treaty-change to accommodate London’s wishes has faded. British officials sent to Brussels have found that, on balance, membership is good for Britain, that other members share the country’s objections and that, where they do not, the gripes in question do not justify Brexit. The country’s current situation has been found to be infuriatingly satisfactory.

Yet reality is only incidental to British debates on Europe. According to the Eurobarometer survey, voters in Britain are the second-worst informed of any electorate in the EU. Only 5% of senior Eurocrats are British (down from 13% in the 1980s). A lack of interest in the EU defines the country’s public attitudes towards it; ludicrous tabloid claims about Brussels—playing on Britons’ love of an eye-roll—define the outlook of otherwise yawning voters. This mix of indifference and mythology also applies to the political elites: in Westminster the European Scrutiny Committee is often unable to meet because it is inquorate, while some in the German commentariat are more aware of Mr Cameron’s Balance of Competences review than are their British counterparts. So Mr Cameron and Mr Osborne dare not claim that, on reflection, the country’s EU membership is fine. They must instead pretend that their ongoing support for it depends on the outcome of the renegotiation. They are in hand-to-hand combat with a phantom; charging towards a straw man as if he were made of steel.

Wrestling with smoke

There is nothing new about this. The recent history of Britain’s dealings with the EU is defined by politicians’ attempts to reconcile the messy, imperfect but broadly positive reality of membership with critical caricatures of it at home. In 1984 Margaret Thatcher boasted about defying Europe over Britain’s budget rebate when she had actually compromised. In 1997 Gordon Brown imposed five arbitrary economic tests on the country’s prospective membership of the euro. Last year Mr Osborne claimed he had cut Britain’s contribution to the EU budget, without mentioning that this concession had been pre-agreed. Only a few British leaders—including, to his credit, Tony Blair on a good day—have done the sensible thing: challenging the misconceptions and championing the essentially benign reality of EU membership.

Therein lies a lesson for Britain’s partners, especially Germany. They should take the country’s Euroscepticism with a pinch of salt. Even Mr Cameron, the most anti-EU prime minister in decades, recognises the value of the union. But so distorted is the picture voters get that he must deal with the EU as it is perceived rather than as it exists. So let politicians in Paris, Brussels and Berlin coo at the audacity of the negotiators from London. Let them cheer the British ministerial delegations with their complaints. Let them credit Britain’s electorate with reforms already in the works—and hope that future generations of the country’s politicians are more frank with it than were their predecessors.

Economist.com/blogs/bagehot