Very, in a word.
France is perhaps on the cusp; on the very cusp of taking a huge step, at last, into the 21st century. And last night I tried to walk with it, and failed. Despite myself.
In a fit of enthusiasm I made my first ever political donation, 50€ to Emmanuel Macron’s new “En Marche!” movement and reserved a place for his meeting at 17.00 in Dijon.
How excited was I? Quite excited, but also curious. Actually going to a physical political meeting was a whole new thing: actual engagement, a stride away from my usual, cynical reticence.
And so I turned up at 16,45, as instructed, only to find out, at 17.30, that Monsieur Macron would be taking the state only at 19.00 – 19.15. Problème!
It’s all in the timing.
At precisely 19.26, I had left it as late as I could, I had to bail.
At 19.27, precisely, Monsieur Macron mounted the stage. I didn’t even get eyes on him. I was pretty disappointed, I had been told to be there at 17.00 and I was, but at 20.00 I was double booked.
And the reason for my regretted departure? Well, would be Bo-Bo, middle class, bourgeois, social democrat, New Labour apologist that I am, I had tickets for the opera.
And a fine production of The Magic Flute it was. Tamino’s voice was particularly fine, to my ear, but I profoundly regret not having heard the dulcet tones of Emmanuel Macron. Fingers crossed, there will be plenty of encores yet to come.