Last week French minister Emmanuel Macron emerged at the forefront of the Brexit debate, warning that if Britain leaves the EU, it would seriously threaten Anglo-French relations. In particular, he was referring to the Touquet agreement, which allows Britain to carry out border controls - and therefore keep migrants away - on the French side of the Channel. ‘The day this relationship unravels, migrants will no longer be in Calais,' he said.
But if the French want to play that game, I say, let's play it too. We’ve survived centuries of relatively cordial relations with our nearest neighbours, despite the Hundred Years' War, various sieges (Calais, Orleans) and multiple battles (Hastings, Trafalgar, Waterloo). Yet 23 June may be the date that finally breaks the dromadaire’s back, after which Anglo-French relations collapse. And if that day comes, we should make it clear we don't need France, by insisting on a full boycott of French goods.
We must boycott French wine. I know this sounds drastic, but it won’t be as painful as all that - ask the Antipodeans. If we absolutely must let a drop of Bordeaux pass our lips, it is highly advisable that we refer to it only as Not New World Wine, therefore upholding the embargo in spirit if not in practice. Champagne, too, is also out of the question, I'm afraid, but that’s ok: vineyards in Sussex and Kent have been busy growing grapes for English sparkling wines in preparation. Admittedly, Nyetimber and Ridgeview don’t have quite the same romantic connotations as Champagne houses Laurent-Perrier or Veuve Clicquot, but if we drink enough of the stuff, we won’t notice the difference by the end of the year.
Certain foods will be off limits too. Macarons. Brie. Confit de canard. Croissants are definitely verboten. This sounds miserable, I agree, but it turns out that fast-food chain Prêt à Manger isn’t remotely French, having started in Hampstead, so we can continue to flock in our thousands and purchase its breakfast pastries, safe in the knowledge that we are absolutely not supporting the French economy. When ordering a French-looking pastry, it’s best to ask for a media luna. The staff will look discombobulated to begin with, but by early July the former French delicacy will be but a distant memory. Ditto cassoulet: just refer to it as sausages and beans.
Virginia Woolf once said ‘one cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.’ So after we have gorged on media luna and Nyetimber, let us turn our attentions to thinking well. Swot up on your Voltaire, Zola and Molière before 23 June - for after Brexit, we will be stuck with Shakespeare, Milton and Wodehouse. Strip your shelves of Flaubert, Radiguet, Hugo and Verlaine, but fear not, Trollope, Hardy and Wordsworth will do. At a push. While we’re on literature, there’s the French language too. Avoid saying: je ne sais quoi. Instead, rationalise your every move. What fun.
And, finally, love. Amour. In deed and in practice, the French are famed for being one of the most romantic nations in the world, whether it be French kissing, Cinq à Sept, or faire l’amour. Forget all that. I’m afraid all fun will have to stop if we are to shun our former allies. That will show them. Until, of course, there are none of us left, because we haven’t been doing enough kissing.
How long will you last? I don’t think I’ll survive a week. On reflection, perhaps it’s better we stay together.