FOLLY

Form may follow function, but if they both are being led by folly, the result is usually disaster, is it not darling?

Oh darling, thousands are protesting against the little French King Sarkozy in the avenues of France this morning. Not only that, but they're leaving trash behind! Who's going to clean up that little disaster?

And, you can't say I didn't tell you this would happen. I mean, should you have been at the Palace with me you would have seen straight right the FOLLY I was witness to. And darling, Ms. Bruni's past only makes the King look more so the Emperor who wore no clothes. But then he's not really the King, now is he? Poor Carla. The mess she's gotten herself into now shall surely lead her into another man's bed before the end of Sarkozy's reign. She's not woman enough to go down with him. Or as the Americans are fond of singing, STAND BY YOUR MAN.
And darling, she just hasn't the class to carry her through another statement.
She's toast.

They've now gone and shut down British Airways and delayed my flight to Northern Ireland, and I so quickly needed to get to Down Royal in County Down and Bellewstown Racecourse in County Louth. MY Queen needs ME. The horses shall just simply have to wait.

Oh, and, Andrea told me that the reason Americans seem continually to point their finger at one another is because one side calls themselves the right wing and the other side the left wing. Well, if that's their case then it's no wonder the mess they've gotten themselves into as no bird can fly without wings, you know. I'd be on antidepressants too if someone were to clip my wings.

U.S. May Revive Guantánamo Military Courts.
No. Says who? Bill Glaberson. Yes, darling, it's headline news.

But, I hear it's all supposed to be hush hush, as with everything American the source is based on hearsay. Or so they say. Is that not the laugh? They can't decide which of their courts is best to conduct trial for suspected terrorists from another country yet wish the Spanish courts to conduct trial on their own leaders in its country? What? Could Americans be anymore confusing?

Seems 100 days later and Mr. O. may be starting to show his true colours. Poor darlings, once the Amercians turn coat on their leader I'm quite afraid they're going to find they've run out of good men. If Americans didn't look such fools in letting their emotions run to the extreme then they wouldn't look so damn foolish when the man they elected starts turning coat on them. Fergodsakes. It's no wonder the lot of them are so unhappy. They get themselves so twisted up, or should I say, "Twittered up."

Let's all sing: STAND BY YOUR MAN

Well, darling, all's just as well that France is up in arms and my flight's been delayed. What's another week in France, but more fun?

Oh, the police dialed up this morning and, yes, they have found my most favorite driving gloves, and not only that but they seem also to have dredged up a dead body and wish that I come down to the station to not only claim my gloves but have a look-over at the 'evidence'. For gosh sakes, that's the last way I wish to spend my morning: Identifying a soaking wet Armani suit most likely MURDERED with moss and the sort. However, they are such dears to concern themselves so with my beautiful gloves. I simply adore the French police.

Also, Andrea's dialed to say that the police have contacted him as well and that I needn't worry, we'll simply drive the Aston Martin down to collect my gloves and identify Pietro as his dead brother. Well, that sounds easy enough, but what shall we say when they ask just how we think he might have gotten that way? The way that I see it darling, is this is Andrea's movie and his first starring role, so he'll come up with the most smashingly perfect alibi, I've no doubt. I'll wear my elegant navy YSL suit and Christian Louboutin heels; what with knowing how drab the police station can be and all, it's imperative that I look most spectacular for my appearance and all. The chaps down at the station do so love not just a good looking woman, but one that's dressed for the moment, you know. Darling, you do know how important fashion is no matter the performance you might find yourself starring in.

And darling, not only have I been contacted by the police and Andrea this morning, but from Alexandra Kotur as well. Remember darling, she was part of the crowd at the grottes the other evening? Well, any how, she says Fiona's turned up dead this morning. Seems last night she was to join Charles and Sydney Finch at Le Auberge Quency near Bastille for cocktails and dinner, and went about smashing her head one too many times. Or should that be one, two, too many times? First of all darling, I most likely would have smashed my own head were I forced to sit through dinner with the Finch's, as they are the MOST DULL CREATURES.

And not only that, but, Le Auberge Quency seats only 7 tables! Which would leave you no choice but to give the Finch's your undivided attention. Poor darling, seems she couldn't decide on whether to enter or leave her car so she threw herself into and then out and into and then out and then into the car where she hit her head on the stick's shift one too many times. Really, she should have had her condition checked at hospital, if you were to ask me. Well, thank heavens that spectacle of France has finally been put to rest. Truly, darling, she had become quite the head sore!

I mean, either get out of your car or not. Of course now there's a rumor that Fiona was an American spy. Which seems likely, what with her not being able to make up her mind and all. Anyone might go bloody well batty trying to decide whether they want the right wing or left, leaving the fat bird featherless.

My gosh, it's no wonder the poor woman found her demise at the stick of the shift. I belive Americans have some rather peculiar saying about being given the shaft, which quite truly might apply in her situation. The American papers most likely are blaming the CIA.

Oh darling, I've just had a thought: Do you think Fiona was supposed to kill Andrea and not Pietro, what with her being a suspected American spy and all? Americans seem always to find themselves in some kind of blunder, you know? Oh, of course they would have had to do away with Fiona if she killed the wrong brother. Well, no bother, they've got the FBI to cover that little mishap right up. I can't wait to tell the police my suspicions when Andrea and I arrive at the station.

O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
-Sir Walter

I've instructed the house help to leave my trunks, all 42, packed, as it now looks that Andrea and I will be doing a bit of a madcap getaway. How absouletly fun! I can't wait.

Darling, I've got to dash. Andrea's waiting in the lobby for my appearance. He sent word that this evening we shall relax at the Paris-Prague Jazz Club on 18 rue Bonaparte. Isn't he splendid darling, the way he comes up with the most marvelous of ideas?

Oh, I forgot to mention, I've been listed on the International Best-Dressed List. How could I not? It's ME, Jacqueline de Ladefaire.

And, what's up with Victoria Beckham? Ever since she's left for the States she's done nothing but wear the most gawd awful shoes. Really darling, do give her a dial and kindly drop her a solid hint that her fashion's sense seems to have dropped off the coast west of LA.

Au revoir darling, I'm off for a getaway.

-Jacqueline

postscript:
Should you hear from the Post tell them please that at the moment I'm playing "Let's Get Lost."