World Domination

yMy grandaughter, Frances has had her second birthday party at which the little prodigal spoke words of thanks with lyrical eloquence beyond the wildest aspirations of Little Mix. So I used Frances' recently discovered treasure of conversational excellence to let her know that Father Christmas does not exist. Luckily I escaped castigation from her mother because, being American, Mary has no idea who or what "Father Christmas" is. Although she is quite sure that "Santa Claus" is actually Tim Allen.

The point is I calculated that if you are old enough to talk you are old enough to listen which means you are old enough to be exposed to lies. Or to "artifice" as the BBC TV Nature Department prefers, in suitably Orwellian newspeak, to justify showing two Polar bear cubs in a Dutch zoo while telling us they are actually in the Arctic. Apparently to mention the truth would have disrupted the "narrative" of the documentary. Sigh... I suppose real life can be so uncooperative when it comes to mirroring Robert McKee's Three Act Story structure. Where was Superman during the Indian Ocean Tsunami? Not blowing the waves back from the Sumatran coast, that's for sure. Where was the reluctant hero receiving the call to action during the Fukushima Daiichi Tsunami? Why didn't the BBC cut from an inundated nuclear power stattion to footage of the X-Men scooping up drowning Japanese? After all the X-Men are already mutants so the radioactivity would have been irrelevant. Why didn't Colonel Gaddafi go through a heart-warming redemptive final act like paranoid Robert de Niro in "Meet the Fokkers" or grouchy Jack Nicholson in "As Good at It Gets", free all political prisoners, marry Helen Hunt and move in with the family of WPC Yvonne Fletcher rather than get a bayonet shoved up his arse? Why? Because we live in a random, godless universe, there is no "narrative" and documentaries should reflect that rather than turn the struggle of an endangered species on melting ice caps into an episode of "iCarly". Either that or some producer up in Salford got confused between David Attenborough's "Frozen Planet" and Richard Attenborough's Jurassic Park.

Anyway the little girl was whisked away from me before I could go on to explain the finer points of European politics so i hope no one, in this Eurozone-obssessed political agenda failed to miss that the marvellous Dominque de Villepin has thrown his hat into the French Presidential race. (His actual name is plain old Dominque Villepin, he added the "de" to sound more classy. In the same way Denise van Outen added the "van" to sound more...? I hope Van Gogh didn't add the "Van" as well, I would hate to think one of my favourite artists is called Gogh.)

The reason I bang on about Monsieur Villepin's name is that the only reason this washed-up, right wing has-been with zero popular support could possibly have for entering the race is because Dominique Strauss Kahn (a sort of French Herman Cain, must be the similar surnames)was forced to drop out and clearly tradition requires at least one French Presidential candidate to be called Dominique (a bit like every 1980's English football team having to have a Gary).

In which case I can think of better candidates: Dominic Cork, at least as good a swinger as Dominique Strauss Kahn. Dominic West, but only in his recent guise as Fred West, after all Giscard D'Estaing looked like a sex criminal who might also be Head of Geography (although he did have an affair with the Dutch beauty, Sylvia Kristel but did not take her to the zoo). Dominque Sanda, star of Bertolucci's "Novecento" could stand with the USP of being female and actually French. Dominic Monagahan, the first hobbit President. Domino Harvey, the bounty hunter played by Keira Knightley in her only action film... except she OD'd and died in her bath. Dominatrix Natalie Rowe who used to hang out with George Osborne. Dom DeLuise, Dom Jolly, Dom Perignon (who interestingly was a monk... but not a Dominican - a Benedictine. And who invented a drink, but not Benedictine) Talking of booze, I am rambling on like an Oregon fossicker high on moonshine and mercury poisoning so I may as well drink like one.

Good luck against Man Utd on Sunday, boys.

FC Naylor