The crew cut is in. Whether or not they've got upcoming 'assignments', more and more people show up to work with heads shorn for action if not the indecisive weather. Yet this has been happening all winter. The girls haven't gone quite as far, but there's a definite style even on the Desk afrique which looks great at the risk of chilled craniums.
Patxi, back in their hotseat today after a spell in Pakistan too short for his liking, tried to wave me back across the gap known as "the Channel", contending it was no time to be chatting to a compatriot of the beleaguered Blair. For good measure, he chucked in the old one about how we burned Jeanne d'Arc. This is untrue. As I have reminded countless French people down the years, the English merely handed the hapless maid - who sported a very close crop if that fine film The Messenger is to be believed - over to be roasted by her own.
The message we woke up to this morning was clear enough. You've heard it, but I kept it for posterity. We'll see what the Beeb broadcasts on Sunday as the "Donald Rumsfeld soundbite of the week", but this is mine:
|
postbox