Our possible first female president

According to polls, there is a very serious chance that Marine Le Pen could win the French presidential election.  With the day of the presidential election in the USA a matter of days away, I thought I would reflect on Marine Le Pen and what it would be like to have her as our first female president.

Firstly, as a religious woman, I am at the very least uneasy about the idea of a female leader.  1Timothy 2:12: - "But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence."  Liberals would say that we aren't bound by something as unfashionable and last-season as the Holy Bible.  Halfway conservatives say this rule only applies to leadership positions within the church.

For practical reasons, the issue of men reporting to women is not an issue with my magazine, as it has no male employees, given the type of men who tend to be interested in fashion, who would never feel at home at my magazine (receivers of swollen goods, in other words).  My fashion magazine is all about clothing that Christians would feel entirely comfortable wearing and which is distinctly for one gender or the other (no androgynous clothing, an example of which is above): - this idea of "non-binary" is thoroughly wicked and contradicts "He made them male and female" (Genesis 5:2, Matthew 19:4 and Mark 10:6).  

It is possible for women to be leaders, but still under the rightful authority of their husbands.  This is reputedly the case with Queen Elizabeth II, who is a queen regnant (i.e. a queen in her own right, not a queen by virtue of her marriage to a king).  It is understood that her husband Prince Philip (whose politically incorrect comments I like) makes the important decisions on family matters.  It is the same in my household: - I am doing very well with my fashion magazine, but I joyfully render obedience to Bilal in accordance with Ephesians 5:22-24, who in turn does a very good job of fulfilling his obligations in Ephesians 5:25 (nobody is perfect: - if they were, they would not need a saviour).  Laws in virtually every country in the world guarantee my right to make my own decisions on this one, but I have so far been happy to waive this right and let Bilal make the decisions on when we try for children, for instance.

That subject covered, let me turn my attention to another very important issue: - Marine Le Pen is badly overweight!  I had hoped that if we had a female president, we would have somebody who is a quintessential example of female beauty in France.  Marie-Ségolène Royal (who thankfully lost to Nicolas Sarkozy in the 2007 presidential election) is a good example of an attractive female French politician.  I asked Bilal what he thought, to which he replied that whilst he didn't view her as being "well buff" like me, she is "reasonably fit".  Zoë Williams, in her rant entitled "Cherchez la femme", gave several good examples of attractive female French politicians who know how to dress.  With all the attractive women who exist in France, it is a shame Marine Le Pen doesn't look like she knows much about how to look nice, though admittedly, her niece Marion Maréchal-Le Pen is also "quite fit" in Bilal's estimation and has a nice figure in my estimation as well.

In terms of her politics, I much prefer the National Front's political positions when they are compared with other major political parties.  I am aware that they particularly appeal to Pied-Noirs (or "Pied Renois", as Bilal calls them).  Islam is the great enemy of what France stands for, though admittedly, the traditional French church (the Church of Rome) is not great either.  I am proud of France's history in the reformation, e.g. the Huguenots, John Calvin etc and am aware that many reformed congregations have existed in the vicinity of Strasbourg over the years.  Granted, there might be potential converts from Islam (like Bilal) coming into the country, but on balance, it would still be great to protect what is left of France's Christian heritage and reform it, bringing about a genuine religious revival in France.  The Le Pen family is very good at standing up to establishment figures who do their utmost to stop France being governed by real French people for real French people.

Marine Le Pen is certainly a very powerful and talented public speaker: - we need such people to put our cause across to the people.  I remember the famous rant she delivered against our commie socialist president François Hollande.  She seemed a little like Zoë Williams, who wrote a long rant about how women can supposedly only enter French politics if they have a powerful relative.  Honestly!  Zoë Williams rants about our great nation not giving women a chance unless they are thin, but yet when a fat woman is in the upper echelons of French politics, she continues to complain!

In conclusion, in spite of her lack of physical beauty, I am keen to see Marine Le Pen win next year's presidential election and make France great again.

My new boyfriend

I have recently received e-mails criticising me for not being politically correct, given my comments about hip-hop culture, suggesting that I am old-fashioned (in spite of the success of my fashion magazine) in my views on trendy multiculturalism, totally forgetting that I deal with trendies all the time.  In my line of work, whether or not you like it, you have to deal with silly people who like to think they are the bee's knees because they hold fashionable views.

Well, I have got some news for such people: - there has been a change in my life.  I recently acquired a boyfriend who is a member of a very trendy ethnic group.

In the church I attend, our custom is for a man who is interested in a lady to approach her father for permission to court her. The father then asks the suitor to open his books to him, by which I mean he asks him to assure him that he is a suitable prospect for his daughter, i.e. he is financially stable, he can support a family, he is a spiritually fruitful man, he is diligent in his day job and labours for his church etc.  He also has to convince the man that he understands that courtship should be no longer than necessary for both people to make a decision about marriage and that as long as he is in a courtship with the man's daughter, he is to be constantly attempting to move himself to a decision on whether or not he wants to make a proposal of marriage.  If he can convince him that he is a sound prospect in all these areas, the father will then ask his daughter if he is happy to be courted by him.  If the answer is "yes", then he gives his permission and then he is at liberty to commence a courtship with her.

Being the impossibly dainty, glamorous, fashionable and stylish Frenchwoman that I am, I am very regularly approached by men.  Obviously now, my answer will simply be that I am spoken for.  However, up until now, what I did was I placed bulk orders for business cards with my father's contact details on (say 1,000 at a time with companies such as Vistaprint).  When men asked me out on a date, I would simply give them a business card with my father's details on and say, "Here are my father's contact details.  Direct your request at him.  If you get past my father, then you are probably somebody worth considering."  Sometimes, the man would persist and in such cases, I would normally repeat my answer.  With some men, I found myself saying, "What part of the phrase "contact my father" do you not understand?"  Up until now, the problem was that I was handing out huge quantities of business cards to interested men, but up until now, I haven't been asked by my father if I am happy to be courted by a man.  Obviously, I don't know if Daddy has been excessively picky on behalf of such a stylish girl such as myself, or if very few of the men I gave business cards to were serious enough and man enough to contact my father, or if many of them did, but were totally unsuitable prospects.

The full name of the man who has finally gotten past my father and claimed the much-coveted prize of being able to court a stylish and impossibly dainty Frenchwoman such as myself is is Bilal Ataubaq Ag Abdul-Khaliq.  In case anyone wants to know the meaning of the names, Bilal means someone who satisfies thirst, Ataubaq means handsome, beautiful, helpful, generous with got a lot of love to share and Abdul-Khaliq means servant of the Creator.  Ag means "son of": - his last name is Abdul-Khaliq, his father's name, because where he comes from, the father's name is often used in place of a surname. Bilal is a Touareg from Mali and is well known in the church for his extreme diffidence.  Although there are photos of Touareg peoples in this posting, none of them are of Bilal, as he was not happy about any photos of him being public and anyway, it is easier to just pick things of Wikimedia Commons.

I have been aware of Bilal's existence since he first started attending our church at the age of around ten.  He would come in all by himself at that tender age and he would be dressed in whatever hip-hop clothing was fashionable at the time and he had a strong preference for hooded tops.  The hooded tops would tend to have the drawstrings pulled tight, so as to show as little of his face as possible.  He would always sit at the back of the church in a slightly hunched posture.  If a female approached him and tried to start a conversation, he would simply ignore her: - cultural conditioning, I suppose.  Since the start of our relationship, he has made an exception for me, but otherwise, that is still the way he is now.  If a man approached him, he would reply to him in a monosyllabic fashion, though as time went by, if a man started a discussion with him about theological matters (e.g. the sermon the pastor had just delivered), it was possible to engage him in conversation.  The church could not and would not stop him attending the church services, but without parental consent, the church was unable to allow him to participate in Sunday School, which was a shame, as Sunday School might have made him less solitary.

I found out that the reason Bilal was always alone when coming to church was because he converted to Christianity in the face of extremely strong disapproval from his family.  His conversion happened when he was back in Mali: - he attended a church there, hoping to point out the supposed absurdities in Christianity and why only the word of Muhammad was accurate (*cough*), but his soul was soon won for Christ after a few weeks of attending the church.  When his family moved to Marseille, he searched out a church with similar doctrines (i.e. ours) and that is when he started attending.  One Sunday, the police turned up to take him home, as his parents had found out about his church attendance and falsely reported him as having run away (not true, as he would turn up on Sundays, stay all day and then go home).

His parents tried to stop him attending and even went as far as throwing him out of the family home.  He turned up on the Sunday looking very scruffy (this was aged 11 I think), as he had been sleeping rough.  One of the elders spoke with him and ascertained what had happened, took him to his parents' home, told them that he had several high-profile contacts in the police force and social services and threatened that he would have them arrested for dereliction of parental duties if they did not take him back.  They said that they would do so only if he renounced the religion that the Westerners had corrupted him with (a load of nonsense, as the pastor of his church back in Mali is a local man).  Bilal told his parents that he still loved them and, as far as practicable, was determined to honour them in accordance with the fifth commandment, but that he would openly disobey them to attend church on Sundays.  He also cited the words of Acts 5:29 ("Il faut obéir à Dieu plutôt qu'aux hommes" according to Ostervald and "We ought to obey God rather than men" in the KJV) and the words of Matthew 19:29, Mark 10:29 and to them.  The words say that whoever has left his family members for the sake of the Gospel will be abundantly rewarded in the future.  Bilal also added that if he had to sleep rough, he would, for he was used to harsh conditions back in Mali and reminded his parents that the family livestock would not last long in the very hot summer months without someone physically strong enough to take care of them.  In the end, the elder kept up his threats against the parents and his parents took him back in.  This I only found out a few months ago, though I remember the day he came in looking scruffy: - obviously, a stylish and impeccably-dressed Frenchwoman like me will not struggle to notice something like this!

About a year after this (age 12 or so), Bilal started wearing a tagelmust (aka a cheche), a head covering that Touareg men wear when they reach puberty.  The way he wears it, it only shows his eyes and the top of his nose.  For reasons of practicality and for the sake of blending in (he lives in La Savine, Marseille's roughest area), Bilal often wears hip-hop clothing (say a sweatsuit with a hoodie to obscure his face), though he wears a tagelmust and other Touareg clothing when this is reasonably practical.  In Touareg society, men will generally wear the tagelmust except in the presence of close family members and they feel shame in showing their full facial features to a stranger or person of higher social standing than themselves.  I am aware that for this reason, when teaching his Sunday School class, he will remove his head covering (as it is understood in our church that being a Sunday School teacher is a position of authority), so as to be able to gain rapport with the children, but he will only do this behind closed doors.  Being alone with children is a bad idea from the perspective of child protection issues, so he has a younger adult male perform classroom assistant duties during his class.  If someone knocks on the door, he will replace his tagelmust before telling the person to come in and he gets very funny if people come in without knocking.

These days, he is very heavily involved in the church.  Teaching Sunday School is the only "frontline" duty he has, but I know that he has many "back office" duties, e.g. preparing the elements for communion, ensuring the baptismal pool remains clean and is filled with warm water on the evenings when baptisms take place (our church is a credobaptist one), ensuring that the church's IT systems are well looked after, ensuring the electrical affairs of the church are in order, typing out letters on behalf of the pastor when he leaves a recording for this purpose on a dictation machine etc etc.

One other miscellaneous thing he is involved in concerns music.  My church recently released a CD with organ plus solo renditions of all the hymns in our hymnal and I bought a copy sometime last spring ago.  The first hymn on the CD was "Jésus mis à mort pour moi" ("Jesus put to death for me", a translation of "Rock of ages, cleft for me").  The photo below shows the rock that the hymn is believed by some to have been based on: - this is near a garden centre in Burrington Coombe in the British historical county of Somerset (a county regrettably composed of people deluded enough to think they are capable of producing as good quality cheese as we French).  Immediately, I was taken aback by the beauty of the haunting singing voice on the CD and as the CD progressed, it was clear that the singer had a range of at least four octaves.  I decided to look on the cover and see whose voice it was: - it was Bilal's.

I also learned of a story a few weeks ago where the pastor had to visit La Savine (Marseille's roughest area, which is also where Bilal has lived throughout his time in France) on account of a pastoral emergency (the wife of a church member who lives in La Savine dropped dead suddenly).  Bilal accompanied him as a bodyguard.  He dressed up in hip-hop clothing in order to blend in, pulling the hoodie drawstrings tight to hide his face, as is his custom.  Someone then approached the pastor to demand his valuables from him, threatening him with a knife.  Bilal stepped in front and politely told him to kindly leave them alone.  This didn't work, so the attacker lunged at the pastor with his knife.  Bilal picked him up by the front of his shirt and threw him a bit like one would throw a javelin.  The pastor's attacker then landed about five metres away and ran away, obviously scared and not willing to persist.

Last summer, we had a church day out one Saturday and we visited a small sandy beach (there are no natural sandy beaches in Marseille) that is just off the Avenue Pierre Mendès France.  At the beach, there is the Skatepark du Prado and a go-karting track, which the younger children who attend the church enjoy.  Part-way through the day, panic set in when it became apparent that one of the children swimming a little too far from the shore for comfort was getting into difficulties.  Bilal (wearing full-on Touareg dress and reading a book at the time) became aware of this and walked towards the sea, undressed down to his swimming trunks, swam out to the child in distress and brought him back to the shore.  There was rapturous applause upon the child's return and someone said to Bilal, "I thought you couldn't swim", to which he replied indifferently, "Well how do you think you rescue livestock stranded by flash floods in the desert in Mali when you are miles from anywhere?", before putting his clothes on and resuming his book.  Some people started crowding round Bilal to congratulate him, but luckily, the pastor stepped in and explained that giving him unwanted attention like this would be like shooting a mocking bird.  For those readers not au fait with English literature, this was an obvious reference to what Scout said about Mr. Radley in Harper Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird".  My mother insisted that I read this to help with my English fluency, but quite why my pastor decided to cite from low-quality literature, knowing that we French are the best at everything, I don't know.  Anyway, this was the first time I had ever seen him even with his head uncovered.  He had these beautiful naturally curly locks of black hair (not the sort that gets knotty, more like a perm, though natural in his case), with a skin tone somewhere between white northern African Arab and black African.  The other thing that was noticeable about him was his extremely heavy build and enormous muscles: - I used to read silly girlie magazines that contained pictures of heavily-built men, but they all seemed rather scrawny by comparison to Bilal.

This brings me onto the next point about him.  Growing up, he laboured in the family business of being a herdsman.  Sheep, goats and camels were his specialism.  He is from the Timbuktu area, which is drier than southern areas, meaning that farming cattle is not desirable there (given how much grass they consume).  During summer holidays, we would not normally see him in church, as he would return to Mali to look after the animals (no easy task, given that average daily maxima in Timbuktu are above 35 degrees between March and November).  He would do whatever he needed to do, be this engaging in one-on-one combat with animals or people attacking his livestock, herding them to areas with food and water (in the mountains if necessary, of which there are some to the west of Timbuktu) etc.  When he arrived in France, he did well in his studies and went through the university system.  He now works as a rolling stock engineer with the Marseille Metro and he has the long-term aim of starting up a business as a high-speed open-access railway operator along the lines of NTV (Nuovo Trasporto Viaggiatori, the Italian open-access high-speed operator) and is taking steps to lay seeds for the fulfilment of this aim.  I have no doubt that this went down well with Daddy, although the fact that Daddy works for SNCF means he is unlikely to welcome the competition that Bilal's proposed open-access high-speed operator would offer!  MDR!  Bilal has told me that he is into online share trading and it is rumoured in the church that he is a very wealthy man.  I am not interested on finding out the precise extent of his wealth at this stage, as Daddy has already ascertained that his financial maturity is sufficient to start a family.

Anyway, the event concerning him I found most notable was when I was walking past one of his Sunday School classes in progress a few weeks ago.  He was giving a talk to some secondary age children about the Five Points of Calvinism: - remember, John Calvin was born in Noyon in Picardie, which is further evidence that we French are the best at everything, which includes producing theologians!  MDR!  I loved Bilal's passionate and theologically sound explanation of the doctrines of grace to the children and how he expertly dealt with all their questions.

Coming to the conclusion of this blog post, Daddy told me that several years ago, Bilal approached him and asked his permission to court me.  Daddy then said any black man who came anywhere near his children would suffer very serious consequences.  Bilal then said, "Sir, Marianne is under your authority and I fully respect that.  I can see that I don't have your approval now, but I am willing to wait until I do receive your approval.  Oh, and just a little diversion, don't bother threatening me like that.  I've lived in La Savine since I was 10 years old and for many years, I have had to fight wild beasts and livestock raiders in order to protect my family's herds.  If you think I'm even batting an eyelid at a threat like that, then you obviously don't know me very well.  However, as I said, I won't court Marianne without your approval, but I will wait until I receive it and I will work to earn your approval."  Daddy added that there were a few other instances where he asked between now and the first request.  In the past few days, Bilal approached my father asking to court me again.  This time, Daddy asked me if I was willing to agree to it.  I don't know him very well, but I decided I would at least see what he had to offer, so I said "yes".  Daddy therefore went back to him and said, "Bilal, you are 100% welcome to court Marianne.  There is nobody in the church who is more worthy than you to do so.  I would be honoured to have you as part of my family if this courtship results in marriage."

So there you have it: - I have my first boyfriend.  Bilal told me I am the type of girl he always aspired to court.  Conversely, Bilal is not the suave Frenchman I always dreamed of in my youth (Serge Gainsbourg minus the cigarettes is the archetypical example, I suppose), but I am open-minded.  A few days into the relationship, I am very happy.  Watch this space.

My visit to Strasbourg, the capital of Alsatia

Over the summer, my magazine had a very quiet time, due to the lack of fashion-related announcements (things will pick up, now that autumn is arriving).  As a result, I decided to take an additional holiday for a few days.  My destination of choice was Strasbourg.  I have a few friends living in Strasbourg who I wanted to catch up with.

I decided to go there by train, as I wanted to see the new LGV Rhine-Rhône high-speed railway line: - most of my rail travel is spent travelling between Marseille and Paris and occasionally London (unfortunately).  I hadn't yet experienced the relatively new LGV Rhine-Rhône high-speed line.

Like the LGV Est that runs between Paris and Baudrecourt (going approximately 2/3 of the way to Strasbourg), the operating speed is 320km/h: - as impossibly perfect as we French are, we haven't yet found an engineering solution to the problem of the track ballast disintegrating at speeds and the generally enormous maintenance outlay if one runs trains in service at speeds above 320km/h.  It is possible to run trains at 320km/h on conventional rails, but so far, Japan (an almost perfect country, but still not up there with France) is the only other nation where this is done at the time of writing.

The journey there took quite a while (6h08m to be precise), given that not all of the Marseille-Strasbourg route is high speed and there were a large number of intermediate stops (Avignon TGV, Valence TGV, Lyon Part Dieu, Bourg-en-Bresse, Lons-Le-Saunier, Besançon-Viotte, Belfort-Montbéliard TGV, Mulhouse Ville and Colmar).  I wasn't in a hurry though, as a Frenchwoman likes to slowly unwind and savour her holidays: - American acquaintances tell me that people often don't take all their annual leave because they fear people usurping their jobs if they spend more than a week away.  Such an idea is alien to a Frenchwoman, being effortlessly fabulous at her job.

I recall seeing a few noteworthy new sights along the route, such as the Savoureuse viaduct that the train travelled across, which I believe is near Belfort-Montbéliard station.

After the long and relaxing journey, I also enjoyed the sight of Strasbourg's central station, with its glass exterior combining with the older structure to make a very nice hybrid of old and new.

As mentioned in a previous posting, I enjoy the taste of Kouglof, a local delicacy.  As I keep saying, bumpkins like desserts to be as sweet as possible, whereas stylish people like desserts to be only as sweet as they need to be to cleanse the palate of the previous course.  Kouglof is one such dessert that accomplishes this.  I have seen American and British business colleagues bite into it and their faces screw up, as they were expecting something disgustingly sweet and they find the taste almost savoury.  Well, I could have told them that it was a brioche rather than a cake in advance, but I enjoy such opportunities to gloat about how sophisticated I am for not liking the taste of overly sweet desserts!  MDR.

The city has history in buckets.  Some people au fait with this subject may be aware that John Calvin (who was born in Noyon in Picardie) preached at four different churches in the city.

It is also the home of the European Parliament building.

I don't follow politics much (except when they are talking about raising or lowering taxes), but I gather the European parliament has some MEPs who are some very funny jokers, including Nigel Farage, who comes from the unsophisticated nation that is my mother's homeland.  Below is a video of his famous "BBBBBBBBBBAFFLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" speech after he was informed that the EU was the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize.

Strasbourg is also home to the European Court of Human Rights.  I wonder if I might be able to take any cases there that concern the enormously high rates of tax we have to pay in France?  I heard an American tried going to some constitutional court to challenge the government's right to impose income tax.  Maybe we French should take a similar case to the European Court of Human Rights?

A Frenchwoman likes to walk everywhere and I found out that the German city of Kehl was on the other side of the Rhine and a short walk away.

Germany is a far less sophisticated nation than France and there are loads of fatties that appear to drink a gallon of lager every evening.  However, it is sometimes necessary to go abroad to appreciate one's own country.  In any case, Kehl is a fairly pretty city, with its tower (the Weißtannenturm) that one can walk up (a Frenchwoman likes walking up stairs and hates taking the lift) and get a good view of the scenery for miles around from.

All in all, I had a very lovely holiday.  The weather wasn't as warm as Marseille, there weren't swathes of lavender fields nearby, there weren't people sipping pastis everywhere and it generally wasn't as fabulous as Marseille generally, but it is lovely to go to different places and see different things sometimes.  I wouldn't appreciate Marseille so much if there weren't this diversity of other French cities to see.

If any Brits are reading this, it is easy to reach Strasbourg by train (Eurostar, changing at Lille or Paris) and it will be even easier once the second phase of the LGV Est is complete (it will then be 1h50m from Paris).  It will gradually feel closer and closer to Marseille as the other parts of the LGV Rhine-Rhône are completed (it is anyone's guess when this will happen, given that François Hollande has delayed several lines on account of having messed up the economy).

All in all, I had a lovely time, but it was such a great feeling getting back to Marseille.  The train enters the Tunnel de Marseille shortly after Aix-en-Provence and it is lovely to come out of that tunnel and be greeted with the sight of Marseille again.  As the old saying goes, there's no place like home.