That to the French president Emmanuel Macron if you liked the bottles, in particular the Modiglianesque ones, with that long, tapered neck, it's nothing new: however, mon dieu, est modus in rebus: his passion risks breaking the even capable coffers of the Elysée. Macron is a pleasure-seeker, and he treats himself well: he and the prime minister grand dame, or rather grand-mére, travel on champagne like not even Simenon's fallen nobles. Hear the stuff here: “The Presidency of the Republic – informs “l'Informé, who is well informed – is looking for 11 thousand bottles of fine bubbles for cocktails and receptions over the next four years. With a slight predilection for rosé champagne”.
Eleven thousand bottles for receptions: what the fuck did you drink? Democracy, it was said, has a cost: yes, especially a liquid one. And democracy for comrade Macron, who wants to break Putin's back, means putting the ball on the bayonet, throwing the fiasco over the obstacle. All children of the distillery. Voila! With all due respect to Antonella Violà, at the Elysée they drink two thousand eight hundred carafes a year, so as not to know what to do, even now that Carla Bruni has left (don't let her back, otherwise the budget will definitely collapse). “Nunc est bibendum, pede libero”. In fact, Marcon remains at large despite his reckless way of managing the domestic economy. He doesn't pay anyway, he drinks together with his guests. We would almost suggest to President Ciuchetton that he invite our Pope Cecchettin for a summit meeting in which alcoholic patriarchy is debated, complete with a definitive toast. And all we can do is laugh, acid, because, after all, my friend, this is democracy: a matter of privileges passed off for reasons of State, of revels smuggled by politics, of orgies at all levels imposed as protection of sacred borders. Eleven thousand bottles of vintage wine at 700 euros each in 4 years, noblesse oblige: to put it like Walter, Lino Banfi's bartender: but go to hell.
Because, here's what we mean, no one here is scandalized by the fact itself, if ever the arrogance, the arrogance of all these annoys: the democratic republics were officially born to abolish the power systems of the old aristocratic regimes, alien to the the populace and the populace, the plebs finally decorated with citizenship: the level of detachment has ended up being accentuated, the democratic presidents are much less democratic than the old pre-revolution kings and queens, and without even the style, or rather the hypocrisy , of the British rulers. If anything, at the level of sheikhdoms and emirates, they are a waste, a bad taste beyond embarrassment, without any restraint, without shame, which a supranational institution like the European Union is responsible for institutionalizing, making acceptable and indisputable. On purpose. Mario Draghi's main sponsor instead of the Baroness seems to be Macron himself, even if he seems to already regret it: at this point, everything is clear: lift the wine, let him put the flask down. The thousand reasons, all excellent, have been thoroughly and excellently dissected in this newspaper and also in the related Alleanza. Draghi, that of “you don't get vaccinated, you get sick, you die” and “do you want peace or air conditioning” in the EU “to change everything”? Seriously? But by Bacchus!
No, you can't be serious, not even you, Macron with the eleven thousand jugs of rosé. “To avoid feeling the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and keeps you down, you must get drunk without respite. But of what? Of wine, poetry or virtue: whatever you like. But get drunk!”. Let's not joke, let's drink from it, let's get drunk as Baudelaire urges us, which is always better than doing an epochal bullshit like putting that banker Mario on the EU, and never talking about it again.
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