FIDELMA COOK

AFTER the first round of the Primary to elect a Republican candidate, the leftwing paper Liberation filled its front page with an arresting mock-up: the unmistakable face of surprise of front-runner Francois Fillon, morphed under the equally unmistakable hair and pearls of Margaret Thatcher. The message was clear: this is what you’ve voted for.

But, as in most things involving the French, Thatcher produces a mixture of revulsion and admiration. Her destruction of Britain’s unions was, to say the least, distasteful to the majority in a country still frequently brought to its knees by strikes and demos. The right to strike, or at least demonstrably object, lies at the core of French rights since the Revolution.

Yet there is perhaps a yearning to wrest the country from its hidebound, often suffocating commitment to a socialist ideal now patently financially crippling.

This morning, on a promise of the most radical reforms in French political history, the once-mocked Thatcherite, Fillon, is on course to be our next president.

He has pledged immediate action to cut public spending by €100 billion over five years: slashing 500,000 jobs; raising the pension age to 65; and jettisoning the 35-hour week.

He is against multiculturalism, gay adoption rights and, personally, against abortion but will not change that law. Oh, he is also a pal of Russian president Vladmir Putin – a familiar, worrying alliance these days.

With the French Left in utter disarray under Francois Hollande, a president with the lowest ratings ever, it seems almost inevitable that he will face fascist Marine Le Pen in the final presidential vote early next year.

And with that famous French pragmatism allied to tactical voting, the Left, the Greens, the LGBT community, the conservative Catholics and the liberal atheists will join together to put him in the Elysee Palace. Or so the story goes.

Mr Nobody, as he was dismissed by Francois Sarkozy when prime minister under his presidency, will halt the populist Right movement engulfing the world. He certainly halted his old boss’s return to power.

However, Brexit and Trump are teaching us again the mantra, “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” And I for one won’t believe it until the blonde lady’s ugly, age-old song is finally silenced. For now, at least.

The Front National had hoped for a win for Alain Juppe, as had I. They felt his all-embracing, gradual move to change was the easiest to counteract in a country polarised by fear of Islamic overthrow, social problems and high unemployment.

This week they are rethinking their attack, taking on, ironically, the mantle of the Left in protecting workers’ rights and benefits.

They believe that the same brutish chippiness against so-called elites, seen in the Brexit and Trump voters, will give them ascendency.

They will point out that Fillon, in his 12th-century chateau in the Loire Valley, is, unlike them, out of touch with what the country wants and needs.

They will continue to tap into that deep vein of racism that runs through the heart of France, for all its attempts at liberty, equality and brotherhood.

They will foment stress and strife at the lowest level, exploiting the fears of the unemployed, the dependents and the bigoted, and validate the sheer evil that seeks only nihilism.

It’s a very strange time to be a foreigner in this country, as it must be in Brexit Britain. It appears that Fillon has already made it plain – as has May – that he will not offer special succour to those already here.

She has her bargaining chips; he may have the whole of the EU.

I understand that. But then I can, as someone with two passports, with health care, a right from my working payments via hefty social charges into the French system. My rights, of course, are predicated on the system as it stands and my continuing ability to work. Or rather my right, again as it stands, to work, to be in this country, or any EU country.

Last week I spoke to a former colleague who has lived in France for a few years more than me, in her case in Cannes.

A high Tory she has, sort of, avoided paying French tax and all social charges until recently; is a total Brexiteer and, you know, can sort of see where Le Pen is coming from …

She puts on the soothing voice I’m sure psychiatric nurses are trained in. “It’ll be fine,” she says. “You think too much. Change happens. We need to care for ourselves not the others.

“I met Le Pen. I found her rather impressive actually.” Fortunately her battery died at that moment so I was in mid-response. It was better that I hadn’t the opportunity to finish.

To sum up: I cannot vote in the coming elections, although I pay full taxes, and I accept that. If I did, like many perhaps, I would swallow and vote Right to keep out the Far Right.

Strange, strange times. I am becoming a pragmatist for the first time in my life.

All I know is that we thought 2016 was a horror. We ain’t see nothing yet.