Quentin Letts:

On Friday morning our village shopkeeper, Jean, spoke for the nation. She was trying to tot my bill but kept being distracted by that vast photograph of the French president on the front of The Daily Telegraph. Jean, who is not particularly political, emitted a low groan. She could not bear to look one moment longer at that dreadful man. And so she silently folded the newspaper, removing Macron from view, and returned to her calculations with a triumphant nod of relief.

Those of us who would happily settle for a clean Brexit (ie one without the £39billion alimony bill) have a potent new recruit: Monsieur le President Emmanuel Macron. What a corker he is: énarque arrogance in a snappy suit, Tony Blair marinaded in metrosexual cologne. He has Tony’s oven-pad fringe, the Hollywood starlet squint and, most of all, the contempt for Eurosceptic democrats. When the people speak, the likes of Macron say they are wrong. No wonder his approval ratings in France have nosedived.

At Salzburg he dismissed pro-Leave politicians as “liars” and asserted, with the gloat of a disreputable mobile-phone salesman, that departing the EU was going to be hard and expensive. Had we not read the small print on our service contract? Did we not know we would have to go on paying for years, even if we wanted to use another network?

Gone was any idea of the EU as benevolent cooperative. All the political chords screamed threats and imprisonment. And did you notice all the back-slapping and forearm clutching? Grotesque. European summits have become gropers’ conventions. The only person not being given a rub was Mrs May.

All but the most devoted Remainers must now see that Macron, Merkel, Tusk, drinky Juncker and co are intractable accomplices in a protection racket. When the Jeans of this world can no longer stand the sight of smoothiechops Emmanuel, Euroscepticsm has seized a further chunk of Middle Britain.

For Theresa May, this was awkward. She had been in the camp that insisted European leaders would be reasonable. Downing Street was so convinced of that, it did not start preparing credibly for “no-deal”, just as the British elite refused to arm for war in the late Thirties. Philip Hammond felt able repeatedly to undermine the message that Britain could walk away from the table. How Mrs May must wish she could sack her slithery Chancellor. But the mistakes were also down to her own weaknesses as a political poker player. Even on Thursday afternoon, when she was so angry, her threats about opting for no-deal sounded tinny. She had approached Brexit with the attitude of a puzzle-solving official rather than the swagger of a political door-slammer. You need both.

Although efficient in doing over David Davis and Boris Johnson with her Chequers ambush, she was naïve in her negotiations with Brussels. But she has learned the hard way not to listen to half-murmured diplomatic come-ons. Her tone on Friday, speaking to the nation from No 10, was far stronger. Maybe she has finally realised that Boris and DD were right all along. And Olly Robbins wrong.

Can she survive? For a few months, at least. Any Tory leadership election before the end of the Brexit battle might look irresponsible and the BBC is willing her on. The corporation’s coverage has been noticeably more pro-May since Chequers. Last week’s Panorama was Beeb propaganda at its most laughably silken. Beeboids liked Chequers because it was so unBrexity. Having fallen in behind Mrs May, they will stick with her for a while.

Her prospects at the Conservative Party conference have improved. She has acquired the look of a woman abused and that is politically handy. Tory members will have enjoyed the swish of her feline tail in that compelling speech on Friday. She could improve her standing further with the Birmingham activists if, during her platform speech, she slowly extracted from her handbag a £39billion cheque, written in favour of D. Tusk, and casually tore it in two. The hall would go berserk with delight. The British public would think she had at last found her inner Maggie. Eurocrats would drat and dang and cuss, seeing their longed-for Danegeld gurgling down the drain. Our money is what they ache for the most. If it disappears, the EU budget will hit immediate crisis.

Mrs May should instruct acting Cabinet Secretary Sir Mark Sedwill that if anyone from Brussels or Paris or Berlin telephones for the next month, she is not at home. She should announce her intention to attend no more summits or dinners. If there is anything to be said, let it be sent in writing. As a woman she must know the force of a frosty silence.

And as First Lord of the Treasury, she must order Mr Hammond’s officials to prepare emergency tax-cutting plans from April 2019. A lower-tax, aggressively competitive Britain would horrify the EU, particularly little Varadkar in Ireland.