FRANCE is having another one of its romantic nervous breakdowns, and I’m in the south of the country this week watching the drama unfold from a safe distance. We’re on our annual pilgrimage to the MIPCOM TV market which sounds way more exotic than it is, schlepping around the place with a bag full of ideas for TV shows while Russian oligarch types in Masserati’s try to knock us down on the streets.

Emmanuel Macron has told his rivals to cop on, basically, rejecting calls to resign while the far right, far left and that awkward bit in the middle all take turns pulling at the political fabric. This place seems to be in a constant state of political crisis, not that you’d know it from the speed with which they serve you lunch.

The country’s political landscape is now so fragmented that forming a stable government has become like trying to complete a jigsaw in the middle of a bungee jump. Macron called snap parliamentary elections after his party got walloped in June’s EU elections, seeking what he called ‘clarification.’

What he got instead was chaos - a hung National Assembly, coalition carnage, and protesters doing what the French do best, taking to the streets with banners, attitude and those small little cigarettes.

France, the land of revolution, still has a flair for the dramatic. Speaking from Egypt, where he attended a Gaza summit, Macron insisted he would not resign and accused opponents of fuelling instability. Back in Ireland, meanwhile, a government quietly ticks along without anyone setting fire to a bin or climbing the Eiffel Tower. By comparison, Micheál Martin’s presidential election omnishambles looks like a storm in a teacup.

All still to play for

Speaking of which, the presidential election is entering its final stretch, and it’s been... surprisingly spicy.

With Gavin gone (insert your own Gaviscon joke here), Catherine Connolly spent her Monday defending her EU referendum record: ‘I’d have to think back,’ she said, which is politician-speak for’please change the subject’ and explaining how a taxpayer-funded trip to Syria somehow counted as research.

Humphreys, meanwhile, found herself pressed on the Shane O’Farrell case, a local tragedy that still haunts Monaghan, and her reluctance to back a public inquiry.

Labour’s Alan Kelly has publicly wobbled, saying he’ll ‘reluctantly’ vote for Humphreys.

Meanwhile, former Green TD Brian Leddin dramatically quit his party over its support for Connolly in a move so theatrical he might consider a move to France.

With some FF members stating their preference to vote for Jim Gavin on the ballot, almost to spite their dear leader, and the left looking a little wobbly, it’s all to play for in the final countdown.

Get over Guinness!

Every Irish TV producer in Cannes is pretending they’re not watching The House of Guinness on Netflix while secretly being absolutely glued to it. And everyone I meet from the UK is singing its praises. It’s got everything: a frothy dramatisation of Arthur Guinness’s empire, questionable accents that veer wildly from Cork to Kerry to somewhere near Sunderland, and more green suits and leprechaun hats than a St Patrick’s Day float in Boston.

Irish reviewers have been predictably appalled – ‘cringe,’ ‘stereotypical,’ ‘national embarrassment’, while The Guardian called it ‘lavishly silly’ and ‘enjoyably daft.’

I’m afraid I’m with the Brits on this one. We tend to get very sensitive and clutch our pearls whenever someone abroad paints us with a broad brush, which is understandable after centuries of caricature and misrepresentation. I think we should be grown up enough now to take it in the spirit it’s intended. Besides, after decades of po-faced prestige dramas featuring nuns trudging around in the rain, it’s nice to see a show featuring so much Irish talent having such unadulterated fun. Get over it, I say!

A big hand to small hands

And finally, a big hand to the guy with the small hands… Donald Trump has brought peace to the Middle East (and joy to all mankind). Or at least he declared that he has, which in Trump’s mind is the same thing. The president touched down in Israel this week, beaming like a man who’s just solved Wordle on his first guess, and announced that ‘no one’s ever seen peace like this.’ The visit came days after a ceasefire and hostage exchange deal in Gaza, which Trump has loudly claimed credit for helping broker. His timing was impeccable: it also came amid reports that the US has continued approving multi-billion-dollar arms sales to Israel. It’s like turning up to a fire with a petrol can and calling yourself a fireman.

Still, in Trump’s mind, all this proves that he alone can fix it. Expect his next move to be canonisation – St Don of the Deal, patron saint of self-promotion and questionable tans. Between him and Macron’s theatrics, you’d almost be grateful for the boring competence of our own lot. Almost.