'Allo, 'Allo . . .

Another day, another Montreal shopping mall and another election surprise . . .

We're idly looking at the tat in the shop windows when we come across this store, selling the Liberal candidate in the upcoming Quebec provincial election. "Um, I wouldn't buy him," says Jools, as I stop to take a few pictures of the toiling electioneers - whereupon the lady in red looks up from her desk, gasps in astonishment and dashes to the back of the room.

Uncertain whether she's about to apply make-up for the next photograph or call in a squad of Montreal's favourite jackbooted police goons, whose harrassment of student demonstrators preemptied the election, I pocket my camera. Then, humming La Marseillaise, Jools and I put distance between us and M. Bergman's electionocrats . . .

"Hope he loses", whispers an uncharitable Jools, glancing anxiously over her shoulder . . .

I heave a Gallic shrug and add a nonchalent, "Eh Bien", which is, I'm reliably informed, the French equivalent of "Bollocks to it all".