A reflection on the passing of Jacques Chirac, a giant figure in French (and international) politics.

          Jacques Chirac is the latest french iconic figure to leave us, in the last couple of years, after the singers Johnny Hallyday and Charles Aznavour and his passing has been acknowledged in typically sombre yet colourful and respectful ceremony. Typical of France, I mean. France is, lest we forget, a catholic country and reveres its icons with a theatricality that is perhaps a little much for us repressed Brits. But I like it. Maybe that’s why I like France? I like theatricality, sentimentality and emotion. A politician is, of course, more divisive than a singer of songs, but the reaction to his passing, among the people and politicians - both national and international - shows the place Chirac held in the hearts of the French nation, the Francophone countries and other countries across the globe. Not always popular (which politician is?), his forty-plus years in politics, as creator of a political party, the RPR, as Mayor of Paris, as Prime Minister under President François Mitterand and twelve years as President himself, is nevertheless a remarkable CV. With time he has almost certainly become more popular and how often does that happen to a politician? The day of mourning in France today following his death is surely proof of that. Maybe time has been kind to him, but that’s still rare.

Charismatic, witty, cultured and intelligent. A bull in political terms, yet also down to earth and without graces, he never seemed happier than when shaking peoples’ hands and embracing them, whatever the context or country, drinking a beer in a brasserie or eating a farmer's produce. In the company of the farmer, of course. This unpretentious and warm demeanour is possibly the key to his popularity. He was not without flaws, both political and human. He had his moments of controversy, but his opposition to the war in Iraq in 2003 remains one of his greatest moments. I discovered him in 1995, the year he became President and the same year I moved to Paris. He became one of my best French teachers. I wasn’t necessarily interested in what he had to say. I’m naturally suspicious of most politicians, particularly powerful ones, but I also find them fascinating. And his elegant and theatrical French is beautiful to listen to, for an admirer and student of the language as I was and remain. Much mocked (though with affection too, I think) by satirists in France for his laboured, elaborate way of speaking - amongst other things - I say it’s better to be imitated than ignored. His speech after the death of his rival and political enemy Mitterand, the January following his presidential victory (in 1996) was humane, sincere and touching. Politics and politicians, like many other things, in these days of globalized genericism and banality, miss characters like Chirac (and Mitterand, of course), but it is perhaps ultimately his non-political dimensions which are the measure of the man and the key to his popularity and legacy.

A late hot day in September cannot halt summer's inexorable demise.

Another summer passes and as always, I think of Shakespeare’s sonnet 18, “rough winds do shake the darling buds of May and summer’s lease hath all too short a date”. Spot on, Willie. The colours are fading, the temperatures are dropping, nights are getting longer. Summer only seemed to arrive the other day. In fact, summer this year was about as long as it gets on this island. Starting with an Easter heat wave in late April and finishing on Sunday, mid-September with around 25 degrees. In between has been mixed. May was mostly poor to reasonable, June was often cool, until the last weekend when there was another brief heatwave. Temperatures hit the thirties for a couple of days. The ‘Spanish Plume’ of warm air from the Azores, made it feel briefly like Southern Spain. That warm summer evening I saw a hummingbird hawkmoth as I went for a leisurely stroll, a Mediterranean visitor. A unique insect that feeds on nectar by hovering in the manner of a hummingbird. That was one of three sightings this summer. The most recent was last Friday in my garden.

                July was mostly very pleasant, particularly during the Wimbledon fortnight, but nothing particularly out of the ordinary until the last week when again, we had another brief incursion of very hot air from the continent. Record breaking temperatures in fact, but it soon returned to pleasant enough to poor and back again, that is, until the last bank holiday of the summer when it was again, briefly, very warm, not hot, but very warm for late August. September has been nothing to write home about until last sunday. So, there you go, five (short) warm spells over five months, could have been worse, could have been better.

                As for the nature highlights, a few stand out. The swifts, numerous in Muswell Hill, as always, were a thrill. I talk about them a lot as they are a symbol of summer in the city for me with their screech and their acrobatic flight through the blue summer sky. They had gone by mid-August. The insect pollinators are always of interest too. Starting in April with the little brown bumblebees which fly at lower temperatures than the classic striped bumblebee and honeybees. Fittingly, they’re the only ones I’ve seen recently when temperatures have been cool, last Sunday aside. Later in May, as it finally got a bit warmer, honeybees and various types of bumblebee appeared, enjoying the lavender, scabious and buddleia, including an absolutely monstrous bumble recently. Solitary wasps too, small, discrete and colourful. The latest to arrive and to frequent the garden were hoverflies. A plethora of them. They were the most abundant pollinator this last quarter of the summer. Very pleasant things, they mimic wasps to ward off potential predators but are harmless.

                Another fascinating visitor, in late August, was an Emperor dragonfly. The UK’s largest, they tend to be seen near water sources so I’m not sure what this one was doing in the garden but it came three or four times over a week and stayed for a few minutes each time, mesmerising with its size, striking blue and green body and its amazingly agile flying. No plane has yet been built that can fly like a dragonfly. That’s perhaps just as well. I don’t fancy trying to drink a gin and tonic with such rapid changes of direction. To stand there, still, as such an impressive insect flies up close, is special. These types of encounters do have a slightly spiritual vibe, I feel, as they’re not normal. They touch you differently as they’re unexpected. Was it the spirit of a friend perhaps? Someone who is no longer with us? Perhaps, perhaps not. To some questions, they are no answers. Either way, it was an emotional moment.

                Butterflies were the other highlight amongst the insects. Cabbage whites were in abundance in the garden, the odd fritillary, a woodland species mostly, with brown spots and the occasional red admiral. It’s my favourite, a truly beautiful butterfly with a powerful combination of red, black and white colouring. In fact, overall, it was a more interesting summer for insects than birds, in my garden, at least. Nothing unusual and no summer visitors, such as willow warblers etc., though my sighting of a peregrine falcon flying over Alexandra Palace recently was a moment to cherish.

                One of the saddest things about summer’s wane is the insects’ gradual disappearance. Or conversely, one of the nicest things about summer is the presence of insects. They bring sound, shape and energy to the moment. Nature is at the peak of its powers in summer. There is colour, there is warmth, there’s a “buzz”.  One reluctantly accepts the change of seasons and charms that come with autumn but there’s nothing quite like a bee buzzing around your plants with the smell of lavender filling the warm air or walking through Hampstead Heath with the crickets in full song.

                 There’s still some warmth to come I’m sure in the next few weeks but as the buzzing stops, more and more spider webs will appear in gardens. That image is to autumn, what swifts are to summer. All the seasons have their appeal, but I never feel more alive than on a warm summer’s evening. The buzzing things too, I’ll wager.