Mum's the word as 'Kenkozy' get down to some je ne sais quoi

A LOVELY dinner was had during the week with some disreputable old hacks who had exquisite table manners, excellent linguistic skills and a nice line in anecdotes.

Both have seen active service in Europe, and those “Kenkozy” photographs of Enda and Nicolas engaging in some happy-slappy horseplay at the Davos summit came up for discussion. One of them was puzzled. He recalled an incident in Paris in the mid-1990s when Enda Kenny was a junior minister for tourism.

“He was at a reception, and I remember two uppity French civil servants making smart-assed comments in his presence, thinking a junior politician from a rural part of Ireland wouldn’t have a clue what they were talking about.

“When they finished, Enda riposted wittily in perfect French. They were totally floored. Yet, he doesn’t seem to speak French to Sarkozy.” We were intrigued, and asked Enda at the earliest opportunity. “It’s true. Back then, my French was as good as my Irish is now. But down through the years, it’s grown rusty. I know it wouldn’t take much to get right back to speed, but I can still understand what they are saying.”

That’s interesting. Hiding his light under a bushel so he hears things they think he doesn’t understand?

It’s been known to happen . . .