We're now a week into summer and a month away from Bastille Day. Under normal circumstances, I'd have bashed the garden party, its canapés, its entourage of privileged guests, its shameless freeloaders and its out-of-touch president.
I'd have been happy to have let my hair down on all those privileged people.
But you see, this year I'm only going to be able to keep my mouth shut. Because I've been nominated for the Légion d'Honneur.
Yes, you read that correctly, my little love birds, the Elysée Palace went to great lengths to get me to accept the highest possible distinction. I refused half a dozen times, but after a phone call from the First Lady and four hours of intense negotiations, during which I told her to stop undermining herself in Vuitton, I accepted.
And I'd like you to know that I'll be dedicating this medal to all strong, assertive women, all women who know what they want, but also to those who don't know what they want, because sometimes the lights are on but nobody's home, starting with me.
So this medal will be given to me in your honour. The honour of getting to know you, the honour of creating your shoes on and the joy of letting you browse my marvellous website.
Naturally, I'll be the voice of your grievances, which I'll address to the President while emptying the palace cellars. You can count on me to be the spokesperson for your desires, your needs and your dreams. I love you as others love Irn Bru or Tang.
Because I don't know anything better than Barry and his gang: