Nigel Farage couldn’t believe his luck. Another cloudless sunny day. The water mill-pond flat. What better way to pass the time than to take to sea and film yourself for X? This was the world shaped in his own image. A small rubber boat, rammed with irregular migrants being escorted across the Channel. First by the French navy, then by UK Border Force.
And Nige wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Every successful migrant fuels his grievance and adds to his popularity. He’d be gutted if the French made more efforts to stop the flow of migrants. Would be at a loss to know what to do with himself. But for Keir Starmer, who was in the middle of trying to negotiate a migrant deal with Emmanuel Macron, the image of another small boat arrival was distinctly suboptimal.
When an international press conference gets delayed it generally only means one thing: that one side is less than happy with the deal negotiated and is desperately trying to secure a better deal. Begging, pleading. Anything to be able to say they have got something to shout about. Otherwise, the whole thing is a bit of a letdown. All that work. All the pageantry. The royal banquets. The honour of an address in the royal gallery to both houses of parliament. And for what? A result you’re going to struggle to sell to a sceptical nation.
The presser at the Northwood headquarters to mark the end of the Anglo-French summit and Macron’s three-day state visit to the UK was originally scheduled for 3.30pm. That came and went with no sign of the prime minister or the French president. We waited. And waited. Then came the news it would start at 4pm. Both men would definitely, definitely be ready by then. The time slipped by. You could almost hear Keir saying: “Please, please. Manu, you’ve got to give me something more than that. I can’t go on live TV with what I’ve got.”
The next deadline was 4.20pm. Still no one. Eventually, at 4.30pm, an hour later than planned, both men appeared. Presumably, Macron had finally convinced Keir that there was no better deal to be had. He would have to make do with the one the French had leaked to the press the night before. And if Keir didn’t get the press conference done and dusted right now, he would be doing it on his own. Emmanuel had a plane to catch.
It was Keir who went first. Trying to look happy. As if everything had been a great success. What we had to remember, he began, was that the president’s state visit had never been about the deals that could be struck on the periphery. It had been about the vibes. Two world leaders – the only two in Europe with nukes – who were also besties. And it had all gone off superbly on that score. He was just sorry to see Manu go back to France. He wished the visit could have been even longer. Macron nodded bashfully.
Then Starmer moved on to the details. He might as well get the immigration deal out of the way first. They had agreed a brilliant pilot scheme, the first of its kind. He didn’t go into the numbers. No point in turning the proceedings into a real downer. People coming to the UK would be detained and then sent back to France. It would be a real deterrent. He made it sound as if every irregular migrant who arrived in Dover would be on their way back to France. Not just 50 a week. And in return for each, we would take one legitimate asylum seeker from France. But this, he assured us, would be a major deterrent to anyone thinking of making the crossing. Above all, he definitely, definitely wasn’t in the slightest bit disappointed. This was the most historic of days for serious diplomacy. And the world. Where we lead, others will follow. Over to you, Emmanuel.
The main thing we learned from the French president was that he clearly loves the sound of his own voice. I take it all back about Keir. I’ve sometimes suggested in the past that he can be a bit boring and drone on a bit. But compared with Macron, he’s Mr Laconic. The master of brevity. Or maybe it’s just that the president loses something in translation. Though, after also saying how much he had enjoyed himself en Angleterre, it turned out that the president’s recollection of the meetings he had had over the last three days were somewhat different to the prime minister’s. Or rather, he had very different priorities.
Macron waxed lyrical – a good 10 minutes or so – on the nuclear agreements, the coalition of the willing and the strategic benefits of the new defence pact. Just as we were hoping Emmanuel was winding up what were meant to be a few brief opening remarks and not another state address to the UK nation, he took a deep breath and spoke for another 10 minutes about EDF, the Bayeux tapestry and Sutton Hoo. The latter being the one unequivocally one in, one out deal the two leaders did get over the line.
Almost as an afterthought – et une autre chose – Macron turned his attention to irregular migration. Oh that? He had almost forgotten about that in all the excitement of meeting the king. First, he wanted to let the Brits know that the French were busting a gut to stem the flow of migrants. But it wasn’t his problem if they all were dead set on coming to the UK. And he had shut down the road and rail routes, mainly because the smugglers had worked out that small boats were a great deal easier.
It was mainly a UK problem, he suggested. Keir should stop telling people what a great success he was making of running the country. He was only adding to the pull factors. And if the Brits really want to understand the massive increase in immigration, they only had to look to Brexit. We Brits had been duped. Brexit had only made it harder for the UK to return irregular migrants to the countries from which they had departed. So suck it up.
Keir and Emmanuel shook hands. Unsure of whether to go for the full man hug. The bromance was still intact. Just about. Merci et bonne nuit.
