Jean-Claude Juncker, my role model

J-C.JunckerGeoffrey Levy has written an article saying nasty things about Junk, as Jean-Claude likes to be known to his friends, among whom I proudly number myself. Actually Junk’s preference for this affectionate diminutive is regrettable, for nothing symbolises the unifying nature of the EU like his full name, including as it does both French and German constituents.

Mr Levy’s ad hominems are grossly unfair and in some quarters may be considered libellous. For example, he correctly states that Junk’s chosen tipple is Glenfarclas, a tasty Speyside malt whisky. So far so good, and any honest commentator would praise Junk for patronising a British product in preference to that froggish Martel Cordon Bleu he used to favour for breakfast.

Yet Mr Levy missed a further opportunity of praising Junk, instead targeting for scorn the scale on which Junk patronises that particular product. If he knew Junk as intimately as I do, he’d know that Junk consumes prodigious amounts of Glenfarclas, starting at breakfast, not because he’s, perish the thought, a drunk but because he specifically wishes to give a much-needed boost to Scotland’s economy.

After all, if Scotland does split away from the UK and joins the EU, Junk will have to pick up the tab currently footed by the English taxpayer. That’s why he has a vested interest in the state of Scotland’s economy: the stronger it is, the less the EU will have to pay in subsidies.

You may say that even consuming two bottles of Glenfarclas, as Junk does so faithfully, represents but a drop in the rapidly receding ocean of the Scottish economy. But hey, a man can only do what he can do, and what’s Mr Levy done for Scotland lately?

Fair enough, failure to praise doesn’t constitute libel, although it does suggest poor judgement on Mr Levy’s part. But then he maligned Junk to such an extent that, if I were Junk, I’d be instructing a law firm even as we speak.

But judge for yourself: “Juncker is said to have a particular weakness for Glenfarclas malt whisky (which costs up to £130), bottles of which are said to be kept in the fridge behind his Commissioner’s desk,” writes Mr Levy.

A weakness, Mr Levy? I’d call it a strength. The hack obviously wishes to impugn Junk’s character by implying that he uses EU funds for his own pleasure. That he may do at times, and who among us would miss the opportunity to stick our snout into that particular trough?

But, while some varieties of Glenfarclas do reach the level Mr Levy mentioned, its normal price range is within 10 quid on either side of £50, and I happen to know that these are the kinds Junk prefers with his cornflakes. However, it’s the second part of Mr Levy’s statement that really upset Junk.

“Alex,” he told me on the phone, “quel genre de Dummkopf does this espèce d’enculé think he is?” (Junk prides himself on his multilingual eloquence.) “No normale Mann would ever penser of keeping a decent malt in a foutu Kühlschrank. This would absolutely zerstören the saveur, turning a great Scottish product into pisse de cheval. Nicola would kill me tot if she found out I did that. I don’t keep my booze in a bloody Kühlschrank behind my desk. I keep it in my foutu Schreibtisch.”

Junk was referring to Nicola Sturgeon, Scotland’s First Minister. In fact, if truth be known, she’s a bit more than a friend to Junk, which he unwisely revealed to the media the other day.

Junk let himself be photographed kissing Nicola on the mouth, with his right hand on her left breast. Unwise it might have been, but that uninhibited gesture said so much about Junk, so many things that made me admire him even more.

For one thing, he was clearly in his cups, showing yet again his laudably unwavering commitment to boosting Scotland’s only viable export. Also, by indulging in public foreplay for the camera, Junk demonstrated commendable disdain for the wagging of the mauvaises langues, or mauvaises Zungen, as he likes to say with his multilingual ease.

And then, by feeling up this grossly unattractive creature, Junk showed that, in common with all worthy men, he’s more fastidious in his taste for whisky than for women. Of course he also gave Nicky the Fish, as he lovingly calls her, a sense of being wanted, something so important to plain women.

Or plain men, it has to be said, for immediately after the referendum Junk took advantage of another photo op by kissing Nigel Farage on the lips (“No Zungen, Alex, me old china,” he told me afterwards).

One can see how Junk and Nigel may feel affectionate towards each other, for all the divergence of their views. Men can have stronger bonds than mere politics, and those uniting Junk and Nigel are unbreakable. Both love a drink and both are married to German women, which again shows they got their priorities right. “There are no ugly women,” say the Russians. “There’s only not enough booze.”

So here’s to you, Junk. The sun is over the yardarm somewhere, Junk, my old porcelaine. Bottoms up, as Nicola would say.

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