Ah! Le Parfum Des Anglais

François (ze French mern) pays us anozzer visit at the Main Attraction café. Quite out of breath he sits down at our table and explains: he has been redding Monsieur Darween and ze origin of ze species n'est pas. Apparently it is all there in black and white. Ze Breetish pipple are (he informatively points out) sumzing not fully, ow you say, developed yet. Zat is why we poot you on ze island. He chuckles to himself merrily.

From across the table I equally excitedly take his arm and gaze into his eyes. 'Great news' I tell him eagerly. The British pipple, all 8ft tall not including the crowns that we wear, have long noticed across the channel a distant crying of ze French mern, a distant jealousy ('jalousie' is that the word?) of things British and that consequently right now in French shops all the way from Paris to the smallest French town, we British have provided French merns with a new scent so that, perhaps in some small way, they can try to be like us and not suffer an 'inferiorité'. I tell him to watch the shelves and to look out for the new 'Parfum Des Anglais'.  "Incroyable" comes the reply.