The ticket. Long live the Republic and long live the fringe!

We've turned everything over and over. We've listened attentively to those who assure us that it's "still possible that," and that "maybe," and that with what-ifs, the game isn't over. But at the end of the hypotheses and culinary metaphors, at the end of all the political calculations and back-of-house cooking, without further ado, it's always the same person who pays the bill. François Bayrou will probably leave Matignon and Emmanuel Macron will struggle to find a successor. Because we'd need one, or two, who would please the left, or rather the lefts, but without annoying the right, or rather the rights, or vice versa, we don't know anymore. We might as well look directly for a five-legged sheep who would also have solid budgetary notions and a solid knowledge of parliamentary life, which, you'll agree, is not found under a horse's hoof. Yes, animal metaphors work too.

The hut will fall on the dog. And the date is known. September 8th . Then it will go in all directions. The calendar is already blackened with last-chance appointments or calls for general mobilization. September 10th. The 18th too. Waiting for the 23rd. Instability, blockages... The calendar is going crazy, we who already have the impression of being in autumn with all these dead leaves crunching with each of our steps. Talk about a return to school! No time to breathe. Current events in apnea. The summer universities follow one after the other, the press conferences with them, the sound bites, even the threats. France is bogged down, divided, on a knife's edge. What a waste, we who have so many assets in this beautiful country, the country of Enlightenment and Zizou, capable of organizing the most extraordinary Olympic Games in History in Paris and of hosting, the following summer, a stunning European Mullet Cup Championship in Creuse. And long live the fringe!