Ahhh, French policing methods. I can just hear it now ...
[
Author's disclaimer: the following is an hommage cordiale
to our friends to the south. Or to 'Allo 'Allo
. Whichever fits. ]
"Alors, Mossieu Meelar, put down zat rosbif and come avec nous."
"It's not roast beef, you cretin, it's chicken tagliatelle."
"Oh-ho-ho, zee Breeteesh dopeur keeng wishes heemself a Michelin star to go with heez rainbow strip. Take heem away!"
"Mon avocat, je voudrais mon avocat!" [
Millar is dragged out the door into the Biarritz night.]
"Quoi, avocat avec rosbif? Mot de Cambronne!" [
Tastes Millar's dish.] "Mmmm ... il gout comme le poulet ..."