“Normally I use star signs,” admitted Domenech, “but I’d dozed off the other day after a particularly gruelling session with my runes, and this fella with the face of an elephant and loads of arms pops up, as if by magic. Well, I had to take notice. He kept saying to me ‘Raymond, you nonce, have you not noticed that your ascendent is in Uranus?’ Well, he seemed to find that very funny, but then went on the imply that because of this particular planetary alignment, I couldn’t select Thierry Henry.”

Domenech went on to explain that his entire team selection was guided by his conversation with Ganesha, who turns out to be quite a football enthusiast: “He told me that Franck Ribery must play due to the closeness to the summer solstice, and that Nicolas Anelka must start up front because his chakras are at their most aligned in June. However, I am somewhat bound by FIFA regulations, and I could not bring back Patrick Viera, despite his claims that he absolutely must play.”

However, it is the non-selection of Henry due to planetary influences that has caused the biggest stir. Henry himself is said to be “livid” at being made to sat on the bench, while fellow strike partner Djibril Cisse is said to be “confused” at being told he must play in goal due to being a Capricorn. Most of the French team refuse to partake in Domenech’s bizarre pre-match teamtalks which involve Buddhist chanting and readings of Tarot cards.

Ganesha told reporters yesterday that he was “only trying to be helpful”, adding “I’m Indian, so technically I’m neutral. But I’ve always had a soft spot for les bleus. So the other day, I thought I’d pop over to Raymond’s, have a chat, tell him what I thought. I’ve got some quite wacky ideas on how he can beat Uruguay, for example, by lighting some incense sticks in the middle of the pitch – that’ll stop Diego Forlan. Also, you can confuse their centre forwards by throwing rose petals in their pre-match cup of tea. See? Loads of good ideas. That’s why I’m a God.”

The BNP’s record at elections has been poor. Since the Saxon invasion, their share of the vote has reduced dramatically, and their latest manifesto has been labelled “ridiculous” by King Alfred himself, who refuses to share power with them.

King Alfred commented that “these people are just cranks. Since the Romans buggered off and left us, they’ve been blathering on about indigenous peoples, Celts and Picts and all that crap – but at the end of the day, these Saxons, Angles and Jutes, and all the others, they’re not doing such a bad job. They work hard, they rape and pillage hard, they like a pint of mead in the evening just like any chap. As far as I’m concerned, our levels of immigration are just fine and there’s no need for another cranky policy. What’s more – we don’t even have a system of democracy yet, so what’s the point of having a political party? Nutters.”

Britain’s immigration policy consists mainly of being invaded by Germans and Scandinavians, based a long-term mutual understanding that as long as they defeat the indigenous people in a fight, they’re allowed to stay, steal our houses, steal our jobs and sleep with our women.

Saxon invader Harold, aged 24, said that he “loves it” here in England, and that despite the bad weather, he’s sticking around: “We came here for the violence, really. There aren’t many violence opportunities back in Germany, so we all came over – me, my family, our neighbours, everyone, really – and we got jobs raping and pillaging, with a bit of moonlighting, torching Celtic houses. Of course, we decided to settle down in the end, so we got ourselves a mud hut just outside Norwich.”

The BNP, however, want to see a total expulsion of Saxony Harolds and his ilk. Leader Nickholas Gariffinne belched: “Yes, I see the irony that the country is named after one of the invaders, but these people have to go. I mean, where does this mass immigration stop? Next thing you know, we’ll be letting the bloody French in. So that’s why we’re offering every foreigner 2 gold coins to just get on the next longboat out of here and never come back.”

Jean Aperitif, a renowned French binge drinker, said “you English, you just throw the same lager down your throats as if you’re going to die tomorrow. What’s the point? Here in France, we vary our binge drinks – for example, myself, I start with a pastis in the morning, and follow that up with a couple of beers in the early afternoon. I then move on to white, rose, and then red wine – always in that order.”

“In fact, I make sure that I start off with a light Loire red before moving on to the stronger stuff – Burgundy and then Bordeaux. Perhaps a Languedoc. Do you know what these wines are? Of course not, you’re English and all you drink is alcoholic fruit juice from Australia. No class.”

Nicola Vommerton, 24, from Newcastle, disagreed vehemently with the results of the survey, exclaiming: “We is well better than them French at binge drinking – waheeeeey”, before vomiting into a dustbin. Picking up her skirt, she continued: “I has varied my drinking today, right – with a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka, even before I went out on the town with my mates.”

She insisted: “Any Froggie who wants to proper binge drink, all they has to do is come up here and we’ll teach them a thing or two about proper binge drinking innit.”

French sociologists have been reluctant to portray binge drinking as a trend, stating that “nothing has changed. We’ve always drunk this much. What has changed is that you Brits have lost that binge drinking edge that you used to have back in the days of Oliver Reed, George Best and the Rolling Stones. Today’s modern British binge drinker has far too much focus on cheap, rubbishy lager.”

Gordon Brown called on Britain’s army of binge drinkers to keep fuelling the drinks industry, saying “it is our patriotic duty to turn around the results of this survey. I will be creating a new Binge Drinking Tsar to ensure that not only is our level of binge drinking maintained, but that the quality of our binge drinking is guaranteed.”

“It was not the reaction I was expecting,” explained local dairy farmer Marcel Vachequirit. “The cheese is beautiful, perhaps my finest ever cheese, and yes – I admit – it does have quite a tang, but the mortality rate so far is astonishing.”

Vachquirit explained that the cheese-making process for Chaussettes de Fesses is slightly different, and according to EU law, may actually be illegal. The milk is allowed to ferment for 60 days before being fed through a pig’s bladder and steamed in the belly of a goat, which is local tradition. It is then allowed to ‘rest’ in the open air for a further two weeks before the resulting cheese is then stored in old, unwashed socks for a further 24 days.

After the sock storage, the cheese is then insulted for a minimum period of two hours – a process that Vachquirit believes gives the cheese its rather sour, unfriendly edge.

“It is a process that I have researched and honed to perfection,” said Vachequirit. “And maybe those EU commissioners won’t like it, but when they catch that first smell – they’ll be hooked. I eat nothing but Chaussettes de Fesses. In the morning, I have it on my toast. For lunch, I have it with some grapes, and in the evening, I melt it in the oven and eat it with baguette. Yes, it’s true, the local government has placed a three-mile no-go zone around my farm, and even my wife has to wear a gas mask, but for the taste, it’s worth it.”

The local prefecture demanded that an exclusion zone be placed around the farm, and have called for anyone known to have made contact with the cheese to report themselves immediately to the local hospital for a deep clean.

The mayor of Bisous told reporters: “The situation is urgent. Three people have already died, and several more are in hospital. We have to find a way of eating this cheese without people dying, because the cheese, this beautiful cheese, it smells better than your smelliest Epoisses, ranker than your rankest Munster, reekier than your reekiest Brie de Meaux. It’s cheese heaven, and we have to have some, we have to have it now. We can smell it wafting from the farm, even with the three-mile exclusion zone placed around it. We all want a taste, and we’ve applied for Chaussettes de Fesses to be protected as a national institution.”

In fact, the village has witnessed a sudden increase in the number of tourists, notably thrill-seekers, looking to experience the cheese. Japanese Francophile and cheese-fan Mi Sukichizi said that he has “travelled thousands of miles just for this moment”, adding that he “could smell it from the airport”.

In the meantime, Monsieur Vachequirit continues his lonesome cheese-side vigil, estranged from the villagers who not only fear for their safety, but long for a slice of his famous fromage.

“I was dumbstruck,” said Cumbersome. “I was taking the local schoolchildren on an exchange visit, and we had arrived a day early in Coquine-sur-Yvette, only to find that the sign that usually says ‘ville jumelée Shytte-on-Sea’ was not there. Instead, we were about fourth on a huge list of other twin towns, including Arschwurst in Germany – a town we ourselves turned down in favour of Coquine!”

“So I marched straight up to the mairie and demanded to know what was going on. What did I find? The mayor was ‘having coffee’ with an African tribal chief. He looked guilty – as well he might. Said that I was very important to him but he couldn’t see me today as he had ‘other appointments’. I was quite hurt. The African guy seemed quite surprised as well.”

Cumbersome and his delegation demanded “immediate talks” with the mayor. However, due to national holidays, the town hall was closed for the entire week, and the mayor went on holiday while the rest of his staff went on strike. Residents of Coquine, however, say that it is “quite normal” to have at least twenty twin towns.

Local cafe owner Arnaud Salutcherie told the Daily Shame that “you English, you think that when a town twins with another one, it is for life. Yes, OK, so when you visit, we replace the signs, and we’ve hidden a lot from you over the years, such as our brief flirtation with your neighbouring town, Trollope, but there’s nothing wrong with extra-civic relationships. In fact, they make our relationship with Shytte-on-Sea even healthier than before! When we come to visit you, we’re even more passionate about your town because we’ve had relationships with other towns. But no, you English, you’re so obsessed with yourselves, it’s just moi, moi, moi.”

Local boulangere Mme Agnes Chouquette said that Coquine should never tie itself down to one town: “It’s not a case of infidelity or disloyalty – we’re as loyal as we ever were, only we’re sharing our loyalty with Arschwurst, Poughkeepsie, Boolongabba, and… hang on… oh, I forget their names. There have been so many.”

Coquine-sur-Yvette mayor Pierre Manquedecouilles shrugged off the whole affair by offering to take the Shytte-on-Sea mayor out for dinner at the local restaurant, Le Bistrot des Salopes. He told reporters: “It is unfortunate that we neglected to tell the English they were not the only ones. But we cannot be tied down to just one twin town. Perhaps, though, this will be the start of a whole new kind of relationship – more open, more willing to experiment.”

Cumbersome and his delegation, however, were unwilling to be seduced, and tore up the twin town agreement immediately. “We have no intention of staying in an unequal relationship,” he fumed. “Maybe we need some time alone before going back into another civic partnership. Some time to sort our heads out.”

The film, entitled J’en ai marre (I’ve had enough) started promisingly enough with leading actor Isabelle Huppert about to commit suicide before flashing back to key moments in her life which led her to this moment. Between each flashback, her character inched ever more precariously towards the edge of the precipice, drawing the viewing audience in further to her web of despair.

“It was brilliant,” said avid TF1 viewer Jean Aiplein-Lecul. “Gripping stuff, and I didn’t even mind watching yoghurt adverts every five minutes. But then at the end, when she turns round, decides not to kill herself and the film ends – I was absolutely horrified. This isn’t meant to happen, I thought – surely they’ll cut the credits and show her falling to a grisly death, but no – no death. In fact, if anything, she was happy and decided to go and get married. This is disgusting, I don’t think I can go into work on Monday morning now.”

In fact, many viewers chose to spend Monday at home recovering from the shock of the happy ending, and French Mini-President Nicolas Sarkozy told TF1 bosses that he would take a “hard line” against those who decided to show the film. He told reporters:

“This is not acceptable. Those who chose to show J’en ai marre must be removed from their jobs immediately. A nation expects a film to end with some kind of horrifying suicide or unfortunate death, not tears of happiness, hugs and kisses, and realisation that all along she had been doing the wrong thing.”

TF1 bosses were unavailable for comment, but a spokesman for the company issued a press release saying “clearly those in charge of programming did not watch the film all the way through, probably because it seemed a foregone conclusion that we were going to get a death at the end. We have reviewed our processes, though, and if we find a French film that doesn’t have a suicide or unfortunate death at the end, we will compensate with an ending from a different film.”

The service: rude.

The place: the Cafe des Connards, on the famed rue des Merdes in Paris, which claims to be the restaurant with the rudest waiters on earth, and le garcon has just told me to shit myself a new head.

Tourists are flocking to the Cafe Connard after it made the startling claim to having the most impolite, impatient and downright insolent waiters in the whole world. “It is just part of our culture”, said Maitre d’ Phillipe Ouainqueu. “You come to a restaurant in Paris and you do not expect snivelling politeness. You expect to be insulted. However, we do it with panache. It is part of the Parisian culture to come to a restaurant and be made to feel humiliated and small. We just do it in spades.”

The cafe has made itself famous for turning away American tourists, telling them that they know “nothing about food”, informing British tourists that they can only have “custard and jelly”, as that’s all they understand, and greeting French visitors with a knee to the groin.

French restaurant critic Julien Mesfesses, however, has started to appreciate the place: “When I first went there, I received the customary knee to the groin, and the waiter kept flicking my ear. When I asked for another five minutes to think about my choice, he told me I was a chieur – a shitter, basically, and that I could have thirty minutes. He came back an hour later and everything I chose was ‘off’. All I could eat was the raw steak.”

“However, over time, I have come to appreciate the restaurant. Whenever I come, the knee to the groin seems more and more friendly, and I see it as a Parisian establishment.”

It is not unusual, when dining at the Cafe Connard, to be drawn into the spectacle. With fifty covers a night, there is ample opportunity for the waiters to display the full gamut of Parisian rudeness.

Head waiter Nicolas Tammere explains the attraction behind working for the Cafe Connard: “It’s not just a 9 to 5 job, or any job in any cafe, this is an opportunity to maintain the very French values that are under attack by your smiling Burger King employees. We don’t do politeness in Paris. We do rudeness, and people come from all around to experience it first hand. I love my job, and I hate my customers. It’s like that.”