And so to our French courses... I wish to talk about willies. Don't shy away at the back - we'll make interesting analogies along the way and come off at the end better off for the experience. So, to the meat of the matter - specifically, my willy - which, since I'm in Europe, is now known as the Euro Sausage 6 punkt zwo, ja? The thing is, us English are all of us used to the Euro Loo. This most functional and simple of devices, usually located in the middle of the high street, has for decades been the happy receptacle of many an English oui-oui and is in all probability all the better for it. However, I realised recently that at most of these places - including my place of work - it's entirely possible for the lasses to spot one's old chap. The urinals are in the open you see, so to walk to the ladies means walking past the men. This is something I heartily encourage. Indeed, I'm quite happy for the ladies of Europe to admire my humble appendage at every possible opportunity. However, what I'm not up for is the capacity for the European man to take a quick shufti of his own. Bare with me on this. I was in Germany this weekend and the Erics will not - simply will not - ever look down at another man's little Eric. They won't. Now, I went to an all boys school and the University of Brideshead but I too will never look at another man's bong hose. So, amazed was I when stopping off in France on the way home yesterday. After two al fresco wazzes it was obvious that François is nowhere near as willyphobic as Helmut (no pun intended). Indeed, the Frenchman is - quite simply is - the very embodiment of the homme. Every Francois and Pierre was getting in on the action. At one point I thought I must have turned ginger or similar but Non. They simply want to have a look. This is not an easy thing for an Englishman to carry off. Does one persevere regardless? Or perhaps a little waggle to add to the performance? I came away somehow sullied by the whole experience and this brings me towards a conclusion of sorts. You see, in Belgium the jury is still out. Are the Belgies peepers? Or are they perhaps more Germanic in their micturatory habits? I think we should be told. Friends, I promise you I shall make it my primary business in this, the final week of my Belgian Adventure, to discover if Homme Belgique is indeed a peeper or a starer. This is the very stuff of which nations are made! One can safely extrapolate the evidence. My political career is surely now a necessity and when elevated to the European Parliament, I shall make all judgements on the same basis. Newsnight will be a sinch. 'Sir Dickie, would you please explain what the European Parliament's policy actually is on Turkish incursions into Iraq?' 'Well Jeremy, I really don't have the foggiest old boy but the MEP for Ankara East just took a two second look at my minor constituency in the gents so I think we ought to shoot him. Fair enough?' Yours dans the m erde, Meester Reechee.