They all thought of themselves as historic personages, as public figures, just because they had an office, because their mugs appeared in the papers, because papers need fresh faces, because their names went out on air, because radio stations also needed their daily bundle of hay, and then the wives saw their great husbands or their little lovers waving enraptured from the cinema screen, and standing with an appealing little grin they had copied off the Americans, who didn't scruple to cosy up to photographers like models. And while the world might not think all that much of its official historic figures, it did keep brandishing them about, to prove that the stock of vacuity and horror was not exhausted, and that history was still being made. Why was there history? And if it was a necessary thing, a necessary evil, why so much clucking over no eggs? The minister is visiting Paris. Okay. What to do? He's being received by his opposite number. Well, isn't that nice. The ministers will breakfast together. How lovely. Lovely. Hope they had good weather. The ministers will retire for bilateral talks. Excellent! Then what? They say goodbye. Yes, and then? One minister will accompany the other to the airport or the railway station. Yes, but then what happens? Nothing. The minister will fly home, and his opposite number promises to visit him soon. And the whole thing, station, airport, breakfast, handshake makes banner headlines in newspapers, is shown in cinema newsreels, and broadcast into sitting rooms all over-what's it all been in aid of? No one could say. Go to Paris quietly, why can't you!! Have yourselves a good time. It would be so much better for all concerned.