They didn't care about his red lines, he could have had them up his trousers like a carabiniere had he so desired, just as long as he signed. And he was so busy asserting his personal fiefdom, that at last it was his view to take, his decision to implement, and his country to be slapped into place and acknowledge that it was all his to choose, that he became the young lady of Riga.
The photographs of Italy's prime minister Romano Prodi's smile, indeed his uproarious hilarity, as he stood next to the Leader; the wide grins and congratulatory obeisances to the United Kingdom's champion from Germany's Chancellor, the beaming, elaborate courtesies of the Portuguese President of the European Union, the grins of the representatives of the newer Baltic members of the federal Union brought nothing so much to mind as:
There was a young lady from Riga,
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger
They came back from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.
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