"Hello, my ally!"
Guillaume looked affably confused. We're friends, and so I say hi to him often in the morning, but not quite like that.
"Would you like to join me for a morning coffee, my ally?"
"Sure." We went through our usual procedure with the Nespresso machine as I waited for the obvious. "Why do you call me your ally?" This was a week ago, right after I got back from my Brussels trip, so we hadn't discussed headlines yet.
"Well, we're at war again!"
"In Libya." Now his face changed, and you could tell he got it. "And the US is allied with you, England, and not Germany. What were the odds? We got the band back together!"
"Just like old times."