“Le changement, c’est maintenant.”

On the cusp of seven o’clock I arrive at a crowded French bar next to London Bridge. A low murmur of anticipation is spreading through the compressed throng of people. Some are standing on chairs and tables, precariously balanced, a glass of wine in hand, ready for the celebration. Everyone jostles for position, necks craned to catch a glimpse of a stuttering projection of French television. At the front, they are complaining about the technological issues the venue is experiencing. There is something about the sense of unfairness in the bar’s disorganisation being discussed, as they are making rather a lot of money from the occasion. It is so befitting of the event, it is difficult to witness this and resist a smirk at the irony, and the fact that it is apparently escaping them.

It is election night. This is the Parti Socialiste in London. In a Europe plagued by right-wing governments, tough austerity measures and rising unemployment, the people gathered here are hoping that the result of the evening can pave the way for change; not just in France, but throughout the continent, by electing their candidate, François Hollande, to the presidency. There is a feeling of genuine hope amongst them.  

Overwhelmingly, it is a young crowd, too young to remember a time when the French last had a socialist president. As is pointed out to me, it has been seventeen long years since Mitterand, and as an outsider, I am slightly surprised to be rather taken by this notion that I am about to witness something historic and triumphant.

Being used to general elections in the UK, where the nation collectively attempts to stay awake at 3am, as a blurry David Dimblebey finds new ways to tell us that the results are inconclusive, I am caught out at the immediacy of the announcement. A big cheer erupts from the front, next to the misbehaving projector, quickly making its way back to the masses gathered outside. There is jubilation. People are throwing their arms around each other as supporters of a football team might celebrate a last minute goal in a cup final. Chants of “On a gagné , on a gagné!” (We’ve won, we’ve won!”) and “François – President!” ring out. Some are more discreet about the victory, but grin at each other in spite of themselves; an expression which seems to be contagiously developing. One girl stands with her back to me after I’m introduced to her, staring into the middle distance; not through a stereotypical French antagonism for the Englishman turning up, as I first fear, but in what appears to be a pensive relief that the campaign she has been helping to run has ended in victory. It is a glazed look of someone who hasn’t quite taken in the news. My ‘congratulations’ sounds rather vacuous; the sentiment of an outsider. She pauses. “Thanks, I’m just a bit emotional.”

The conga begins. There’s unbridled joy. “Tous ensemble, tous ensemble; so-cia-listes!” (“All together, all together; Socialists”) and “Sarkozy, c’est fini” (“Sarkozy, it’s over”) are the popular chants, rising to a peak when Axelle Lemaire, the legislative candidate for the French socialists in Northern Europe turns up.

The relief is well founded in a France that has seen nothing but misery since the now former president, Nicolas Sarkozy took office in 2007, deemed as ‘unapologetically bling-bling’ by his adversaries, whilst they watched him parade around with his ex-supermodel wife Carla Bruni. With rising unemployment, tax cuts for the rich and dramatic slashes in public spending dominating his presidency, it has served to isolate the poor and create divides and a sense of unrest throughout the country.

The election wasn’t all about a return to the left. Rather alarmingly, the far-right candidate, Marine Le Pen of the Front National scored highly in the first round, amassing 18% of the overall vote, and coming in third place. This is serving as a warning call to the French socialists that managing to get their man elected for president is just the beginning. With many of Le Pen’s votes coming from disaffected and poverty-stricken young people living in the suburbs, it is François Hollande’s post-election promise that “no child of the Republic will be neglected,” that is a major focus. The abandonment the poor have experienced has led to feelings of xenophobia and anger, and the socialists know that there is a long way to go before France, and indeed the rest of Europe, can stamp out such abhorrent judgements from these sections of society. A return to the left is something to be celebrated, but France is now leading the way, with the responsibility to show the rest of Europe that the values and economics of the left can work.

The elder people speak cautiously, celebrating with more restraint, and happy to talk about other things, such as London pubs and how incredible The Shard looks by night. People in their twenties, who canvassed extensively throughout London for the last two months, are less self-controlled. A young French socialist in spectacles and a tartan shirt with red braces breaks into an explosion of joy every ten minutes, jumping up and down and occasionally managing to make people join in with his chants.

The party continues into the small hours, until almost every bottle of wine in the house has been consumed. Everyone seems to be aware that this is only the beginning, but for now, as a rousing second rendition of the national anthem, “La Marseillaise” breaks out, causing an Englishman to shiver slightly with goose bumps, it is hard to begrudge them their victory.