A few have escaped intact: Brittany, Pays de la Loire, Ile-de-France, Provence-Côte-d'Azur and Centre – not forgetting Corsica. It's when you go south that things get a bit tricky. Little Limousin, whose green beauty is often overlooked, is swallowed by coastal kings Aquitaine and Poitou-Charente. Its equally green neighbour, Auvergne, is taken over by the might of the Rhône-Alpes (another cheese match made in heaven).
Occitan-speaking Languedoc and the Catalans of Roussillon are joined by Gascon-speaking Midi-Pyrénées, just to add to the dialectical fun. This mega-region contains two of France's most dynamic and fastest-growing cities, Toulouse and Montpellier, but it's the latter that has lost its status as a regional capital.
Then there's the question of names. The new regions have until July to come up with names to replace the temporary unwieldy monikers of Languedoc-Roussillon-Midi-Pyrénées, Alsace-Champagne-Ardenne-Lorraine, Aquitaine-Limousin-Poitou-Charente, et al.
Suggestions for the Aquitaine amalgamation include just plain Aquitaine – not likely to please its neighbours who are keen to hold on to their identity. Similarly with Languedoc: the idea of calling it Occitanie wouldn't go down very well among some Catalans near the Spanish border, who are already calling for a split from the new mega-region.
Let's hope they don't create barbarous acronyms such as Paca, which is what Provence-Côte-d'Azur is often shortened to and means nothing to anyone outside the region. The Alsace-Champagne merger could end up being Acal, which sounds hideous. Grand Est, one of the mooted names, is a bit better.
Quite who's going to benefit from these changes isn't clear – apart from the stationers and graphic designers who will have to design and print new logos. It's not even regarded as a cost-cutting exercise, as public-sector jobs are protected and not many heads will roll. Just what all those functionless fonctionnaires will do in this new world remains to be seen.