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They've started again, the worried emails and phone calls from friends and relatives. "I've been reading about it in the papers. Are you all right?" When the banlieue erupted last November I was able to reassure everyone that Clichy-sous-Bois was about as far from the Bastille, where I live, as Barnet would be from, say, Islington.
Watching the rioting on the news was, for me, like watching something that was happening in Beirut.
I always admired the French readiness to down tools and take to the streets for a good old manif, particularly since for the past five years I've been fortunate enough to sail unscathed through all sorts of industrial action. It helps that I work from home, but I must have travelled on the TGV a dozen times on what were supposed to be strike days and found the trains only marginally less punctual than usual - arguably better
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I remember hearing distant shouting, but shouting in the street is par for the course
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than your average British train service on a non-strike day.
But now the unrest is getting closer to home. Last week police clashed with rioters in Place de la Nation, just down the road. When quizzed by an anxious chum I did remember hearing distant shouting, though since there are so many bars in my quartier, shouting in the street is pretty much par for the course.
It was a photo spread in Paris Match that finally got to me; it showed a passer-by in kitten heels being attacked by hoody-wearing thugs who'd infiltrated a protest near Les Invalides. The poor woman was clutching a Zara carrier bag and, though I have never shopped at Zara, I felt for her, I really did. 
FIRST POSTED APRIL 5, 2006
 Last week: stylish Serge Gainsbourg still sets the trend |
