An Englishman Aboard by Charles Timoney

Author:Charles Timoney [Charles Timoney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141970202
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

And what about the thing you aren’t allowed to do under the bridge?

It is … beating carpets.

I may have led a sheltered life, but I have yet to meet anyone who has expressed even the slightest wish to go and beat a carpet under a Parisian bridge.

Given the formal nature of the sign, this is probably just as well.

18

On the trip back to Andrew’s berth we were overtaken by an inflatable boat travelling at considerable speed. It had the words ‘Brigade Fluviale’ – river police – down the side. First thing the next morning I set about tracking them down. Unlike the Hôtel de Ville, the Brigade Fluviale didn’t seem to have an email address, even less a website, though I did manage to find a phone number. As a general rule, in France, when someone answers the phone in a government office, they just announce the name of whatever the organization happens to be – ‘Sécurité sociale, Bonjour.’ Occasionally they go on to give their name but more often prefer to remain anonymous. More peculiarly, having introduced themselves, they often feel obliged to reassure you that they might actually be going to pay attention to whatever you are about to say with the words ‘J’écoute’ – I’m listening. I always find this somehow bizarre: the person is there, with their ear to the phone. Why on earth wouldn’t they be listening?

Just in their answering of the phone, the Brigade Fluviale marked themselves as a very classy operation. In a charming voice, the chap said, ‘Brigade Fluviale. Bonjour; à qui ai-je l’honneur?’ ‘A qui ai-je l’honneur?’ is delightfully old-fashioned and sounds roughly like a distinguished butler in a stately home answering the phone with the words ‘Who may I say is speaking?’ When I asked whether I could come round and ask them a few questions, I was politely advised to send a written request to their press office. Further questions revealed that it wasn’t going to be up to the press officer to decide whether I was allowed to go but the Préfet de Paris. The Préfet is a top civil servant who is in charge of the Préfecture, the administrative centre of a given département. My casual request for a chat with the river police was therefore going to be considered by the head of the entire Paris police force. I felt that this wasn’t perhaps the best use of the chap’s time and said as much to the man from the Brigade. ‘Ne vous inquiétez pas,’ he said cheerily. ‘Il est là pour ça!’ – Don’t you worry about that; it’s what he’s there for!

The river police’s offices are, as you might expect from the name, on the river. A large, flat barge moored by the quayside a few minutes’ walk from the Gare d’Austerlitz has been converted by having a number of temporary offices piled on top of it. I walked down a gangplank which led straight into a reception area and was instantly struck by

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