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| Travelling frequently,
young, alone and not behaving like a typical
tourist can lead to trouble. |
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| Crossing
the road against a red light with other people
in the middle of Luzern I got stopped. As
soon as the policeman discovered I was English
he tells me all about his holiday in Devon
a couple of years earlier. And other people
continued to cross against the signal! At
least he let me off. |
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| I have no idea how
many times I had walked along the Boulevard
de Strasbourg in Le Havre. Early one
Sunday morning, with hardly any traffic,
I stepped off the kerb against a red
light. Not just any red light, the one
by the Sous Préfecture, with
two police officers watching me. No
point in going back, they stepped forward
ready to book me. The conversation went
something like "Vous connaissez
le Code de la Route?" (well, yes,
I did but ...), "Sorry, I don't
understand", "Le Code de la
Route, vous le connaissez?", "Sorry?",
(turning to his colleague) "Vous
parlez anglais?", "Non",
(to me) "Passez!". Good job
neither of them spotted that I was holding
a French newspaper! I had completely
forgotton about it. |
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Les
devoirs des piétons
Respecter les feux, spécialement
ceux qui sont destinés
aux piétons.
(page
28)
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| Another trip, another
trip-up. Having checked out of my hotel
in Mulhouse and planning to catch a
train to Lille in the early hours of
the next morning, I took my suitcase
to the station. I was going to spend
the day in Switzerland then catch a
train back that night. The station,
like many, had separate arrival and
departure halls. I put my case in a
locker on the arrivals side intending
to come from one train, collect the
case and go back to the platform. |
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| I came back earlier
than I had expected and went into the
town for a drink. Returning to the station
just after one in the morning, I entered
via the arrivals door and retrieved
my case. The lockers were right next
to the police office, where I spent
the next thirty minutes standing while
three officers puzzled over my ridiculous
story. They ate their sandwiches and
read the paper. Finally, they let me
go just minutes before my train left. |
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| Flic Story: a novel
by Roger Borniche, published by Fayard
in 1973 |
| made into a 1975
film starring Alain Delon and Jean-Louis
Trintignant |
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| Un flic is a cop. |
| And yes, I know
that in English the plural of story
is stories. |
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