petite anglaise

The French language has the ability to make even hideous things sound divine, or at any rate a little more palatable than they do in English.

Take “déjections canines”. Anyone who has visited Paris will be aware of the perils of allowing one’s eyes to stray above pavement-level to take in the sights. The oft-quoted statistic is that 200,000 Paris-dwelling dogs (1 for every 10 Parisians), despite their deceptively ornamental outward appearance, produce 16 tonnes of excrement every day. As most Parisians refuse to scoop, and the number of dog-squad officers imposing spot fines is woefully inadequate, street cleaners armed with high-tech vacuuming devices do the city’s dirty work.

All people not being equal (contrary to the republican motto), neighbourhoods are vacuumed more or less frequently according to the affluence of the local population. The pavements of the 7th arrondissement, home to government departments and MP’s townhouses, are enviably pristine. Motocrottes are often to be seen gliding along the Champs Elysées. But I’ve yet to see one in my modest neck of the woods.

A recent TV ad for the Le Parisien newspaper neatly summed up the attitude of Parisians to this issue (and to fellow Parisians):

A smartly dressed businessman is seen carefully wiping a velvety crotte from the heel of his expensive shoe onto a ‘welcome’ doormat. The camera pulls back as he turns to open the front door of his appartment…revealing the soiled doormat belongs to his next door neighbour.

Le Parisien. Il vaut mieux l’avoir en journal.