Saturday 14 January 2012

Paris' dirty pavements

Paris is a beautiful city, or so I believe. Despite having lived here for over a year I’ve not actually had chance to look yet as I’m too busy with my head down hopping over and dodging the masses upon masses of dog turds that cover the pavements and streets.

Sometimes I wonder what I look like with my random steps like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks. 


But then I remember that no one’s looking at me, they’re all dodging the dog poo too.


In order to communicate the scale of the “caca”, I counted all the piles I saw on my way to work the other morning. I thought about taking photos, but decided to be kind to you instead. I don't want to make you hurl. Well, not quite yet. 

Anyway, I counted 17 piles of "mess" (as my mother would call it). Ranging in size from mere smears to freshly formed complete dumps. Considering I’m walking for less than 15 minutes, I think that’s pretty impressive.

The utter disgustingness of Paris pavements has started to make me completely obsessed with something that I was never brought up to do, taking my shoes off the minute I walk in the door. If I could take them off outside my front door, I would, but then my socks would be dirty. I suppose I could take my socks off too, but then my feet would be dirty. And on days I wear tights and shorts it could be a little awkward if I bump into any of my neighbours mid undress. And that still wouldn't solve the problem of my feet being dirty. Unless...before I leave for work in the morning I could put a shallow bucket of soapy water and a towel just inside the front door and then I could...

But enough! You see how easy it is for me to get carried away with it all?

My friends just don't seem to be as affected by this issue (geddit?) as I am. I see them walking round their flats with their shoes on, sometimes into rooms that are CARPETED with a wild devil may care attitude. Oh how I envy their simple, peaceful souls.

When my friends come to see me, all I can think about is their shoes grinding the turds of four thousand billion dogs (I'm pretty sure it's roughly that number living in Paris) into my floor. And at the end of the evening I peer furtively into the street, gather my friends close and whisper: "Be careful out there, there's dog poo lurking everywhere and it's harder to see when it's dark."

PP

p.s. click here to marvel at John Cleese's never ending legs in a YouTube clip of the Ministry of Silly Walks.