Once upon a time, spring 2005 to be precise. I was making my way from A to B on line 6 of the parisian metro system. It spans from Etoile (where the Arc de Triomphe & Champs Elysées are, to Nation (Place de la Nation, where there is a statue in the centre of some lass who goes by the name of “La République”, standing on a swanky old cart which is being towed by lions. I think the current mayor of Paris who is somewhat ecologically minded, should look into promoting this form of transport in the city as an alternative to the car. Anyway, the square used to be called “Place du Trone” during the reign of Louis XIV, but after the events of the revolution- was renamed “Place du Trone Renversé” which basically means “Upturned throne square” Vive la république & all that, but they were pretty crap at naming public places. There may well even have been some places in Paris at that time called “Marie Antoinette who had big hair & used to have a total disregard for us ordinary folk, so we chopped of her head & that..Street” Anyway, it’s place de la Nation now & most people associate it with the terminus of line 6 of the metro system rather than a historic landmark)
So, I was making my way from A to B on line 6 heading in the étoile direction. I quite like this particular line as the train comes out of the tunnel at one point & makes it’s way over a bridge from one bank of the river to the other. There are always Ooohs & Aaahs from tourists as the carraiges trundle past the Eiffel tower, which you can see from quite close up standing magestically on the banks of the Seine. After that brief flash of space accross the river, you are once again swallowed up into the buildings of Paris on each bank, passing windows of people’s living rooms. The inhabitants of which, fleetingly look as if they are blogging infront of a computer (maybe about how they are sick to death of the sound of the metro trains & people staring into their living rooms.)
On that particular day on the train I stood up from my seat when I knew I was approaching my station. Also, to take in the view when the train crossed the river. Whilst gazing out of the window, I felt the buzz of my mobile phone in my pocket.
Flashback to England a few months earlier…My father had been diagnosed as having an early form of Altzheimzer’s disease & as my brother & I are living abroad, we had the family in England to keep us abreast of his progress when we could’nt be with him ourselves.
On agreement with us, my dad’s sister & brother were instrumental in taking the first step to move him from assisted living in his flat- to a permanent care home. My uncle Dick had found the place in his town, on the East coast of Essex. So my father moved from Manchester down south on neutral ground, where he did’nt know anyone apart from uncle Dick. Dad was seeing more of him than anyone else. It was a comfort for me to know my father was’nt on his own anymore & had his brother living literally down the street. We never saw much of uncle Dick when we were growing up. he was always quite absent from the family. These events brought us closer together in a way.
Anyway, on that train some months later, I feel the buzz of my mobile phone in my pocket. It was uncle Dick. “Hello Dick, great to hear from you!” – “It’s about Bob (my dad)” – “I was going to phone you Dick, to get some news. How’s he settling into the place- is he alright?” – “NO” (he said in an abrupt way) “He’s dead.”
I can’t remember what we said after that. I got off the train at Trocadéro & walked into a bar. Sat down & gazed out of another window. Alone with my beer.
You would have thought that line 6 would be for me forever associated with that phone call. It is, but only last night, I travelled on it & did’nt feel a thing.

(… surtout s’il n’as pas de bouche.)