I'm looking to be whisked off to Paris. Any takers?

Yesterday I caught, quite by chance, a brilliant program on Radio 4 about Les Bouquinistes; the booksellers who work along the Seine. 



I only had half an ear on the radio when it came on (which was less messy than it sounds),  but within five minutes of it starting, I had dropped everything else I was doing, and was glued to the radio.  Within ten minutes of it finishing I was Googling cheap Eurostar trips to Paris.

I have just listened the whole thing all over again (thank you, BBC iPlayer), and have found out so many fascinating things, I hardly know where to begin.  I'm certainly not going to fit them all into one blog post.

To start with, I have fallen head over heels with one man featured in the program, who loves books more than anything else in the world.  He has also been unlucky in love, which is why I have a soft spot for him.  He told the interviewer within two minutes of meeting her  that he's reading a Patricia Highsmith novel because he has just had his heart broken.  (I am definitely going to try this cure the next time it happens to me.)  "I can't hold onto a woman, but I can hold onto my books" he says.  He has already stolen a little piece of my heart,  and I haven't even met him yet.

You have probably seen the bouquinistes if you've ever been to Paris; they each have four green boxes, and as long as three of them contain books they are allowed to sell whatever they like (neon green Eifel towers, mainly) out of the fourth one.  They are a diverse bunch; some are ex-lawyers, others were teachers, one used to be a fireman.  One has always been a bouqiniste and started because his friend's mother was one; he used to carry books around for her in his toy cart. Some sell books on the internet, while others complain about the problems of modern technology.  In winter, says one guy, they are lucky to sell five books in a week.  Before computers, it was more like thirty.

The one thing they all have in common is that they love books, and love to read.  One woman tells the story of how she was so engrossed in whatever she was reading one day that she completely failed to notice Woody Allen rifling through the books on her stall, and later was equally oblivious when ex-president Francois Mitterand turned up next door.   You get the feeling that this is not unusual behaviour. 

Then there's a pair of sisters who, when they are not selling books, are writing them;   detective novels, written under the pen name Claude Izner.  Their protagonist is Victor Legris, and when he's not busy figuring out out who done it, he also sells books on the Seine. Well, they do say you should write what you know.  The first in the series is, hopefully, winging its way to me from Amazon as we speak.
So far, I've barely scratched the surface.   I haven't even told you about the history of the bouquinistes; how they singlehandedly saved the French punk rock movement, their role in the French Revolution, or the 19th Century book collector who left instructions in his will providing them with a massive banquet;  his way of saying thank you for the hours he had enjoyed browsing their books in the Parisian sunshine.  Then of course there's the modern collector who claims he can find the books he bought from them in his collection simply because of the way they smell.  I blame him entirely for the fact that I spent a good twenty minutes sniffing my bookshelves last night.   Not for the first time, it struck me as lucky that I live alone.

It really is a wonderful  program.   I'm not normally this militant, but seriously;  go and have a listen , and make sure you do it before next Tuesday, which is when it's available until  I think.  It's only going to take you half an hour, and I promise, it's absolutely worth it.