All the excitement generated by Pamela Druckerman’s observations on French parenting reminds me of something that I observed this summer at a local lake. As I sat on the man made beach watching the kids as they enjoyed their watery antics, a motorbike (ok scooter!) came screeching to a halt with a menacing skid on the sand. The proud cap clad driver puffed out his chest as he emerged from dust like a cowboy hero. He proceeded to showed off his repetoire of french expletives as he spoke to his Maman on his mobile. I found myself thinking how odd it was to witness such disregard. The chavvy display lasted a good few minutes and for the first time since we moved here I felt a little threatened. Then he got back on his stallion and revved the engine . . . here we go I thought. To my utter surprise he drove his bike all of 5 metres to an old sandwich packet under a tree, picked it up and popped it in the nearest bin. I enjoyed this observation enormously!