The beggars in Paris are in a whole different league to Britain's. I reckon the French must have some sort of training programme. Even the ones who don't speak English can extract money out of you (normally by pointing to their suspiciously well-fed child who is wearing a potato sack). As a tourist it seems you are obliged to feel guilty about having enough money to go on holiday with. Fair enough if I were strolling around an African shanty town. But Paris is a day trip. You can probably get there on a couple of week's dole money.
We were on the train one day, when a man got on and started walking down the aisle, handing out bits of photocopied paper. My French isn't exactly hot stuff, but I think it said something along the lines of 'please help me. I am an asylum seeker and I have four brothers. None of us have jobs or money and we are very hungry'. After he'd reached the end of the train, he began to walk back along it asking for the bits of paper back, and obviously expecting generous donations for the priviledge of reading this sorry little statement.
We didn't give him anything, even though he stood there with his hand out for a very uncomfortable 5 seconds or so. If I'd had the ability, or indeed, the balls, I would have advised him to stop spending the last of his money on photocopying, unless it was his CV he was going to be handing out.
He got off at the next stop. We all sat and watched him leave the station, feeling slightly guilty. What if his four brothers decided to eat him when they got home because he hadn't been convincing enough?
But then, as the the train set off again, a lady came wandering down the carriage, handing out bits of photocopied paper. My French isn't exactly hot stuff, but I think it said something along the lines of 'please help me. I am an asylum seeker and I have four brothers. None of us have jobs or money and we are very hungry'.
People. If this is going to be your career, you could at least take the time to think up a few variations on the theme. Or use different trains.
We came to the conclusion that there must be a beggar's emporium in Paris, where canny entrepreneurs could pick up a whole host of props to get pity money rolling in. These included:
* Tiny Tears doll, painted blue for extra effect
* Wooden leg, to be propped up next to seated beggar
* Charcoal for rubbing into face
* Sackcloth and ashes
* Scruffy emaciated dog (also comes in blind)
Oliver Twist has misled me. Beggars are supposed to sing and dance and screw up their adorable little cockernee faces for your money. Not corner you on public transport and present you with a bill.