Once a year at our flat in the 14th we have the fete de l'immeuble. "Day of the building" doesn't quite do it justice. It is an utterly French idea, and to be fair it is rather a good one. Working on the premise (absolutely correct) that the inhabitants of blocks of apartments in Paris never speak to each other except via formal salutations, the city hall sponsors evening drinks-and-canapes where neighbours can get over their embarrassment and actually have a conversation. In our complex -- a 1920s red-brick construction that was solidly classe ouvriere until recently -- we gather in one of the fore-courts and hobnob over a glass of wine. We bring marmite sandwiches, which go down like the proverbial lead balloon. The French are resolutely unadventurous when it comes to food. It is great to find out more about our co-proprietaires. There are quite a few who are very old and very poor. Gradually they are being replaced by the young and relatively well-off. We even have an American downstairs. But the fun is tempered by the realisation that there is one subject we cannot broach. The EU constitution is taboo in French social gatherings. It has just been rejected in the referendum, and I feel like letting off steam against the ragbag coalition of Trotskyists, Le Penites and anti-American utopians who have voted it down. I don't -- because I have no idea how any of the neighbours have cast their ballot. Chances are, five out of every ten said "no."