Sex and war at the army museum

The Invalides military complex is a pretty fusty place. The armies museum, which occupies much of it, contains the usual assortment of captured Ottoman helmets, arrangements of 18th century rifles, and endless rows of model soldiers in uniform. What a surprise and joy then to visit its new exhibition: "Loves, Wars and Sexuality 1914 - 1945". This is a fascinating exploration into an important topoic: the close links between sex and war, as experienced in the two world wars. For anyone worried about bringing children, have no fear. There is very little that is explicit. I was surprised to find out that of what we would recognise today as pornography there was very little, even in World War II. Instead soldiers exorcised their lust on magazine pin-ups, or created their own fantasies. One exhibit shows the inside of a German bunker on the French coast, where a love-lorn soldier drew an image of an ecstatic young beauty in a shower. We see how governments used images of sexuality to whoop up war fever; the pain of separation between couples; the tenderness between same-sex couples in POW and concentration camps. And we also see how wartime governments controlled sex. Mishandled, it could lead to venereal disease and spy scandals. Handled carefully it created obedience. We see the official bordellos set up by the German and French authorities, as well as the VD check-ups and packets of US army issue condoms. But of course -- at the very end of the exhibition -- there is the theme that underlies everything that comes before: sex and violence. Rape. The curators I think handle this very sensitively. There is no avoiding it, because of course rape existed in the world wars as it has existed since time immemorial. What they do is show a small collection of black and white snapshots, images of a rape found on a German POW by the Russians. They are the only actual depiction of the sex act in the exhibition, and they are utterly devastating.

Velib

A brief paean of praise for the wonderful new bike scheme in Paris. The capital has a record of innovative ideas that make life better and more interesting, and this is definitely one of them. We broke our Velib virginity last Sunday. I had my trusty old steed of a bike, the wife took out one of these sturdy new ponies. She'd previously signed up for the year at 29 euros, which means it's free for journeys under 30 minutes. A gentle ride down to Vavin, deposited her bike at the station there, a couple of beers, picked up a new bike, then home. Brilliant. It's going to do wonders for our social life. We might actually start going out together. For now, Velib is also a huge ice-breaker. Riding a Velib makes you the cynosure of the public eye. Tourists are especially fascinated. And envious. It's interesting that this latest initiative is -- for the first time -- a private sector one. Yes, the set-up had to be approved by City Hall, but it is JCDecaux -- the advertising hoardings people -- who are running it. An unwelcome surrender to big money, or a sensible acknowledgement of the times we live in? The latter, surely.

Bad and then good news this week. Walking to collect my car, I passed as usual through the neighbouring HLM - council estate. It is a nicely-designed series of blocks of flates that went up three years aho and now has a mixed -- but predominantly immigrant -- set of residents. Always a lot of youth hanging around, but never any trouble. On this morning I was horrified to see that every conceivable surface had been covered overnight with graffiti. Walls, windows, the ground -- everything bore the same asinine scawl, hundreds of them. Being a right-wing bastard, my blood boiled. The culprits, it seemed, were a band of brothers from an estate by the peripherique (They had left their tell-tale tag). They must have wanted to start a turf-war, and were hoping our guys would react. I drove down to the country in a state of some dudgeon, fuming about urban deliquescence, moral breakdown etc etc. Imagine my joy, then, to return two days later and discover that every last trace of the tag-attack had been removed. They must have some amazing equipment, because there was literally no sign of what had happened. Now that, I thought, is action. Chapeau to the mairie of the 14th, who reason I assume as I do: leaving the tags for any length of time is an invitation to disaster. They become part of the landscape, people stop caring, the atmosphere turns nasty - and things spiral out of control. This was a prompt "rappel a l'ordre".