Story and Photographs by Julian London

Simcard Keelty felt particularly surefooted ‘aujourd’hui’, as he shadowed his nemesis Foodge.

He walked with a jaunty air that he was certain made him blend in with ‘Les Parisiennes’ on this sunny Friday. He had alighted at Gare Saint Lazar, smug in the knowledge that he had given the biggest tip of the day to the well known ‘train violinist’, who plied his trade on the St Germaine en-Laye route. He chuckled at the thought of Tony Negus reminding him to be frugal with his OAFS (overseas advanced funds).

He knew that Foodge had a liaison booked with a mysterious swarthy character, code named ‘The ditch’… He wasn’t 100pc sure, but rumour had it that it was bastardisation of his last name, which in turn  was nicked from that unsalubrious London Suburb where James Burbage had built the first ‘Theatre’. Of course Simcard was too thick to know this, but he had read it in the profile.

Anyway, he meandered through Place de La Madeleine (named after that saintly GM hunter), keeping ‘The Foodge’ about fifty paces ahead. Only stopping to take a photo of  the GM’s neo-classical temple . Mrs. Simcard would be able to show it around at her truncheon parties.

After a couple more twists and turns he spotted ‘The Foodge’ taking a turn off Rue Saint-Honere into Rue de Saussaies.

Simcard approached the turning gingerly, in case he had been made. But he hadn’t however— and he spotted his quarry making a secretive gesture through the window of a restaurant—then going in the front door, without even reading the menu.

Simcard was starving and thought wistfully of  his OAFS burning a hole in his new RJ Williams moleskins.  Well the hunger emboldened him and knowing that his thick moustache and tam-o’-shanter disguise would shield him, he sidled up to the door of Le Griffonnier and devoured the menu with his eyes. He spotted The Foodge, and the back of what he took to be The Ditch— and decided that discretion was more prudent than salivation, so headed back to the corner, from where he could see the Élysée Palace, the President’s official residence.

Anyway, after an eternity the bastards came out and Simcard dutifully followed once more. Down to The Champs-Élysées, past The Theatre Marigny and on to the wide side walk.

Here his quarry shook hands with The Ditch and took off across  The Champs-Élysées at the crossing, leaving Simcard a conundrum. Who should he follow?

Well having a penchant for capturing bearded men, he decided to take a couple of shots of the fast disappearing private dick . This he did and managed to get two. One  outside of  the escalators to the Clemenceau Metro and another through some traffic as Foodgie hurried past The Grande Palais, now an Art Gallery.  Simcard then turned his attention to The Ditch, and started following him. Hoping that he wasn’t too far behind the swarthy stranger in the wine coloured tee shirt with the odd writing on it…….to be continued…maybe!