Living in France has taught me a how to deal with nuisances like e scooters and vapes – just ban them!

We Brits are a nation of complainers, but when it comes to taking decisive action on behalf of grumblers everywhere we need to take some tips from our bolshy French neighbours, says Debora Robertson

(AFP/Getty (AFP via Getty Images)

It’s not quite that they’re mad as hell and they’re not going to take it anymore – rather, the nation has issued a collective tut, a massive shrug, and that’s quite enough of your scooters on the pavements and disposable vapes in the gutter, thank you very much.

Since 1 September, rented scooters – trottinettes – have been banned from the streets of Paris, after a referendum in April which found 90 per cent of Parisians who voted (albeit in a turnout of only 7.5 per cent) were fed up with their antisocial presence on the streets.

When scooters were introduced in 2018, they were seen as part of a pioneering policy for greener transport. Paris mayor, Anne Hidalgo, while still supporting cycling and bike sharing, has called the scooters “a nuisance”, and David Belliard, deputy Paris mayor in charge of urban mobility, has said that the case against them was overwhelming despite efforts by operators to address some problems. He said, “The anarchy was quite unbearable”.

And there we have it. In the United Kingdom, we might take surveys, create polls, “um” and “ah” and wring our hands as a substitute for action. Let’s wait and see, and then hopefully the problem will go away without anyone getting upset, or ideally having to do anything.

The French can be much more, well, decisive – unafraid to close a motorway with blazing hay bales or dump a tonne of manure outside the town hall at the slightest provocation. And what really gets them going is incivility – a lack of consideration for collective public wellbeing. Selfishness = anarchy.

And seeing rented scooters clumsily parked, abandoned, sometimes thrown in the Seine, brought Parisians past tutting point. How disgraceful to have one’s evening’s promenade disrupted by having to dodge, or be dodged by, some unsightly lump of metal, in a vulgar shade of lime green or lurid blue. It’s enough to put you off your flâneuring.

And there have been serious consequences to such incivility, too. In 2021, an Italian woman was killed while walking alongside the Seine by an e-scooter being ridden by two passengers. In 2022, 459 people were injured and three killed by reckless scooter drivers.

When I lived in London, I often had to pick my way along Hackney pavements past abandoned e-bikes. Annoyance at them was frequently the subject of lengthy and lively debates on local Facebook groups and NextDoor message boards.

These strong opinions seem to be reflected elsewhere in the UK. In a recent IAM RoadSmart safety culture report, 68 per cent of respondents to its poll said they would support a law totally banning e-scooters, and the latest Department for Transport (DfT) statistics revealed that there were 1,434 casualties involving e-scooters in Britain in 2021, with 10 fatalities. But still stronger regulations being enforced – never mind a total decisive ban – is still wanting.

Now, I live in a village in the South of France. I have come to realise that incivility is what will eventually drive people to the barricades. Dogs fouling, people putting their bins out on the wrong day or taking too long to bring them in again, people who speak too loudly or do noisy DIY on a Sunday or otherwise disturb the public realm with their selfishness can expect the opprobrium of their neighbours. Quelle honte! they mutter, under their breath or with their full chests, or in the comfort of the village Facebook group. The power of shame in a small place is mighty.

Which brings us to vaping. More specifically disposable vapes, which French prime minister, Elisabeth Borne, this week announced were also going to be banned as part of the national anti-smoking plan, because they are, “giving bad habits to young people”.

Walking past one in the afternoon, through a cloud of watermelon-strawberry-peach-mango vapour, honestly makes me sentimental for the more traditional fug of Gauloises smoke emanating from the old men’s bar on the corner. It’s like being forced into a particularly busy branch of Lush, and I do not consent – and nor does the government now, it seems.

As an outsider, I can’t help but compare our experience in this immaculately well-maintained village where our neighbours are, on the whole, polite, thoughtful and kind, with living in our corner of London where – along with the ubiquitous organic single-estate coffee and biodynamic sourdough – we sometimes had to deal with knives hidden in our front garden, families of noisy foxes in the back garden who cared not at all if it was Sunday morning, and drunks fighting at the bus stop outside.

In our French village, last summer a sign appeared instructing people that riding bikes and scooters was forbidden along the port, as was walking around bare chested (quelle honte!). This summer, that rather absolutist sign has been replaced by a simple, pragmatic speed limit sign of 5km. There is no mention of a dress code, though I pity the fool who might attempt to promenade shirtless. We’re not in Newcastle anymore, Fifi. And good luck exhaling a miasma of fruity vapour from your vape, disposable or otherwise, in a crowded public place. It would ensure the sourest of looks from the sweetest of old ladies. And that tut is all powerful – a ban will never be too far behind.