Grand-Duchess Anastasia of Russia, the false one, the one Ingrid Bergman played so well she was presented with an Oscar, tried to drown herself in Berlin’s Landwehrkanal, in the Spree, a river so widely spread all over Berlin nobody takes really notice of it. What a sad story. What a miserable choice of ending one’s life. If I were to drown myself, I’d choose the Seine. It plays so much more important a role, it’s a question of belief whether you live on the left or the right bank, Rive Gauche or Rive Droite, old money or nouvelle vague, Yves Saint Laurent named his prêt-à-porter collection accordingly, it’s so much more elegant a river, Rudolf Nureyev lived on one of its quais, Quai Voltaire, all these names say it all, it’s steeped in history, style and splendour, Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn took a walk next to it, Marie Antoinette and Napoleon, Coco Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli, Ernest Hemingway and F.Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso and Jean Cocteau, Romy Schneider and Alain Delon, Claude Chabrol and Claude Sautet, they all crossed it, back and forth, looked in it, spat in it, I’m sure, Hemingway did it regularly, he always looked like a big spitter to me, I could go on for hours, this river has seen them all, and although none of my heroes drowned in it, by chance or on purpose, I’d still choose the Seine over the Spree, but alas, I’m not suicidal at all, I’ll just go on crossing it, over all these beautiful bridges, again and again, loving every second of it.