On Friday we flew out of France to spend a week with family in Wales. We left our peaceful forest behind , and a few hours later found ourselves in West Wales, where the cliffs are covered in dark purple heather and flowering blackberry, and seagulls surf the air over a churning sea. In spite of the grey skies, families crowd the beach, and children venture screaming into the chilly waves.The riots may as well be on the moon, as far as they have touched us. But of course that is the nub of the problem. As we live in our little cocooned world, the experience of a teenager of North African descent, in a cramped Paris suburb is as alien to us as the life of a polar bear in The Arctic.