Cole Portering

Pre-Berlin II, I revisited Paris. The weather was mostly rainy; I made use of it by catching up on adminy-type things and seeing the stuff I missed last time. The Pompidou Centre was predictably impressive. The Palais de Tokyo was full of strange things for me to note in my wee book and make esoteric allusions to in later writings. The Cite de la Musique was holding a Serge Gainsbourg exhibition - titillating. Afterwards I wandered through the autumnal Parc des Buttes Chaumont and around Belleville, using up the last of the film in Yann´s camera on wistful shots of young families enjoying the last hours of sunlight.

Dee, my work friend from home, was also in Paris, and we timed our Eiffel Tower ascent perfectly - looking out over twilit Paris from the second level just as the lights above us started their hourly five-minute flash fest.

Yann and Juliette took me to bars and parties with their lovely French friends, all of whom apologise for their English even though my French is clearly so much worse.

Kicking through the fallen leaves in Parisian parks must be one of the best things about living there. It´s insanely beautiful. In the Jardin du Luxembourg little kids use sticks to prod little sail boats across the Grand Bassin. Those lucky little bastards.

Paris Paris Paris. So nice, in fact, that I´m heading back there today to enjoy my last weekend in the northern hemisphere. The longer I´m away from London, the more unbearably bleak that city seems, so I´ve chosen to spend as little time there as possible, getting the Eurostar early on Monday and jumping straight on my plane at Heathrow without looking twice at the various circuses.

Next edition: Spain and Italy, really.