Summer and the City

If there's one thing that makes me feel like I've arrived, really arrived, in this city, it's my bank. The flagship branch, there are carefully placed stone sculptures and delicious French art decorating the walls, and, most importantly, a drinks cabinet. Soft ones of course, no one's yet popped the champagne cork over my balance, but still. And my manager was keen to find out about me and the company. A real social chat. You could sense his interest when my involvement in the film world (helping run an entertainment pr consultancy), came up. The French, of course, being a nation of cinephiles. You can only imagine how many hordes would take to the streets here if government threatened to cut funding in the same way that they have in the UK right now, axing the Film Council.

Summer in the city is disarmingly relaxed. Probably because literally half of Paris clears off to the South or the country or the Islands (Il de Re blah blah). Basically, to wherever their families have second homes. That's why the French rarely leave the country for holidays. Why would you with perfect weather, food and of course, wine, aplenty, just the way you like it.

A naked man waved at us through his window on the Seine earlier. He just stood there, arms flapping, like it was the most normal thing to be doing after one's morning noisette.