Paris is full. There is not a square centimetre left empty. My eyes keep pulling in the details, packing sights, sounds, smells, impressions, random reactions into every crevice of my brain. And so, now my head is full.

I have claimed my green chair in front of a fountain in le Jardin des Tuileries. It is nearing the end of the day, sun dropping slowly over my right shoulder, the Arc de triomphe du Carrousel straight ahead, the Louvre an immense presence catching the changing light. Supper is a tart, green apple and dark chocolate covered almonds. The only thing I would change is the water in my thermos for wine.