Arrival in Paris

I learned that the mellow stone used for many buildings was actually quarried in Paris itself – and so now I see the houses as molehills.

English clichéd notion of French culture herewith:


Top: naked women. Third row: philosophy.

Part of today’s route was a wander around the Drouot auction house. Not particularly interesting except for the memorial:


A memorial purely for auctioneers and associated workers killed in the wars. Do we have such memorials in Britain beyond those in stations dedicated to the railwaymen who gave up their lives? (I’m thinking here of Euston and Liverpool Street stations, but there must be others.) Is this an indication of the solidarity of French institutions?

And I’m obviously getting older: it took me a while to work out why cold water didn’t come out of the bathroom tap marked C.

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