We were not in bed until 1.30 this morning, so we made a somewhat late start. Paula had a recurrence of her virus, which left her a bit second hand, so we began the day with a quick trip to the laundromat. This was, fortunately, just round the corner, so we passed a pleasant hour watching our clothes go round and round.

We just wandered through a mostly closed Paris, our only real destinations being cimetaire Pere Lachaise and the Isle St Louis. The cemetary was suitably impressive, and we had some fun with the more unusual family sepulchres – famille Bastard David was a highlight, as was the Hubbard families cupboard. There were some invading Russian tourist groups that the spoiled some of the ambience, but it was a timely reminder of our mortality to be in this impressive city of the dead.

Of course we visited Morrison and Chopin, but the giant is Oscar Wilde. His Epstein-sculpted tomb ensures he is as controversial in death as in life, but Oscar has always – in spite of the acknowledged self-destructive side of
his life – retained a sense of authenticity that justified the excesses of the lipstick kisses on the memorial.

It was getting colder, and after some window-shopping in the Isle, we went home to the warmth of the hotel. All of today’s photos will look best in monochrome, with the city looming out of the fog. A great pizza finished of the stay. Tomorrow, Caen and Normandy.