In Paris Again

"Yes, Paris is where it's at," said Barack Obama to Nicolas Sarkozy, "Daphne's here too, you know."

I was watching the French news on television, in the hope of learning all the French I don't know from it. There's that scene in the film Splash where Daryl Hannah as a mermaid learns English from watching a bank of televisions in a shop and I've always thought that might be a good way to top up my French.

So, of course, because it was in French, we didn't hear what Barack Obama actually said in English, but I think my lip-reading was pretty accurate.

Although the Eurostar was far busier than when I went in June, it all worked really well and was very easy. A minor disaster happened on the way though - I was reading my book and completely absorbed, my handbag on the shelf in front of me, when a man walking down the aisle suddenly cannoned into me, knocking my bag sideways. It in turn hit the Blackberry belonging to Russian Man next to me, and everything went on the floor.

His Blackberry was fine and I never considered that anything of mine might have been damaged: my camera was in my handbag, in its case and well cushioned, and it seemed a very gentle fall. But when I switched it on, later in the journey, having almost forgotten the whole incident, its screen was showing only interesting smudges in shades of black and blue: it's cracked.

It's insured, but I was not at all happy: as I've said before, I just don't feel complete without a camera! Fortunately my phone has a camera, so I was able to take some photos using that.

I was met again at the Gare du Nord by a taxi driver holding up a placard with my name on, which should make me feel important but actually just makes me feel rather embarrassed. He set off at top speed in entirely the wrong direction.

I realised pretty sharpish that he was taking me to the Hilton hotel, which was where I'd been booked into previously - but the booking had been changed to the Concorde Saint-Lazare - more of that in a moment - and the taxi driver had not been told.

So I told him. He rang his boss, and explained that he had this strange woman in his taxi who was English, but had spoken to him in French, and said she said she was booked into a different hotel. Should he believe me, or insist on dumping me at the Hilton? At this point I chipped in and told him sweetly that although my French is by no means perfect, I could in fact understand what he was saying and the Concorde Saint-Lazare was where I needed to be and he could forget any idea of dumping me at the Hilton. He did look a bit sheepish.

Whilst this interesting conversation was going on, he was driving me at top speed past the Eiffel Tower, and across the Seine, and through several rather beautiful squares which didn't seem to have any traffic lanes at all. So apart from the constant fear of imminent death, it was actually most enjoyable.

We arrived at the hotel, which is most certainly the poshest place I've ever stayed in. Okay, I know that's not saying that much since I'm a caravan/cottage/tent/b and b kind of person, but take it from me, it's really most impressive. The lobby - top right on the image gallery on the right-hand side - is about twice the size of our house, all marble and gilt and paintings - stunningly beautiful in a very French way. My room looked exactly like the second one down on the left.

It was the kind of place where, if you stand still for two seconds, a uniformed member of staff rushes up to you and asks if he can help you. Although I must say everyone was very friendly, I spent the whole time there waiting to be rumbled and for someone to come up to me and say "Zees hotel is not for zee likes of you. Kindly leave at zees moment."

The company I was working for had chosen it because it is very near to where I was working, at the junction of the Rue de la Victoire and the Rue Taitbout.

I wandered off round Paris and had an excellent steak at the Royal Trinite restaurant on the Rue Chateaudun, before going to bed quite early in preparation for work the next day.

Paris is fantastic. I hope Barack Obama liked it as much as I do.