I’d hoped the cruise on the Seine would be the highlight,
but it wasn’t. Nor was the open top bus tour.
We inched up the Eiffel Tower like climbers on Mont Blanc.
It was February 2012, and Europe was in the grip
of a freak cold wave. Paris froze still as a gargoyle.
Though there was that romantic meal in Montmartre,
at a seafood brasserie with views across the city.
But that wasn’t the highlight either.
The most memorable moment came when we returned
to our hotel room:
I hurriedly took off my trousers,
and joined my wife on the rim of the ensuite bath,
where we sat and paddled our feet in lukewarm water,
giddy as toddlers in a rockpool.
Come bedtime we were puking up oysters.
