Paris!

Paris! Always something of a paradox for me: I don't generally like cities, but I like Paris immensely. I like its open-ness and use of space; I like its people and its attitudes once you get through cliché and surface; I like watching the Seine roll majestically by and the picnics and dance classes on its banks on sultry summer evenings; I like cd shop manageress on Rue Mouffetard singing and dancing to the music of George Brassens while restocking the shelves. And we spent a week there in July so my enthusiasms are refreshed

We did the usual tourist stuff which we thought that the kids would appreciate - Eiffel Tower, boat trip on the Seine, Arc de Triomphe and (aaaaaaarrrrggghhh!!!) Eurodisney

Ah! Eurodisney. Like being strapped into a bed of marshmallows and force-fed sugar while one's wallet is surgically removed and emptied, Eurodisney is a manifestly fake cartoon world which fails to evoke even a desirable fantasy of 'make believe'. Quite the reverse, it is a Stepford world in which 'have a nice day' is an instruction rather than a wish. It is also relentlessly noisy, the food outlets were dirty and poor value (and the service slow), and the toilets were dirty too.

It is a strange place: clearly a lot of money has been spent to create it and in formal terms it has been well thought out. Somehow though it has an air of cheapness and cost-cutting about it. The essential aim, of course, is to ensure the smooth transfer of currency from the tourist to the Mouse. I am delighted to say that, for the most part, the kids evinced precisely the correct degree of cynical disdain for the 'Disney' aspects and concentrated on enjoying the rides - and fairness obliges me to concede that the Space Mountain roller-coaster was good. Conversely "It's a Small World After All" would have led me to slit my wrists if an open razor had been handy.

For me the highlight of the holiday was a day spent in the Musée d'Orsay, a day made all the better by Lindsay coming along and enjoying it too. The last time I tried to get into the Md'O it was closed by a strike. Was it worth the wait? Yes! I spent a good half hour with Degas' 'The Dance Class alone and could have spent hours with the Monets. One of the early Monets in the gallery -La Chase-Marie a l'Ancre is reproduced here. Although an early work it captivated me both in its formal excellence and in the simplicity and economy of strokes - the boat herself and her rigging is very simply, but accurately and effectively, suggested.

And I didn't expect the tactile chewiness of the Van Goghs - when I could see them. For many visitors it seemed that Van Gogh (or, apparently, 'Van Go') is the superstar around which the tourist groupies cluster. I take a certain perverse pride in Lindsay's response which was to find a quiet chair and read Harry Potter saying that 'I don't like Van Gogh much'. I was a bit narked at first until I asked her why and she offered a lucid argument based on his technique, adding that she much preferred Monet and Degas. I don't agree with her view on VG's technique but (a) I recall offering the same view when slightly older in a Higher Art class at school and (b) it is a rational rather than capricious position to adopt.

My only regret about the day is that there is too much in the museum and the day would have been better as two. A lot of the ground floor remains to be viewed. Next time!

Walking back home was pleasant to: criticising the art in gallery windows and stopping off in brasseries. We came across a couple of young buskers playing Django's music to some effect on a couple of old Selmer/Macafferi style guitars. Cool!

Problems? Well British Airways let us down on the flights out and we arrived three hours later than planned, overheated and tired. The apartment which we had rented (an attic/studio conversion in a partially half-timbered C17th building built around a courtyard) was not up to the standard which we had been led to expect. Terminal 1 at Charles de Gaulle Airport remains a dump and the tourist spots of Paris still release a vague smell of stale urine when one least expects it. Still we only got ripped off for tourists once and that was when we were waiting to come home and had taken our eyes off the ball: grotesquely overpriced and poor food from a brasserie at l'Opera near the Roisybus terminal.

When do I get to go back?