We're in a wintry Paris, conveyed by Eurostar. The process at St Pancras is more plane than train: there's the X-ray of luggage, the passport control and in our case the complete unpacking of our suitcase by Customs.
We ate out this evening in a restaurant (pictured with grocer's apostrophe) in the Latin Quarter, close to our hotel. My brother-in-law Gerry was in town with daughter Jane and we met up for the meal. Frog's legs were on the menu - Clare's seemed a bit skittish.
A frosting-over Paris is notable for drunks lying on the freezing pavement (seen going and still there coming back) and electric cars recharging from pavement-edge pedestals.
