There was time for a longish walk this morning before I had to catch the train back to London ... so I headed northwest, to the foot of the steps of the Sacré Coeur - it's decades since I've been to Montmartre, even though it, or the area just to its east, used to be my regular stomping ground. I wasn't really there long enough to get any frisson of that past life - until I walked a bit down Barbes Rochechouart, which, with its deep trays of cheap clothes, suddenly seemed very familiar.
But first, I looked round the Marché Saint Quentin, and found myself hating - truly hating - Brexit, and the fact that I can no longer legally take cheese back into the UK. I didn't know whether or not they would have cheese-sniffer dogs at St Pancras, like the beagles who look for illegal apples at LAX ... it looks safe for smuggling, but if anyone with relevant could enlighten me ...
Had I ordered such cheese in Paris, however, doubtless I could get it delivered by bicycle, with other groceries.
There were a couple of sharp rain showers whilst I was walking, which made the streets look stunningly fresh;
and then, of course, there were some surprising corners.
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