I love Paris . . . in August.

As the song goes, or was it springtime. Anyway, we did love it on our annual leave from the Hothouse, thanks to our wonderful cousins. Normally I crave a few days at the sea but Mark needed a culture break, and so did I, I think. What is culture anyway?
This is another muse for a longer blog . . . so Paris. We stayed in a tiny flat owned by our neighbours, in a small town about twenty minutes from the centre: a wonderful late thirties building a few moments stagger from the station. Here is our Limoux Carnaval bag, (thanks Vanilla) starting its tour at the foot of the steps of 'Le train Blue,' Gare de Lyon.