Let's talk about

Lost blackberries. Dripping Christmas lights. The wedding at Cana. A solitary glove. Hot chocolate with chantilly. Bohemia. U Zlate Studne. Soft cold white snow. Hot red wine for 3 euros. Revolutionising poster art. George Gershwin and others in a mirror chapel. Alice's adoloscence and how it turned into a weird sexual drama. Jacuzzi. A castle. 19th century art. A very intoxicating green liquid. Flames before my eyes, flames in my head. A lost wallet. Freely flowing tears. A heart-breakingly beautiful city. My wonderful friend with liquid eyes. Talking. Talking some more. Skipping Wagamama. Cobbled streets in the night-time. Hearty eating. Water-liles and ponds as seen through the eyes of an eighty year old man. Let's talk about the many, many artists who swarmed to that nectar-laden city. Montmartre sans the cigarettes. A sacred heart and some shaken pictures. Laduree. Talking to sleep. Opulence. Gardens as far as the eyes can see. Installations. Reading to sleep. Walking. Peeling wallpapers. Rooibos tea. An explosion. Then another. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Psychadelic Eiffel. Diamonds and rubies as seen from the sky. Ineffective airline staff. And let's not talk at all about the city I call home.