Now, as holidays go it was an impulsive and short one.
I was in Manchester, our Elizabeth still in Well Hall and the summer in both cities was dragging, and so on the spur of the moment we decided to head off to Paris.
It was the first time I had been out of the country as a grown up and if you had to go anywhere abroad the City of Light seemed a good choice, after all from Eltham it took us less than a day.
That said years later when I flew from Manchester; we were there in an hour.
But of express trains, ferries and suburban French rail shuttles are adventures made of.
And arriving at the Gard du Nord was magic, as was the trip to Montmartre and the modest hotel.
We were there in high summer when Parisians who can, escape the city and its stifling heat, leaving those wide boulevards and poky side streets to an avalanche of tourists.
Some of my friends maintain you must always have a plan when visiting a new city, which involves a bit of research, one of those open top buses and a list of things to do and see.
These days that is what we do, but back then through a mixture of arrogance and laziness I didn’t, preferring an aimless wander which at times got us hot and bothered.
But on occasion it did lead to surprises like the Pompidou Arts Centre, and Sacré-Cœur that tall church which is a popular landmark.
If there is a defence of the aimless wander it is that you soak up the atmosphere of a foreign city, which is miles away from Eltham or the streets of Peckham where we spent our earliest years.
And if that sounds a little pretentious, well I guess it is. But when all you have known about Paris, is what you picked up in school or from the telly, walking the city is a revelation.
I can’t now remember where we encountered the animated discussion between the two friends and certainly have no idea what was being said, but the older of the two had had enough and stared off into the distance lost in her own thoughts.
What did strike me on that hot August day was just how many people were just sitting watching the city pass by.
Many were on their own, and seemed contents to enjoy the moment in what the Italians call “the sweetness of doing nothing”.
For a while we joined them, taking it all in before blundering off another adventure to somewhere unplanned.
Location; Paris
Pictures; Paris, 1980, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
It was the first time I had been out of the country as a grown up and if you had to go anywhere abroad the City of Light seemed a good choice, after all from Eltham it took us less than a day.
That said years later when I flew from Manchester; we were there in an hour.
But of express trains, ferries and suburban French rail shuttles are adventures made of.
And arriving at the Gard du Nord was magic, as was the trip to Montmartre and the modest hotel.
We were there in high summer when Parisians who can, escape the city and its stifling heat, leaving those wide boulevards and poky side streets to an avalanche of tourists.
Some of my friends maintain you must always have a plan when visiting a new city, which involves a bit of research, one of those open top buses and a list of things to do and see.
But on occasion it did lead to surprises like the Pompidou Arts Centre, and Sacré-Cœur that tall church which is a popular landmark.
If there is a defence of the aimless wander it is that you soak up the atmosphere of a foreign city, which is miles away from Eltham or the streets of Peckham where we spent our earliest years.
And if that sounds a little pretentious, well I guess it is. But when all you have known about Paris, is what you picked up in school or from the telly, walking the city is a revelation.
I can’t now remember where we encountered the animated discussion between the two friends and certainly have no idea what was being said, but the older of the two had had enough and stared off into the distance lost in her own thoughts.
Many were on their own, and seemed contents to enjoy the moment in what the Italians call “the sweetness of doing nothing”.
For a while we joined them, taking it all in before blundering off another adventure to somewhere unplanned.
Location; Paris
Pictures; Paris, 1980, from the collection of Andrew Simpson
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