I’ve ESCAPED Australia just in time—before my hometown of Melbourne experienced its first bout of real summer heat. It’s been in the high thirties (that’s Celsius) for days. Too hot to do anything. Even the trains refuse to work in this weather since their metal tracks have expanded in the extreme heat, and also many of their air-conditioning units have broken down.

Is it any wonder I gather up my January work (a grant application, a new first year subject to write, several thesis chapters to supervise) and escape to Paris? From my sixth floor flat I can see the market below, the rain-slicked streets all around, and off to the west the top third of the Eiffel Tower. Once darkness descends the tower sparkles all evening, periodically arcing its powerful beam of light around the sky. Over the rooftops, to the front of my view is the golden spirit of liberty, poised on one foot atop the Bastille column, only a ten-minute walk away.

And the weather forecast? A minimum of 3 degrees and a maximum of 4. What could be nicer? Of course, the interiors of buildings are all heated, and shops and apartments are very warm inside. It’s quite a challenge dressing for this sort of thing. Layers have to be whipped off in an instant if you don’t want to roast as soon as you walk into a department store (BHV, my nearest, is positively a sauna!). I’ll deal with this topic in my next post…