I’d just had an excellent lunch with my landlady and her son at a restaurant quite near our apartment block in the 12th–Le Cotte at no. 1 rue de Cotte (corner of rue de Charenton). The son was about to get a velib to cycle home, when his mother declared she wanted a photo. He suggested I hop on the velib. Now, I haven’t mounted a bike for many years, and was quite terrified. But I was even more terrified of appearing the gauche Australienne. So using muscles in places I wasn’t even sure existed any more, I somehow managed to perch myself on the saddle while N gallantly held the bike still. I’d like to think I look French, but I’m not sure…