I’d only just arrived in Paris and already I had bumped into two people from my Gallic past. First I saw PG on his way to work. He was now a grey-haired father of three, yet had kept his great sense of humour.

Then I came across JG. She was in the city to check up on the flat that she had bought in 1982, with a view to putting it up for sale. I followed JG to her flat. It was a low-ceilinged corner apartment, currently used as the admin offices of a fashion house. JG showed me into the meeting room and invited me to stay for a fashion show.

“Where will the models parade?” I enquired.

“Along the table” JG replied.

This didn’t make sense. I was of average height. If I stood on the table, my head would touch the ceiling, so how would the taller models be accommodated?

Later the same day I met up with a third friend. MY had flown to Paris with a special delivery. She presented me with a massive canvas of the pair of us as teenagers, sitting in a hay field.