AN EYE FULL

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No one can rival the Pomp of the French in most Circumstances: but for the 220th anniversary of Bastille Day, as well as the 120th anniversary of the Eiffel Tower... you knew it would be something special.

So, Kate and I rallied our creaking bones from our hotel on the Rue de Corcelles, then slowly tumbled downhill past the Arc de Triumph towards the Trocadero, where we hung a hard left and ended up on the North Bank, by the Ave. New York, in an attempt to miss as much of the crowd of 800,000 as possible.

In any event we ended up wedged between (and crammed amongst) some 799,998 other celebrants including a mother holding her awestruck toddler, and a group of drunken postgrads, the loudest of whom was a dead ringer for Borat.

It was worth it. The show was amazing, the fireworks intense, flaming, shimmering, sparkling, sizzling, molten, whirled, writhing, smokin', whorled: voila!

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