Sunday morning drool

The line-up for bread Sunday morning at the best

bakery on the rue Mouffetard.

I was standing in this queue, slavering over the displays, when the local church bells all began to peal at once - it was 11 a.m. A moment of sheer bliss.

How not to be grateful to this country? I came home with a hot croissant, which I pulled apart slowly and ate with my eyes closed. There's a little tarte au citron in the kitchen, a lemon tart, for after lunch.