That’s easy, just spending time with my family. The weekend all us sisters and Nicola went to Paris in April 2003, is a special precious memory. Nicola and I flew from Leeds Bradford airport and you four from Glasgow and we all met up at Charles de Galle airport. We were like squirrels out a cage, chatting and laughing, oh the anticipation of what the weekend would bring!! From the airport we were travelling by train into Gard du Nord station in the heart of Paris, and right from the off we hadn’t a clue which train to catch or even if we were on the right platform! Nicola was the only one who knew some schoolgirl French so we stuck to her like glue following her around like a frightened flock of sheep terrified in case we had to speak to anyone (well I know I was)! The “hotel” (and I use that meaning of the word loosely) was called The Baudelaire Bastille, but when we saw it we promptly dubbed it “The Bodylair”. It had definitely seen better days, more of the shabby and less of the chic, but we didn’t care, we were on an adventure! There was no lift, so with our rooms in the garret, we humped our huge suitcases up five floors to slump on our beds for a rest. After a cup of tea and a “hing oot the windy” we freshened up and went out for a moosey and to suss the place out. We got lost somewhere at the back of the Rue de Rivoli and spent the best part of two hours trying to find our way back to the hotel, my feet dropping off with the stupid shoes I’d been wearing. Later, we got dressed up and found ourselves in a Salsa bar where we had a great night. Next day, despite nursing a mild hangover, we were out early looking for breakfast. We came across a delicatessen next to a small park where we sat and planned out our days excursion while munching on delicious croissants and drinking coffee. All of us love art, so a visit to The Lovre was first on our list. This was, for Nicola and I our second trip there as I had taken her on a weekend to Paris for a surprise 21st birthday present. But the gallery is so vast; you need a week to take it all in! The Lovre is an amazing place choc full of priceless treasures; your eyes skip from a Michaelanglo painting to a Caravaggio to a Raphael. We joined the queue to see Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, which, to my mind, never lived up to its hype. We meandered through the rooms full of artefacts, drinking in all their history and beauty, and marvelling at the genius of their makers. Nicola and I wandered through to a huge room full of marble statues to find Pat sitting on her own, moping up her tears, so overwhelmed at the magnificence she saw around her. We took a few photos, one of myself and Rosalie in front of a rather ornate ladies dressing table, after photo someone pointed out that it once belonged to some titled lady called – Marie Rosalie, weird or what?!! Another photo has all six of us on the stairs leading to Napoleon’s apartments which are also housed in the same building. After the Lovre, we went for a cruise along the Seine where I nearly lost one of my slip-on shoes which would have gone straight down a hole in the boat into the Seine save for my big toe, from which it dangled by a mere millimetre. Rena grabbed it, and much to my relief, saved me the ignominy of having to walk home one foot shoeless. The following day, after our breakfast in the park, we made our way to see Sacre Coeur church in the artists quarter of Montmatre. I had been told about this church by a colleague, and I must say it didn’t disappoint. Standing on the highest point in Paris, the church, made of Travertine stone which constantly exudes calcite so that it retains its colour, sits proud like a great white beacon. We had a walk around inside this beautiful church and climbed the 300 steps up the narrow, stone, spiral staircase right to the top of the dome which offered spectacular panoramic views of the city. With our knees giving us gip from the climb and descent, it was time to have a rest and some lunch. On route, we stopped to listen to a woman playing a barrel organ and singing what could only have been a French love song in a rich, husky voice. We stood there transfixed; not only by the melodious mix of music and song, but by the woman herself, who looked so uncannily like our mam. Of all the audience, she seemed to be singing for us alone, and for a brief moment in time, mam was there with us. Later that evening armed with a bottle of champagne and paper cups, we caught the metro to the Eiffel Tower. We had decided to go in the evening to miss the daytime crowds, but also to see Paris lit up at night. Once we made it to the top, I cracked open the champagne, and we toasted Paris until we’d had our fill of both the champagne and the spectacular views over the city in all its nightlight glory. The next day dawned and it was time to pack and go home, but with a few hours spare before our flights, we left our suitcases at reception and headed to our favourite park for breakfast. After our coffee and croissants, we went for a little spot of retail therapy. Though Paris has a reputation for being an expensive place, we managed to find a shop whose price tags didn’t make you’re eyebrows shoot up while you silently mouthed “what the…..? “ . I bought a lovely brown and cream striped gypsy top for £16, which is still one of my favourites. Carrying our swag we found a café’ where we could sit outside, drink our coffee, and do a spot of people watching. Much to our amusement, the traffic came to a standstill as the male motorists crained their necks to get a better look at the four blondes and two brunettes having a laugh at their antics, being honest, it was a terrific ego boost! Now how many women can say they stopped the traffic in the heart of Paris?