Wherever we go, people are always very willing to talk to me if I give them even a quarter of a chance. Often all I have to do is look directly at them; they start right up with hardly a moment of hesitation. Edmund says that he talks to a lot more strangers when he travels with me than he ever does when travelling alone. My theory is that casually dressed middle-aged women radiate No Threat Here.

In Paris, I tripped over a high kerb and falling flat on my face. I did this outside one of the big flossy department stores near the Champs Élysées -- probably Au Printemps -- at the height of Christmas shopping season. As I lay bleeding on the sidewalk I hoped against hope that the Parisians would be too sophisticated to notice, but a beautifully dressed businessman and two passing lady shoppers gently scooped me up and shepherded me into a nearby café. They assessed me for broken bones (none) and scraped joints (three), established that I had money for a taxi back to my hotel, ordered a cup of coffee for me -- and left! Bless their souls.