I ended up not going to the Louvre. I went looking for engravings by Francois Houtin, but didn’t have any luck. I know I could buy one online, but there’s no fun in that. I’m funny about buying art. I don’t just want the image, I want to find it in the right way, as I’ve mentioned before - I have to hunt something down, or be surprised by a sudden discovery, and I definitely want to see the object itself before I buy it. Even its location matters. I have to like the gallery or shop and its staff; I probably have to have had the right thing for breakfast and have the right tune going around in my head before I can think of buying art. I’m reduced to saying ridiculous things like this because I can’t explain it properly even to myself. It’s as if I either have to make a conquest or be conquered, and if the environment isn’t right I’ll back away from whichever of those might have happened. Which is a pity, because when I first came across Houtin’s work a few years ago in The Decadent Gardener I could have afforded it, but it’s more expensive now. But even if I found an engraving at the older price, I wouldn’t order it off the net. Maybe I’m just stupid.

I wandered through the Latin Quarter, back to the Jardin Luxembourg to visit Watteau again and take more pictures, and back again through the Latin Quarter, which looks like a good place to eat. However, I don’t much like dining out by myself in cities, where the presence of so many people can make even the nicest food seem unappetising without the prospect of company (whereas in off-season St Malo I felt completely different and happy enough on my own). Therefore, I’ve been making a lot of picnics out of Chinese takeaway or just fresh bread and tomatoes, eating anywhere duting the day and in my room at night. Today I bought cakes at a South Tunisian patisserie as well. The French cakes look scrumptious, but almost too rich, and as I think I can imagine what they’ll taste like they don’t tempt me that much. However, I’ve never had Tunisian cakes and couldn’t guess what they might be like. These ones are delicious, especially a kind of shortbread flavoured with pistachio butter - it has a lovely nutty, smooth fat taste, and isn’t too sweet. It makes a nice couple with the pear brandy, which is almost finished as of this post (gulp - or should that be ‘hic’?).

I’m rather partial to hotel room picnics, probably because I’m partial to hotel rooms. You’re warm and safe and snug in a hotel room, and you have no obligations whatsoever. Your ordinary life is on hiatus and someone else does the cleaning. The hotel room is a Wendy house, a secret hideout, and it’s an ideal place to eat unbalanced meals at irregular times - out of paper bags, in bed, or laid out as elegantly as you can manage on a console table; either way, the sense of your own hiddenness is enjoyable.