Getting a taxi at Gare de l'Est on a Sunday was easy - no queues and hardly any traffic en route to our destination - Place St Michel.

First stop was a café as neither of us had had breakfast. We shared a Petit Dejeuner Classique, consisting of freshly squeezed orange juice, toasted baguette, croissant, butter and jam - just enough to keep us going till lunch, as it was already nearly 11 o'clock..

Then we went for a trip on the river. It was hot and pretty crowded but most interesting. The guide pointed out the sights; some familiar and some we'd never heard of; like 'the smallest house in Paris' just one window wide, tucked  between two much grander residences, and the oldest house with its half-timbered first floor (painted yellow) looking decidedly uncomfortable above a much modernised ground floor.

She gave explanations of all the bridges we passed under and we saw a different view of Notre Dame as the boat did a u-turn round the Ile de la Cité. The tour lasted an hour and so it was half past one and rather difficult to find an occupied table out of the heat of the sun to have lunch.

Our chosen brasserie was called Peres et Filles and although it cost three times as much as at La Fontaine we thoroughly enjoyed a long, leisurely meal until mid afternoon.

Bear was in the mood to walk again and was determined to explore as much as possible. We walked round the courtyard of the Louvre and then wandered aimlessly until we came across directions to St. Sulpice. We found it and went inside where he admired the organs and bought a guide book (which I subsequently lost).

After a browse round the Antiques Fair by the church we found ourselves by a gate to the Luxembourg gardens and went in. It opened up into a huge park where we became thoroughly lost and had to ask a policeman how to get out.

It was then that Bear decided he wanted to walk to Notre Dame.

He used to have a good sense of direction but I reckon it has worn out with age because he took the most roundabout route imaginable and it began to tell on his legs.

He had virtually seized up by the time we reached the bridge and then we found a long queue to visit the Cathedral. There wouldn't be time to go in. We had to find a taxi for the station.

There was a taxi stand nearby with lots of hopeful passengers but no cabs. We stood there for about 10 minutes and not one taxi came by so we decided to walk to the next taxi point as standing still was worse than moving.

Bear became rather miserable as the pain got worse and he wasn't in the mood to respond to any of my suggestions like 'have a coffee' or 'sit down on a bench'. Eventually we found ourselves at the Pompidou centre and he decided he could walk the rest of the way! By the time we reached Rue Sebastopol he had had enough but trying to hail a taxi was useless. They were all occupied.

In desperation I askd three policemen if they knew a phone number to call a taxi. They were polite and helpful but could only suggest we make it to the next bus stop and see which came along first - an empty cab or a bus.

Bear limped to the bus stop but I was quite worried about him by then. A bus came quite quickly but it was packed. We got on but it was standing room only and we were squashed beside the driver. Nevertheless, he still allowed more passengers to squeeze in.

What a relief when Gare de l'Est came into view and we were able to get out of that tin of sardines.

The station was absolutely heaving. Bear desperately needed to sit down but there wasn't a seat anywhere. I felt I was holding him up as he was swaying a bit. Then I saw a sign proclaiming 'help for handicapped travellers'. They had vacant chairs inside so I pushed Bear forward and said ,

"He's not handicapped but he's 80 and can't walk any further. Please may he wait here?"

They were very kind and he collapsed into a seat. I went to get some water and wiped his head and neck with a cold tissue as well as making him drink. He pulled out a soggy envelope from his shirt pocket. The tickets - it looked as though a cat had peed on them.

"They're all wet with sweat." he said, "You'd better go and stamp them."

Yuk; first I had to wave them about to dry  for 10 minutes or so and even then the machine wasn't happy. It kept telling me to turn the ticket round but eventually, with lots of clicking and grinding noises it printed the necessary time and date.

At last the TGV drew into platform 25 and we were able to find carriage 12 - they were labelled this time - and negotiate the eccentric seat numbering to find our places; 15 and 16 (which were in front of 71 and 72!).

On the way home Bear said how much he had enjoyed the day, despite his aches and pains, and how we ought to do this more often.

Yes, I'm all for it. Paris is so much more relaxed than London. It's a real pleasure to explore this lovely capital. If ever I had to choose a city to live in it would be Paris but we'd have to win the lottery first.