I never cared much for Paris while I was there. I never had the romantic vision of it that others seem to; to me it was a city, just like any other, with its crowds and traffic, dodgy neighbourhoods, unsavoury characters, and perpetual grey skies.

But now that I’m back in Sydney, I desperately want to go back to Paris. Not to see anything, or do anything – just to sit somewhere, quietly, and soak it all in. It was rare that on any of my many trips into Paris I had the opportunity to stop and appreciate where I was. One of my favourite such times was the day after Christmas, slouched deep into my puffy winter coat on one of the recliners scattered by a fountain in the Tuileries, watching the world go by.

I never wanted to fall in love with Paris - my rationalist soul won’t let me indulge in such a romantic cliché. But with nostalgia’s rosey tint, But with nostalgia’s rosey tint, I have to admit that it’s not a terrible city. And that I felt more at home there than I do here.