Jack's got the wrong tie and I give it a tug and shake my head as we pass. He's running late, as always, and so am I. So are the kids. I'm yelling, be...ging, threatening, getting everyone dressed and into the kitchen. Amy doesn't want to eat. She's getting fat. The boys won't like her if she has a little toast. JJ wants the chocolate cereal, not the one with the Tiger on it. Jilly is making a snowman out of her instant oatmeal.I spend five minutes arguing with Amy before she huffs and puffs. Youdon't believe me? Just try getting off a train at Gare de Lyon and findinga taxi driver who can speak French properly.That was my first experience of Paris.I had spent a year living in la Bourgogne, (which now considers itself partof real France) and was due to meet with Serge, the son of a teacher calledLaurence, who I had made friends with in Beaune. At least that was what Iwas told.Laurence had, quite sensibly, as soon as she had learnt to drive, persuadedher Papa to give her some. More

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