I have a fitful night’s sleep – though my Fitbit tells me that I’ve had a really good one. It didn’t feel that way, as I seemed to have woken up several times. The streets are really narrow and they magnify all the sounds from the street below. I dread to think what it’s like closer to the ground floor. However, it’s a comfy bed and (in contrast to Barcelona) I take my time getting up.

No hotel room is complete without a fight with the shower. For once, the controls are simple but the shower head can’t be adjusted and I turn the water on and get blasted directly in the face. If I was shorter, I guess the water would arc gently overhead but as it is, it makes the whole process a little tricky. But the water is hot and strong … hold on, isn’t that the coffee?

The petit dejeuner is simple – and very French.

There are several of us sat around watching news programmes, most of which seem to be about some kick-ball game last weekend where the Liverpool football fans covered themselves with glory. (History has since then shown that they might not have been completely at fault – but generally it’s a good idea not to piss off gendarmes who have a low level of tolerance in a city that has had several terrorist incidents targeting them in the last few years.) It’s a proud day to be English, so I try to eat with a French accent. The coffee is amazing – strong but without a bitter after taste. It genuinely feels that this is the first time I’ve relaxed for four days, so I revel in it.

Revelling done, it’s time to head out into Paris. It’s a hot, sunny day and the plan is to walk down to the Metro at Le Pelletier, get a 2 day ticket and then go down to Ile de la Citie. It’s a great day for a walk, so I decide to just walk all the way and take in the atmosphere of this beautiful city.

The route takes me through the Louvre. I toy with going in just so that I can say I’ve seen the Mona Lisa, but decide to press on to the Seine.

I turn my back on the Eiffel Tower (which is clearly trying to hide and doing a bad job of it) and head down the Seine to the Pont Neuf.

I cross the Pont Neuf and then find that the southern half of Ile de La Citie has been cordoned off. So I head to the south bank and work my way down there. I start to be a bit concerned that I won’t be able to get to Notre Dame, but the Rue de la Citie bridge is open and I manage to get back across.

Although the front seems undamaged, the renovation work is still going on and I can’t get close to the building. As I walk down the side, I can see that the roof is still missing and there is a huge amount of work that needs to be done.

It’s such a shame to see this incredible building like this. There are signs everywhere saying that they want to get all the restoration work complete in time for the 2024 Olympics – but they have a huge job ahead of them.

I head on down the Seine, walk along the Ile Saint-Louis and then head inland to the Place de la Bastille.

At this point, I decide to finally give in and take the Metro. Mainly because my right leg is really hurting, with a persistent pain in the calf. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it isn’t going away – typical, this is meant to be the good leg! I ride the Metro as far as Les Invalides (ironic, no?) and then slowly head for the Eiffel Tower – very slowly as I have a guided tour booked for three hours time. I could get some lunch, but I don’t want to pig out twice in a day and I’m looking forward to revisiting the Bouillon Pigale tonight. I find a little patisserie called La Trinquelinette and have a hot single serve quiche lorraine and a cup of scalding coffee.

The calm is broken by the arrival of an American family (or, at least, the female members of one). The youngest wants a strawberry tart for her breakfast (seriously, it’s nearly mid-day!). One panics when her friend orders something that may have almonds in it. They then sit down and continue conversing as though they were sat at the opposite ends of a concert hall. Ok, I may be exaggerating a tad…. but only a tad.

A Scottish lady comes in with a little girl in a pushchair. She gets her daughter to order her own baguette in French and the staff are amazing with her. In fact, they are clearly using the same skills they used when I was trying to order. I finish my lunch off with a tiny slice of opera cake which is sweet, bitter, chocolatey and very rich. Yum.

I then head off to the Eiffel Tower and get stuck behind a group of American tourists (for some reason, there are a lot of them around here). One seems to be petrified of pigeons, so one of her friends helps by scaring them in such a way that they fly up into her face. It looks so much fun that I’m tempted to join in, but I suspect it’s a game that she’s not enjoying judging by her regular and ear-splitting shrieks.

Finally, I get to the Eiffel Tower – which as expected is huge and eiffely.

It’s impressively big – but I knew that as I could see it from the airplane as we arrived yesterday. It towers over the city even more than the Sagrada Familia does in Barcelona. I am very tempted to turn to the Americans and ask if they know where the Eiffel Tower is, but I suspect they wouldn’t get the joke. I still have some time before I can be impolitely early to meet my tour guide, so I grab a seat, recharge my phone, have a drink and re-apply the sun block.

The sun goes in while I’m doing that, so I skip the sun block – I suspect I might regret that later. I head past the Eiffel Tower to the Seine. This whole area is crowded and there are lots of people doing street art and selling what can be politely described as “complete tat”. I choke down the temptation to buy a day-glo green Eiffel Tower for the people who gave me a lift to the airport – I figure they have already suffered enough.

My leg seems to be getting better, so I wander down towards the meeting point for the guided tour. I am still obscenely early, but I have a chat with a very nice lady who doesn’t mind me settling down in their comfortable seating area. I buy a bottle of water, plug my phone and sundry other electrical items into their bank of chargers and relax.

The time for the tour finally comes around, by which time there are about twenty of us. I get given a purple circle to wear – that means I’m only going to the second floor rather than all the way to the top. Our guide Mauro introduces himself and makes sure we’re clear on the procedures. There are some items we are not allowed to take into the tower: knives & scissors (all very sensible), padlocks and flags. “Padlocks” is clearly to stop this “love padlock” fad extending to the tower. “Flags” is a little stranger.

Mauro is a great guide and keeps up a constant stream of information – some of which I find interesting and will regurgitate for your “benefit”. The Eiffel Tower is currently being re-painted gold for 2024. A team of 25 people is working on it – which, given the size, doesn’t seem anywhere near enough. As we go up, I can see ropes and harnesses everywhere.

Mauro makes us all feel better by pointing out that you don’t get a much better view from the top – the majority of Paris is laid out in such a way that you can see everything from the second floor. He points out the sights, including the “second ugliest building in the world”. (It’s in the third photo below. Can you work out which one he means?) He admits that it’s not actually THAT ugly – it’s just that it’s so intrusive.

He tells us that there will be some changes prior to 2024 – the whole area between the tower and the Trocadero (last of the above photos) is going to be pedestrianised.

Mauro also talks about Notre Dame. Like me, he doesn’t think they will finish in time. He says that while the decision to use traditional building methods to renovate it is a good one, there are only a handful of people in the country who still have those skills. As a result work is way behind schedule. He also tells us about some alternative plans that were put forward for the rebuilding. One suggested putting in a rooftop swimming pool. Another proposed replacing the roof with a glass one that tourists could walk around on. Mauro pointed out that neither was totally appropriate for a place of worship – especially given the view that worshippers would get up the skirts of female tourists.

Mauro is a great guide, but he eventually leaves us to our own devices. I have a good wander around, and then head down. I decide to take the stairs – presumably, because I am a moron. Predictably, by the time I get down to ground level my right leg is absolutely killing me.

I limp down to the Metro at the Ecole Militaire and head straight back to Pigalle. After successfully negotiating the maze of exits using a ball of string and a remarkably helpful Cretan woman, I head straight to the Bouillon Pigalle.

Today’s meal is farmhouse pate, skate wing with capers and a really excellent lemon tart. I have a very slow and relaxing meal and then limp back to the hotel. I hope my leg will be better after a night’s rest. If not, I’ll have to re-think my plan for tomorrow.