The curious cat was a victim of drowning; or, an illustrated lesson in button-pressing

Hopping on our local 88 bus and changing more or less as planned, we arrived at school in excellent time to have a look around before our oral tests. Now, these are not exactly high-pressure examinations - just a wee chat to see which class we will end up in. On the way in we ran into Aaron, another St Andrews student, and subsequently Matt and Alissa who were recovering from a demenage (removal - that's French!) immediately followed by a day on the train getting to Paris.

I had a test of bizarrely short duration, which on reflection I attribute to the fact that Stephane, my teacher last year, had taken detailed notes on the progress of his students and they pretty much knew where they were going to put me, which is as he said last summer.

Here's a picture of the courtyard that I really like, so much so in fact that I poached it from last year.

We had to pick up our bursaries - I know it's not the school's money and certainly not that of those handing it out, but I still felt awkward taking that much cash and counting it out as they requested!

Right outside the office there was an accessible toilet. I embraced it, not literally, but almost, given the extremely low loo in our flat and the fact I am missing my toilet frame quite badly. The seat was angled and high and my curiosity was piqued by the various buttons next to the seat. After flushing as normal I decided that the thing to do would be to test these buttons, in the spirit of science and experimentation. History rewards the thinkers but celebrates the doers, I felt.

There was a bidet function which was predictably squirty at a low level, accompanied by a bottom drying button that blasted air upwards for brief periods. All very sensible and toilet-appropriate. Then there was the button marked "shower". I pressed that one and stood well back, just in case. This little nozzle whirred forth and water began to flow down into the toilet bowl. Bemused by the description of this function as "shower", I leaned forward, at which point a jet d'eau that would rival Geneva's hit me right in the face and continued right up the wall.

I am told that from outside, my squeals and eventual soaked appearance were quite funny. I am sure I am going to suffer some sort of post-trauma and develop a fear of toilets, showers or buttons in due course.

In the book shop at reception they were advertising this book, which to my mind asks a very important question.

Just up the rue d'Assass is a very fine establishment into which we wandered, seeking sustenance. The proprietor, as it turned out, spoke fluent English and was interested in us as Divinity students. Not for a moment did I imagine that my first long-ish conversation in France would consist of someone asking if I knew whether Murphy-O' Connor's books on Paul had been translated into French, and someone who not only knew that he taught at the Ecole Biblique but who had known him growing up. If that sounds like enough of a small-world anecdote, you would be mistaken, as it transpired that he had lived in Israel for many years and was taught by Carmelites, something which made him vaguely aware of the community in Haifa in which Mary worked.

Something else that I discovered in this cafe I have taken up with evangelical zeal. I do not want to give too many details of this original creation, lest it be appropriated by too many who would not appreciate its wonder, but let me just say: Pizza. Cone. Veggies. Mmmm.

After a short ride on the 94 bus, we joined the upper tour at Madeleine. Passing the Opera again, I took this picture of the cafe at which we stopped the day before.

Ah. Trinite church was a favourite site on the commute going back home last year, but was under renovation at the time. Now it appears that you can go in, so I must do that this year. Best seen, in my opinion, up the street below.

A glimpse of Sacre Coeur from the Blanche area.

A really interesting frieze on a building by the Barbes-Rouchechouart metro station, which I kept trying to locate last year.

A couple of destination-representing statues on the Gare du Nord.

The commentary looped a couple of times here, and we heard part of the story about the siege of Paris in the Franco-Prussian war, during which the Parisians had to eat rats and Maxim's served elephant from the zoo. Apparently it was hoped that large hot air balloons could be sent outside the city and returned with cattle to eat. Unfortunately, we never heard if they got their cow. Seems a long wait for a beefburger, to me.

Below, to my shame, is a perfectly decent picture of Place de la Republique avec my finger. Oops.

Around the St Martin area, in the east,

Gratuitous Opera picture, because I like it and will bring it up given the least cause.

Before hopping on the final section of the loop, we stopped for refuelling at St-Michel again. Here's a picture of the rue de la Huchette, which I frequented last year but never once photographed.

I had my first crepe with nutella and banana, while Mary tried the nutella and whipped cream.

Here's Mary's photo out the window.

Before we left, we had a partially intelligible conversation with the Greek table attendant. We spoke to a lot of Greeks the first couple of days.

Walking back from Denfert Rochereau, a task for which I was entirely too tired, I spotted this broken mirror out on the pavement and decided it was there just for the benefit of passers-by with cameras. Welcome to the rue Victor Considerant, slightly fragmented.

Just like the photographer. I slept ten hours after this.