I really can’t say I’m getting much exercise in life. I don’t play tennis, I don’t play golf, I ride a little (but haven’t seen a horse in years), I don’t do marathons, hey, no, that’s not true, I do marathons, but not the speedy ones, I walk, a gentleman will always walk but never run. I’ve walked my most successful marathons in Paris, in somewhat 14 hours, coffee breaks included. One time, I bought a carnet, that’s ten métro tickets, and in a week I only used four of them, worst deal of my life, but the weather was great and I couldn’t stop marathoning, although I do love the métro, there’s nothing more seductive than being told “Palais Royal Musée du Louvre” or “Saint Paul” on my favourite métro line, ligne 1, always twice, the second time a little pushier, a little less charming, make up your mind, go and see the place, that voice is right, get up and get a life, walking is the thing, don’t ever give up, arrondissement after arrondissement, from one bank to the other, from the Marais to Quartier Latin, from St.Germain-des-Prés to Place de la Concorde, those bridges do make sense, and, truth be told, you want to earn all these cafés au lait and buttery croissants you have all day. They’re awfully fattening.