I have happy memories of the last time I stayed in Montmartre, sat on a windowsill with a glass of Pernod watching the tourists walking up the hill to the Sacre-Coeur. You could see them all looking up thinking "lucky b'stard living there!" as it was a room in a converted convent that from the outside looked like a typical tenement. They probably imagined I was some Gauloises-smoking artist ekeing out a tough but romantic existence. In reality I was just another Brit having a weekend away.