No Pram, no problem.

An opportunity presented itself that could, should and would not not be ignored if ever presented to parents of a baby. A weekend in Paris without your 10 month old. Yes please, pass the passport.

The airport at 5.30am -  glass of bubbles, bacon sandwich and a travel guide in hand. We wondered  what to do with three whole days without a pram. Climb stairs for a start.

Mid flight, we dumped the travel guide and decided to organise "rien." Let's get back to pre-schedule life.

French side we headed to the taxi rank until we realised we could live dangerously and even...get the train. No pram, no problem.

Staying off the Champs Élysées we were drinking double espressos and vin rouge within the hour, preparing for our waking to St. Germain des Pres.

200 photos later (photographer husband) we ended up in Les Deux Magots, restaurant to the stars of yesteryear and today.

Squeezed  in between a Puerto Rican  couple and an effortlessly beautiful French lady we ate, drank and wasted an afternoon watching the world go by. Elegant women, smoking as they carried their groceries home, couples smooching on the road side and tourists mooching along.  And not one pram or high char in sight.

We had to wait until sunset before leaving the area so my husband could get the shot he needed. Knowing this could take hours but aware he could never do this with a screaming child attached to him, I played assistant and stood in the drizzling rain as the Eiffel Tower twinkled down at us. I missed my baby, but being able to just hang out in Paris was a treat.

Shot in the can we headed back ready to meet friends for a drink and enjoy a meal.

One late night meal later, we were in bed, enjoying the peace. Until the locals decided to set up outside our hotel room at 3am and 5am and beep their horns for 20 minutes at a time. This was not on the agenda.

The following day we headed, bleary-eyed, to Montmatre and meandered through the streets,  taking yet more photos. The small art shops were a pleasure to peruse and the cafe tables nestled dangerously close to the road were a delight to dine at. I felt like I would bump into Hemingway at any moment.

Eventually, tired of foot and fuzzy of head we had to head to the outskirts of town to watch a TV show being made that starred a close friend. Perched on the front row on prime time TV, we spent 4 hours smiling on camera , clapping enthusiastically and standing for ovation after ovation.

Post filming and dressing room celebrations  it was 2am and I dreamt of the soft, white pillows over on the 16th. But that was a dream. The Parisians wanted to party and so, at 2am we went out. My body clock was all over the place and I'd only travelled to France.

Ushered into an underground club, we danced to a melange of rock, pop and hip hop. Famous rugby players, pop stars and comedy actors filled the den and everyone wanted to party,

By 6am I was eventually in bed. I'd regret this on Monday morning.

Our final day we took it easy. A leisurely lunch at the Brasserie Lipp, back over In the 6th was all we could handle before our flight home. The atmosphere was buzzing, the food divine and yet again the tables were dangerously close together. Stocked up on carbs, I was ready to get home.

Paris was a joy, with two hands free and no bottles to sterlise but next time, please can I sleep a little bit?