Thirty years ago, I fell in love with and subsequently married a Frenchwoman from Paris. She has put up with my daft enthusiasms (Darling; I want to make my life about art!) and screwy business ventures for all that time. She has staying power, I can tell you that much.

 The above art dwells in fantasy-land, where all we men look like the young Alain Delon and women look as if they just undulated off the catwalk. This is where advertisers get you; They sell you what you already want. Of course, I’m a fifty-something grey-haired galoot and look like a cross between William Haig and the Michelin Man but we can dream…and Michelin is French, n’est-ce pas?

It goes without saying that my darling wife is just as beautiful, stylish and youthful as the day I met her carrying her poodle outside Les Galeries Lafayette when I pulled up on my Lambretta to adjust my pocket square and shades.