Early to bed, early to rise.

The Big E was up early as was his Mum, he was early half a dozen times throughout the night actually, and finally decided it really was morning not long before the sun turned up for the day.   I read somewhere that jetlag is hard to explain to someone younger than two and we probably aren't in a position to argue with that at the moment.    Mr Five on the other hand, pulled out of his coma somewhere round sunrise as well, firing on all cylinders, in full anticipation of a big day in the playground that is Paris, and the promise of some genuine French food for lunch (a Nutella Crepe from a street vendor).  With the boat filled to the brim with enthusiam, it wasn't too difficult to organise the entire bunch so that we arrived at the Eiffel Tower not too long after opening time.

By opening time however, the queue to buy tickets to scale the tower was close to three days long, so plans to climb it were abandoned instantly, and a short (for anyone who is not a jet-lagged five year old) walk, interrupted only by an interval in a playground involving what seemed like activities of ever increasing degrees of difficulty, had us within climbing distance of the next tallest thing in Paris;- the Arche de Triomphe.  There, Mr Five happily joined his parents for the climb to the top, while his grandparents quite sensibly sat under a shady tree with the Big E in repose.

The Big E himself seemed somewhat fatigued by his nocturnal efforts, compounded by with the strain of concentrating on perfecting his style at his brother's instruction session in stunt slippery dipping, and was quite content not to be climbing a set of stairs the likes of which he'd never seen in the under three's playground.