Great balls of fire

Yes, the Bastille Day fireworks were spectacular. Watching them glitter and bloom behind the Eiffel Tower with 600,000 other people on the Champ de Mars, I suffered a beauty overdose and actually wept in rapture.

But the highlight of the weekend's festivities was the much-anticipated Fireman's Ball on Friday night. We went to the caserne at Port Royal, paid our 5 Euros and entered a delirious fairyland of lights, laughter and libido. Firemen everywhere. In uniform, out of uniform, behind the bar, on top of the bar, dancing, flirting, smiling, welcoming. I was a little overcome to begin with, so we headed to the champagne bar to sit down with some bubbles and collect ourselves. Then, like kids in a candy store, we launched ourselves wide-eyed into the dancing throng, losing ourselves in the joyous energy. Grooving grandmothers, excited children, drunk girls, whooping boys; the whole neighbourhood enjoying this frenzy of good-natured fun. A surprising and wonderful mix of wholesome decadence, innocent debauchery, and good clean lust.

This city intoxicates me.