Ah, to be buried in Père Lachaise!! What more could you want? Jim Morrison nearly went apoplectic trying to get the Parisian authorities to allow him to be buried there, and eventually succeeded, and, if his grave isn’t the most ideally situated, lost as it is behind a gigantic edifice to some French writer, it is still one of the most visited. The cemetery is beautifully laid out – pardon the pun – with great rustling trees providing suitable ambiance and rows of serious-looking crypts and mausoleums lining the walkways, clad in a respectable amount of climbing ivy. I made my way quickly to Oscar Wilde’s crypt, and like many others, left the pursed red ring of my lipstick mark on its marble wall, a kiss for his work and his courage, and fondly recalled a line from his play, The Importance of Being Ernest: ‘One must be serious about something, if one wants to have any amusement in life.’