The real attack on French culture here is the parliament's decision to reinforce the state of emergency, by no way a banner for tourists or French citizens alike. We look at France as the birthplace of modern democracy, and the country's founding call for liberté is something we should not take for granted the world over.
No-one knows who's here and anyone can simply walk in. In the chaos, many - including children, whether they are with their parents or not - are at huge risk of abuse and exploitation. Even when people have lodged asylum claims in France, the system is so slow that some give up waiting and try their luck jumping into the back of a lorry to cross the Channel. People smugglers live here, we were told, and gang rivalries sometimes erupt into violence, making already vulnerable people even more so.
Professor Jean Pierre Tourtier, Chief Medic of the Paris Fire Brigade, had never spoken in public about the aftermath of the massacre at Charlie Hebdo. His precise descriptions of what he saw had a barely-suppressed intensity that took me by surprise: "The first thing I remember, even before I entered the Charlie Hebdo office - was the smell. A smell that was a mix of gunpowder and blood - that metallic smell of blood. Then I saw a pile of bodies. And someone at the back of the meeting room said - in a voice that was almost gentle - 'Monsieur, s'il vous plaît, aidez-moi'."
In October 2009, I set out on a rugby tour to France with thirty teenage boys. I had uncovered the sad story at our London club, Rosslyn Park, of a lost Great War memorial; a 1919 press clipping stated 72 had died, but no names. Some 109 names of men who lived, loved, played, fought and fell have now emerged from club records and lost memory.