The sails of the Moulin Rouge turned slowly yesterday and so did the Irish football fans still in Paris, many of whom had celebrated too hard the night before.
A few turned towards Bordeaux, at least in thought, and next Saturday’s game with Belgium.
Some turned to a different sport: horse racing at Royal Ascot, which was taking up the slack on pub televisions.
Next door to the Moulin, meanwhile, on a bench in O’Sullivan’s bar at lunchtime, one Irish fan just turned over, sleeping off the excesses that followed the 1-1 draw with Sweden.
Much of the partying had taken place on the street outside, the Boulevard de Clichy. It included a moment of black comedy late on Monday, when the vast throng of green-shirted revellers was at its most exuberant.
As always, the madness was watched from a safe distance by a few nervous-looking policemen, doing their best, in the circumstances, to provide a security cordon.
Nearby, somebody was playing music. And when a song by Aslan came on, everybody joined in, unthinkingly regaling police with a chorus of: “How can I protect you in this crazy world?”
But as well as being unintended, the joke was lost in translation for the unsmiling officers.
Which was just as well: because about the same time, in an outer suburb of Paris, it was turning sour for one of their colleagues, a victim of the random terrorist attacks the organisers of Euro 2016 so fear.
Homing pigeons
Being creatures of the night, Irish supporters were much less of a presence on the streets yesterday morning. But like homing pigeons, they began to gather in and around O’Sullivan’s, Corcoran’s and the Harp from early afternoon onwards as another night’s festivities gradually gathered force.
Few were inclined to make the trip around the corner to Montmartre cemetery, where a sign near the gate advertises an A-list of celebrity residents including Berlioz, Degas and Zola (Émile, not Gianfranco).
In fact, Zola is only a former resident, Paris being one of the few places where you can move to a better address even in death.
The writer’s remains were promoted to the Pantheon in 1908, although his tomb remains.
So on Monday night, he was not among those at risk of being woken by the Irish.
Another Pigalle tourist attraction, also tragically unvisited by football supporters, is the Musée de la Vie Romantique.
Hidden away up a cobbled courtyard, it celebrates the lives and fashions of the 19th century romantics, including George Sand and her lover Chopin, who were among the many visitors to the period home in which the collection is housed.
Opening defeat
Exhibits include a cast of Chopin’s left hand, but few if any Irish football fans seem to have viewed it.
Irish names were conspicuously absent from the visitors’ book, where people from all over the world declare the museum and its gardens “lovely”, “adorable” or “charming”.
Irish football fans are romantic in their own way, of course – they have to be. Even now, many are daring to dream dreams in which the Belgians fall apart after their opening defeat and the Italians, by then on two wins from two and already qualified, go easy on us in the last group game.
In fact, somebody could create a museum of romantic life inspired by the hopes (usually disappointed) of Irish football fans.
But Chopin’s left hand would not be much use. The key exhibit – this week anyway – would be Wes Hoolahan’s right foot.
