It's all over the papers in France this morning, and it'll be all over the papers around the world tomorrow, so let me get my oar in quick. Sarkozy's new bint is the flute-voiced, feline ex-model Carla Bruni. The pair were spotted by paparazzi at Disneyland on Saturday. What is interesting is the pictures are not of the furtive, long-range variety, but clearly taken with the couple's knowledge -- and one can only assume, approval. Christophe Barbier, the well-informed editor of l'Express magazine , says that the president has been looking for a way to make the relationship public. Subscribers to Champs-Elysees will be familiar with the 38 year-old Carla Bruni, who we have written about in the past. After some years as a top model, she took to singing and her first album Quelqu'un m'a dit was a massive hit. He second album, which came out in 2007, consisted of bits of English poetry set to music. It was execrable and bombed. So what kind of a gal is la Bruni? She is from an extremely wealthy Italian family, her sister is the actress Valerie Tadeschi-Bruni. She is definitely a "pipol" to use the ghastly neologism. She had a relationship recently with the son-in-law of tele-philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy, which says something of the circles she moves in. The default position of Latin Quarter chic chicks is normally stuck on the left. It is interesting that Sarkozy -- for one of them at least -- is no longer beyond the pale.

The BNF's new show is x-rated

A fulfilling morning at the Bibliotheque Nationale reading porn and (unusually) not feeling guilty. Here you can while away the hours looking at pictures of tumescent aristos and lusty nuns and pretend it is all in a good cause. The excuse is the National Library's "Enfer" exhibition, featuring the collection of banned erotica that it has built up since royal times. The collection, of about 2,000 books, was dubbed "Hell" in the 1830s in a rare moment of humour by the library's censors. No-one was allowed access until the late 60s, when the walls came down here as elsewhere. This is the first time the erotica/ pornography has been brought together for public display, and pretty strong stuff it is too. I particularly enjoyed (because I have read a lot about it recently ) the libellous material concocted against Marie-Antoinette. You can see why she grew to hate the Paris mob. Filthy. There are almanachs giving the names, specialities and addresses of early 19th century whores; boxes of eye-popping photographs; an extraordinary 1921 porn-flic which leaves nothing to the imagination; and lurid engravings from the 18th century novel "Therese philosophe" about the sexual awakening of a young woman. Plus the Marquis de Sade of course. All in all, enough to bring out the rude in any prude. Adults only.

Bikes are not always welcome in Paris

Following up on my last rant, here is the latest in the saga about how in the supposedly "green" 14th arrondissement things conspire against us bikers. You may recall that I was served with a notice from the "syndic" that looks after our building that I was required to move my bicycle from the courtyard and put in on the street (where it will certainly be damaged or nicked). Apparently my keeping it in the courtyard is against the rules, and they have the right to call in the "pompiers" to throw it out. I have steadfastly refused the pressure, and a few days ago we had a house meeting: all the "proprietaires" getting together to see if we could work out a compromise. Luckily it turned out that nearly all of my neighbours are reasonable people, who cannot understand what the fuss is about. My bike -- and there are a few others too -- do no harm to anyone. They just lean against the wall, making the place look agreeably like an Oxford college. Every day we cycle them to work, thereby contributing strictly zilch to global warming and the clouds of Paris car-smog. Good arguments, I thought. But of course, I had counted without Mademoiselle X, who I am now convinced is the villain of the piece. She must be the one who has been anonymous writing letters to the "syndic", even though she's never dared to confront me directly. For her, it is simply inconceivable that there be a debate about the matter. The rules are the rules, so the bikes have to go. But her sense of indignation is purely abstract. She cannot possibly mind the bikes per se. It is the fact that technically they should not be there that bothers her so. Dare I say it, it is a deeply unpleasant frame of mind, reminiscent of certain less happy periods of French history. Thank God she is a minority of one.