My favourite London cinema is Ciné Lumière, comfy seats, no popcorn chobblers, nice French café, and quite often an interesting Q&A after the film.
Seems that lots of people are prepared to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon engrossed in French noir and  this 1989 adaptation of one of Simenon's romans durs - about a lonely voyeur suspected of murder - turned out to be taut, gripping, erotic, sad and brilliantly acted. The added bonus was a discussion afterwards with Simenon's biographers Pierre Assouline and Patrick Marnham.
Although the tetchy lady who dismissed the film as 'unhealthy' - what was she expecting, they're not called romans durs for nothing - made me wonder if there might be a market for wholesome noir. Noir lite?
There's another Simenon movie coming soon, but it doesn't sound as good.

So many temptations on the way home. I've managed to resist  this merveilleux meringue shop, not willpower, but I pass the icecream shop first. (Could I manage a double scoop of salted caramel and Nutella and then a stonking big meringue? Of course, I could. But probably best not. Frenchwomen don't get fat but I do. )