A chance flicking through of the television channels this evening opened up the possibility of a wonderful experience.

Not being enamoured of a World Cup final that included a side where thirteen players come from clubs facing charges of match-fixing and corruption, a switch to RTE 1 brought a programme about a television presenter and a celebrity gardener visiting Paris. Their itinerary included the usual sights, but then a car was hired and they headed out of the city, negotiating the traffic lottery of the Arc de Triomphe on the way.

They drove to a garden established by the impressionist painter Claude Monet in the 19^th Century, it was a paradise of colour. Each alley was an array of beauty. The garden was at Giverny, a small town west of the capital.

Suddenly there was a moment of inspiration, landing at Ouistreham in Normandy on Saturday, 5^th August at 7.30 a.m., we wondered where we would spend the day, not being due in our Paris destination until the evening. I dug out my road atlas and searched for Giverny; there it was beside the A13 motorway, the motorway from Caen to Paris. Our question about where to go was answered – Monet’s garden.

But what if match-fixing scandal involving the Italian footballers had not been uncovered?

I would have been more interested in the World Cup final; then I wouldn’t have changed channel; then I wouldn’t have seen the Paris programme; then I wouldn’t have learned of Monet’s garden.

Life seems to be a terrible matter of chance.