I am ill. Like a silly little weed I cough and I blow my nose while the fashion week is flying past me. If had a pass Id be there ill or dead, no difference! But instead on the metro I cough into my hat looking shocked and disgraced at my own sickness. While I am actually choking on that irritating tickle at the back of the throat and going slightly smurf-esque in the face. I decide that I hate Madeleine and Concorde.

Lack of things to do is giving me deranged ideas of re-organising my itunes even more than they already are.

Ah but I lie, even though I am a weed I have not declined an offer of visiting a musician’s flat on the first settlement of Parisian life, the isle of Notre Dame.

There I sit (coughing) drinking freshly brewed coffee, listening to music whose composer is sitting opposite me. I get tough how to play chess. I feel slightly more intelligent. He plays a lullaby for me on his piano.

He wears vintage suits and matching ties, his collection of ties makes me ponder on a thought that he could be a serial strangler. He offers me a crep, i decline in caution of spoiling my good luck with the Frenchness of it all.

Perfect, I tick the box of meeting a real French romantic in a matter of 18 days! Lovely. 

Ps; A crystal Castles gig is swapped for Phil Collins. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s