My Paris Problem

One of my students recently remarked "You go to Paris too much." It was at that moment that I realised I had a problem; I vowed I'd change, get help and go back to school. I'd take the second chance I'd been offered and really do something with my life.
And then James said he'd be in Paris.

I arrived on Saturday arvo to meet with Dani and it was exactly as we'd left things: she was hungover and I hadn't slept enough. We went to Shakespeare and Company to meet Rose, who was acting as a bouncer because that's how popular Shakespeare and Company is. We then went to go and get lunch, where we had possibly the most Honey Badger waiter I've ever seen: he literally threw the cutlery at us. I'm really glad none of us needed a steak knife.

After lunch, we went for a look around the French version of poundland and I found an almost literal gallon of conditioner for seven euros. If I'd had the strength to lug it around for two days, I would've bought it and my hair would finally have become the sleek wave of brunette that it deserves to be. Then, we headed to Luxemburg Gardens, where Dani and I recreated that scene from Forrest Gump:

"Mama always said that life is like a cheesey box."

And then we wandered the park for a while, taking in the daffodils and various statues of deers fornicating, lions preening and a really meta statue of a woman looking at a statue. And then we parted ways so I could go and meet James.

We met at Harry's- an old wateringhole of Hemingway's, don't you know? James was on good form and had apparently fallen for the moveable feast just like many before him- he was saying how he plans to return to Paris soon and how much better it is than London. He was stuck by the vivacity and carefree nature of the French, and also how he recognised loads of the locations from Assassin's Creed.
We drank heartily and then realised that it was almost exactly a year since we were both in Bedlam Reduced and that, indeed, this year's edition was playing that night, so we sent them our own 'break a leg' pictogram:

And if some one does break a leg, at least do a Rosie Pierce and get right back up before falling over again.

I was staying with Matt and David, so I headed over there, and we went out for a quick drink at an Irish bar, where I was hoping to woo the owner with our shared heritage and thus get free drinks, but alas he wasn't there. Still, I tried a 'monkey brain', which is grenadine, baileys and vodka and tastes like strawberries and cream mixed with nail polish remover- that is to say, surprisingly delicious.

The next day, I was meeting with Nicole and John; Nicole and I met at Gare du Nord at 11 am, but Johnny boy had slept in and so whilst we waited, we made up insuting nicknames for him.
Eventually showed up and we decided to head over to the Disney store so that Nicole could buy an Easter present for her bae and, weirdly, they had a little plushie toy of John there:

What a funky looking donkey.

After this, we sat around sticking our tongues out at each other and appreciating the sun like the bunch of lizards that we are (interesting fact: the collective noun for lizards is 'a lounge'). But then John remembered that he needed to buy a present for his friend and after hours of searching, he finally returned with a picture which he then proceeded to drop all around town like it was a hot microphone.

Finally, it came time to say 'goodbye'. For realsies. There are no more weekends left when we can all meet up.
Nicole and I live on the same continent, occasionally; we will probably see each other again. In fact  I'll make an effort to see her again. But John lives off in the New World, and not in any part that I have any desire to visit. I may never lay eyes on him again- but I'll always remember the ease with which he named the members of N*Sync and how he was watching just a little bit too much gay porn to be straight.

And so that was how I relapsed into my Paris problem; but hey, I'll be going cold turkey in just under three weeks' time. Yep, I'll be chained to my bed, hallucinating swivel-headed babies in tiny little berets; let's just hope the Moveable Feast doesn't follow me.