Put on your red light

Waking late and with a fuzzy head this morning I did what any sane English girl should do of a Sunday in Paris. I went to an English pub. Read an English newspaper and watched a football game whilst drinking over priced lager. I did speak French with one person. Well when I say I spoke French...Mainly it consisted of him saying something to me in French about the football game, me nodding and saying 'Oui...d'accord' No idea what I was agreeing to. And then once I had established he was supporting Man United I told him 'Je Deteste Man Utd'. So all in all I think I managed to keep an air of France in my English Sunday. And clearly my French is getting good.

The pub itself is at the end of a little road full of peep shows and sex shops and dancing girls. So I also got to see a little of the French culture as I rushed to get to the pub for the game which was already five minutes in. It was worth it. We stuffed them.

Last night I had my first Parisian house party. Chic chic chic. The lady who owns the flat has Chanel cushions. Which leads me to my next point that I think Chanel is stalking me. She found me twice yesterday. Once in the little vintage shop and then I turn up to a party and lo and behold who is there? I think we could become friends.

Roxanne...Roxanne...Roxanne...put on your red light. Roxanne. The song came on in half time and I was about to turn to the English Liverpool fan I had been  talking to throughout the game and tell him about the drinking game that goes with Roxanne. That you drink every time Sting says Roxanne. It starts easy but at the end of the song...And then I remembered I was paying £6.50 a pint and thought, maybe not. And I missed my sister more than I can say.