Tak tak tak tak...

Walking down the street this evening I wrote the most fabulous blog you could ever read. In my head. Problem with being a Gannon woman is memory is a problem and you are left with a poor imitation of what was once a work of genius. That's life.

It's 12.39am and I should have been in bed a long time ago. Instead I am listening to the new Ludovico Einaudi album after going to see him live tonight. Stunning. Utterly stunning. He's the guy to the left. Italian. Looks upper class English.

Today I stepped over the threshold of BNP. No don't panic. I vote Conservative but I'm not a fascist. The bank. BNP Paribas. Wanted to make references and jokes about the unfortunate name the whole time I was there but resisted the urge in consideration of the fact I wanted them to give me an account. I now have to wait two to four weeks for them to validate everything. One hour and 20 minutes I was in the little room with the man. If they don't give me an account after that I am going in there with an invoice for time given plus interest.

Immediately after on my stop off for a daily sweet fix I told the local patisserie man (in French I might add) who told me I was beautiful, that no I didn't want to go to the cinema or dinner with him as I had a boyfriend but thanks. Just as friends. Er... (do I carry on being English polite here?) Maybe he could have my number. 'Oh, I don't have one.' Not a lie as I don't have a French one. 'I could give you mine and then we could go to the cinema or for dinner.' 'Er...Maybe.' I said that because a) I was still being polite (the man sold me sweets, he's like my version of a crack dealer) and b) I have wanted to use Peut-etre (scuse spellng again) ever since I learnt what it meant. Love that word/phrase in French. Means maybe, perhaps and can be. Please no one actually use me to learn French...especially if writing it. At this rate we'll be lucky if I'm speaking French after two years, I'm never going to be writing it. I can't write English. However, as he kept talking at me, looking at me to actually take the number, even as I had one foot outside the door, and I had ran out of French and politeness I just resorted to saying 'Non, non, non.' as I edged out the door and walked quickly away. Tomorrow I'm going back to the shop with the rude people for sweets. Is it not enough that I'm buying cellulite in a little bag, do I really need anything else to go with it?

I'm delighted to say the song I came out of the concert humming is on the album.

I'm not delighted to tell you that the supply of Marks and Spencers tights I bought before leaving the UK fall down at the crotch after only a ten minute wear. I'm not talking about a pair I put on for a second day running after realising that 'Damn' I had no clean tights to go with the outfit I desperately wanted to wear but Straight out of the laundry...no today's pair straight out of the packet tights. Mr Mark's and Mr Spencer have let me down. Who would have thought it?

Oh and today at school I learnt that I am mostly vacant. Which is also true in life so I think we maybe onto something here...

And tak tak tak...

(etc etc etc)