Suitable for all ages...

After the horror of the last entry I thought I'd get you back to rabbits and marshmallows and fluffy stuff. And then I remembered I live in Paris. With the French. So there's only one way rabbit could be served to you. Preferably on a plate covered in 'Jus de Vin Rouge'. 'But isn't Paris romantic and beautiful?' you cry. Yes. If being forced into a glass lift up the tower of death, pushed out into a tiny, cramped viewing platform whilst the wind blows the grey metallic structure to and fro and then having your left hand forced off of the safety rail you grip tightly so some moron can stick a ring onto it whilst on bended knee is your idea of romance. Then yes. It is. But please note it's far safer for the proposer. He is crouched below the safety barrier in relative safety whilst you cling on with one hand. ONE hand. And on that note the ginger boyfriend arrives this weekend. You will find us mostly gazing into one another's eyes whilst sipping Champagne in beautiful Bistros eating Rabbit and walking arm in arm along the river whilst James massages the sparkling diamond ring in his pocket waiting for the perfect moment to get down on one knee. Or...maybe you'll just find us drunk in some cheap bar, enjoying the delights of a post beer McDonalds and arguing about how rubbish Liverpool are in comparison to West Ham. And the diamond in James's pocket? Turns out it was just an old coin and he can't get on one knee due to running injuries after his intensive Triathalon training. But seriously. West Ham. I ask you? 

I am crouched over my computer in the style of the little old lady who lived in the shoe. Crooked. All the work on my posture is being reversed as the killer cold tries once again to take possession of my lungs. It got a huge leg up from Francois today who had the class in a state of collapse after one hour of miming Ice skating. I think he may have broken me and no matter how many times his little 'Bassein' passed by me, nothing would have made that class easier. Although if you ever have an emergency situation where you require someone to mime Ice skating then 'I'm your man'. 

I'm particularly fond of the French term for Flu/cold. 'The grip.' I am imagining some medieval disease with puss and boils and a pungent smell. But the smell may just be wee. It rains piss here there's so much of it lying around. I think it's time for me to go and die somewhere whilst the boils breed from the cluster round my mouth. Two months since I've seen the boyfriend. Of course this is the perfect week for an outbreak of spots.