As I write this I'm speeding through the French countryside on a train tilting periously to the right trying not to spill tea on the keyboard. Vive l'Eurostar! And the good sense I've got to use it often. Spent an overindulgent weekend in Paris eating too much bread and cheese, drinking too much wine, spending too much money. It rained, everything I own is wet or stinking of galoises, and I've had about three hours of sleep, but I'm feeling fine. Even if I stink of camembert .

I accidentially stumbled onto the end of the Tour de France and watched as the stream of nylon-clad bodies whizzed past. Wish I had had my camera, but was going to meet a friend for coffee and didn't bring it with me. Coffee turned into dinner turned into drinks turned into dancing turned into very restless sleep where I dreamt an entire episode of a sitcom that starred Lucille Ball and Scott Baio (no, I don't understand either.)

Going home tonight to watch the lovely Guillaume Depardieu in Peau d'ange and the hard-to-find Guesch Patti movie.