The reason I’m desperate to leave the apartment is because it’s my day off and I don’t really want to be cooped up inside watching TV and getting cosy in my duvet, eating ice-cream from a tub with lots of toffee sauce and multi-coloured sprinkles. Wait, let me rephrase. That’s what I’d love to be doing, but it’s what I shouldn’t be doing (damn you conscience!) This is a day for exploring Paris. For ruining my gorgeous leather boots in a 4-inch puddle. The day for frizzy hair, see-through white tops and damp jeans that chafe between your thighs. You know all those wonderful things brought on by the rain? I’m not fooled by those romantic movies where the guy and gal find themselves in the middle of a rainstorm and don’t try to run inside for shelter. Rather, they start locking lips in the middle of the street with the rain pelting them on the backside, the girl’s mascara (not) running down her face (geeez, she’s wearing the waterproof stuff), and her gorgeous mane of hair which manages to stay KMid style. That rain was totally photoshopped; I’m not fooled.
The “stuff” I’m currently listening to aggressively flooding the streets of Paris is altogether a different matter. The sort of rain which slides between cracks in the windows and before you know it your windowsill had become a haven of whirlpools.
The one question I have now is: is there an app on my phone which I can install to locate someone in Paris to purchase me an umbrella, and bring it to my door? Is that too much to ask?
Watch this space.