(no subject)

Je suis en France. I was so tired after the hefting of suitcase across York and to Paris that I spent some of my birthday money on a taxi. It took the same time as the Metro, but I didn't have to further damage my shoulder and I got to chat with a flirty taxi driver who told me many stories. Would you believe it's the first taxi I've ever taken in France? I've been scared by horror stories and, since this is the voyage for facing fears, I have one more reason to be glad for birthday money.My nic aaxi driver carefully analysed my French when I complained it was insufficent. Apparently I'm only ungrammatical when i stop and worry - apart from that I'm still fine. My accent faded as we chatted, which amused him intensely. He used to help out in a wine bar in the Latin Quarter and befriended a British writer, who would order a bottle of red to help him work. Said writer has since died and my driver moved on and we mourned for a moment.

Paris is a lot warmer than York, but still wet. Eurostar was sardinelike and border formalities were almost non-existent. I bought a sandwich at the station to eat here, since I knew i wouldn't want to go out tonight. I'm watching French TV and pondering the work I ought to do ut have not yet done. I did manage to read one of the new Angry Robot books while being sardined on Eurostar, so there are comments on that to be blogged in my near future. I chunnelled while reading about a zombie detective who was shifting worlds: it was quite appropriate.

Rien de plus. I have made a mess of my room and need to do a little tidying if I want to sleep tonight. This would be because I entirely mucked up my packing in York and lost sight of basics such as clothes. I unpacked all over my nice double bed. It's a very colourful mess, but it *is* a mess. (Hotel Ariane has wifi, in case you hadn't worked that out from me blogging. I'll check in every evening and mornings when I remember.)