My kettle troubles aside, things were going pretty well.
The first day proper was split into two; at first we would clean and tidy the remains of my sister’s flat, which sounds as though it exploded but really it didn’t, and then head to the park for a picnic and ice cream. I won’t bore you with the details of how much I hoovered and dusted and carried what seemed like endless bags of rubbish downstairs to the bins. Apparently France does not have any charity shops so unless you can palm your tat off on neighbours or friends all of it goes in the refuse. With the chores out the way it meant we could trek to the park for sandwiches and crisps.
The temperature was uncomfortable to say the least. Even under the shade of a tree I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. It got worse as we ambled through the sights of the park. Not only did they have acres and acres of beautiful scenery but they also had a free animal sanctuary / zoo which had bears, giraffes, freaky cats and crazy monkeys. Further along, a lake stretching as far as the eye could see. Further still, a piano sitting in a small clearing in the woods where anybody can have a go at playing it. The man sat when we walked past was struggling to find a song to compliment his friend’s voice and in the end gave up and started belting out Lady Gaga tunes instead.
After a rest and some chow at home we headed out for some drinks. I had already emptied most of the bottle of Captain Morgans so I was feeling the buzz. My sister took me too a novelty bar on a boat where huge burly men blocked our way only to wave us after some gentle persuasion. Downstairs was a bit morose so we ventured upstairs where a small crowd was developing on the dance floor for numerous cheesy songs. Apparently these are very popular in France and even I with my musical fascism found some music to flail my limbs to. As I had spent a fair amount of the day cleaning a flat then walking around in the baking heat the idea of staying up until the small hours of the morning didn’t sit well with me, however I managed well enough and we jaunted back around 2am singing Beatles songs to passers-by.
There were no party crisps when we got back, only lukewarm water and a surprisingly large collection of biscuits which disagreed with my insides and I fell on the sofa hoping to dream of dancing bears and French pastries.