Wednesday night! Only 2 more sleeps before I head home to Paris. To think that it has come to this – I actually count sleeps to my return to Paris. Contrast this with me sobbing my heart out when I left Melbourne for Paris after our short 2 week holiday.
Living in a hotel does weird things to a person. Not wanting to face yet another extremely long dinner with my French colleague (long because he has his main meal, a dessert and a coffee, not to mention a couple of cigarettes afterwards. Then add the intervals where he stops eating to talk thus making the whole process even longer), I headed to the closest restaurant last night and got myself a huge take-away spaghetti.
I then realised I had a problem:
(Diving head first into a large tub of spaghetti in tomato sauce is not a great look – even when one is alone in a dingy hotel room.)
Solution to problem:
Buy a pack of 20 white plastic picnic forks from the nearest petrol station.
What do I do now with 20 plastic forks?
Wonder if I’ll get stopped at customs on the way home with 20 plastic forks in my hand luggage?