Can you say, what?

After my abrusk return to Normandy a few weeks ago there have been many-a-thing to happen. I started work, and caught up with my blogs, and met some people, and fell around, and avoided getting sick. One of the most promising things, however, despite a trip to Rouen (for which photos will follow in the coming time), was a trip to Paris for Emma’s birthday.

She invited a bunch of her friends from England to come to Paris and celebrate a jolly-old-time. I reluctantly agreed to go to the city that I so distaingfully loathe, but if not for only one night, how could it be so bad? I woke up quite early on a Saturday to get on a train, and who knew that SNCF had trains from Caen to Paris St Lazare, non-stop? Anyways, we got there after the quickest train ever, and met up with a few of Emma’s friends, then spent the afternoon amusing ourselves before the other 15 arrived.

The evening we took a nap, started drinking, went to a resteraunt, and frolicked around the city. All is well that ends well, after being the francophone shepherd of the English people with no knowledge of French, we eventually came back to our hostel to hear recounts of penises, oddly, castration, oddly, and other nutella-topiced conversations. It was lovely.

I slept like a log, and then woke up, faked having breakfast and being disgusted with my hair, which hadn’t seen product in nearly 72 hours, took the English people to Porte Maillot to catch their bus to the Beauvais Airport, and then returned to St-Lazare which was deserted, and got on the next train. I didn’t want to stay in the city longer like the rest, as I was already outstayed my Paris welcome. I got home and wallowed in my room whilst napping and eating chocolate bears.

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