Wait, this isn't Paris...

You know where I'm supposed to be right now? I'm supposed to be stepping out of a French stereotype. I'm supposed to be wearing a beret, sniffing at various camemberts, swilling expensive red wine on the terrasse of some Grands Boulevards café. I'm supposed to be saying things like "ooh là là" or "comme ci, comme ça," or "Your mother was a HAMSTER and your father smelled of ELDERBERRIES!"

Dammit, I should be either striking or surrendering right now and instead I'm doing neither!!!

 Pictured: Me.

Pictured: Me.

Instead, I am curled up on my own sofa, in my own London flat, decidedly devoid of all things camembert and Beaujolais. 

Le sigh.

Allow me to explain: This afternoon, I was supposed to catch the Eurostar to Paris. The underwater train, as it were. The one that - when I was young - I used to think actually drove straight through the water. Like, with no tunnel, like some sort of amphibious submarine. Imagine my disappointment the first time I rode it and couldn't see any fish through the window.

Backing up a few hours from today's planned departure time, my Paris meeting got cancelled. Somewhat hilariously, because a protest is planned for that part of Paris tomorrow. Alas, there went my night in a fancy hotel staffed by mustachioed Frenchmen. There went my morning croissant. Quel dommage!

But it's all good. I'm instead enjoying a quiet night at home, realizing that I actually don't seem to get too many of these. Even at home, there always seems to be something to do weekday nights, doesn't there? Laundry, grocery shopping, catching up on some piece of work or another. Even when I take a 'do-nothing' night to myself, I often end up feeling guilty for not doing the things that I "should" be.

Tonight: none of that. It's a bonus night at home. There is nothing I need to be doing. I'm going to make myself a nice cup of tea, hop in the bathtub, and put on a good movie. Maybe something French, like Amélie, or Le Diner des Cons.

I just wish I had a beret.