So I’m sitting at Charles du Gaulle (sha-do-gu, as pronounced in these parts), having checked in 6 hours before just to be in a warm place with comfy seats.
I have said so before, and will do so again: I’m not a fan of Paris, and therefore do not have much time for her. After some reading in the Jardin du Luxembourg, I had a galette at the Pantheon, and went to visit Le Bon Marche – and their prices for Noro and Rowan were double what we pay in the antipodes. I was stunned. But it surely must be all about the store name in the case… Surely.
But after a morning of frustration, it’s good to be en route home.
I think James shares my sentiments. We can now avoid each other until the therapy sessions from the trauma of travelling together have ended, our bank balances have recovered, and more plots are planned. I know I’ll need therapy from his singing in public everywhere. (I’ve told him, he says that my words cut deep). But he has some soapbox sessions to write, and I have linen to knit.
So, that’s it from France. Thanks for reading! Normal transmissions about mundane things such as life in Wellington, books, knitting, food, and other sundry items will commence, with a few recap posts added, as soon as the jet lag has been dealt with. Stay tuned however, there are still plenty of mad cap adventures before the year ends.