Paris

There's 12 minutes left on the Internet PC I'm using in the Youth Hostel. This one's going to be quick and not rewritten for hours or interupted or whatever. I've been in Paris a week, stayed in two different areas of Paris 'off the beaten track' (I hate that phrase yet love it) and have really had a great time seeing the 'real' Paris. Most of the time I've been writing, or sitting thinking about writing, or writing about what I'm thinking. It's all the same to me. 10 minutes left. At least this PC has an English keyboard so I can touch type and not have to back track or think about where the fucking punctuation is, not that I'm using much but you have no idea how long it takes to find a blooy comma or apostraphe on a French keyboard. Hence why I avoided blogging previously. Also, I'm red raw with sunburn from Versailles, so I'm quite happy NOT to do much today i.e. sit around smoking and drinking very black fucking coffee. Caffine sounds so good right now. I'd be quite happy to go back to sleep, and no doubt I will on Eurostar this evening. My head must have been in some weird place when I booked a late train back to London, because seriously I don't want to lug around my luggage all day, I'm not going to see anything or go anywhere unless it's to meet up with DC again because he talks sense and the rest of France doesn't. Or does in French but that's no good. 5 minutes to go. The stool I'm on is too low, or the top half of my body is too short. Either way I feel like a dwarf. I'm so throughly everything right now. 3 minutes. I sat thinking about nothing for too long. Bored.

I guess that's enough until tomorrow when I don't feel quite so dead and I'm sat at my own desk looking at all my posters. I miss having faces I know around me.