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Graph
Graph 1: my icecream consuming tendancies.
Graph 2: Funicular vs Cable Car activity. I am now home but felt I should complete the story with the story of the journey home just to have the whole thing nicely wrapped up.
The Club Class 'Roomette' on the train from Barcelona to Paris lived up to expectations except for the complementary wash bag was an opague plasticky thing rather than the swanky zip-up purple bag that Lucy and I got on our previous Spanish tour. To my relief it still contained the earplugs, nuggett of soap, nit comb, mini sowing kit and flat pack toothbrush and paste set, all nicely offset with a pack of three soft tissues. I enjoyed having my own roomette so much that I kept sipping from my hip flask at regular intervals and so after a quiet plink on the ukulele I slept very soundly.
Once in Paris I got myself to Gare De Nord to leave my bag in the lockers as I had a few hours to hang around in town. Now that I wasn't ill/drugged and it wasn't rainy and cold but lovely sunshine I was determined to have a nice day to make up for the horrible day I had on my way out. I
first had to overcome the frustration of not finding a cash machine - everywhere there were ticket machines - enough for every passenger to have their own personalised machine I should think... but no bloody cash machines. I found myself swearing under my breath repeatedly until I went out on to the street and found one. My, was I grouchy.
I stowed my luggage safely but took my ukulele with me and headed up to Montmartre - the back bit which was a bit quieter. I wended around and then decided to walk down into town - all the way down Rue Pigalle and Chausee Dantin. I desperately wanted a pee, but had to hold it in until I found a back door into Gallerie LaFayette where I could relieve myself (in the toilet, not amongst the shopping public...).
After this I made my way to the Tuillerie gardens by the Louvre and found one of those nice green reclining chairs which turned out to be on an ideal incline for ukulele playing. I annoyed the other park people for a good 45 minutes with my picking (no singing though, that would just be too cruel) though I
have mastered the art of playing very quietly so that unless you come with 10 cm of my uke it looks like I'm miming. So hopefully I wasn't really too annoying.
Then it was time to get back to the station. In the EuroStar queue I somewhat reluctantly entered into conversation with an elderly lady who wanted to know what my ukulele was. She reminded me of a mixture of Dot from Coronation St and someone else I can't quite put my finger on. She was demure and composed, at the same time as being rather perplexed and inquisitive with a touch of disdain for good measure. I told her that my ukulele was a ukulele and she then wanted to know what sort of music I played on it - I said I covered most styles; classical, pop, jazz and folk... She blinked when I said folk. It turned out she was on her way to Cecil Sharp House for a course on 18th Century Ballroom dancing. I thought that was pretty cool. I found it rather awkward because she made me want to laugh a lot as she took everything so very seriously and had no sense
of humour, but every time laughed she winced. However she persevered with her interrogation until we were parted at passport control. I was quite relieved as there was a whole hour to wait until boarding and I couldn't face another hour of awkward conversation. I hid out in L'Occitaine until I could ascertain her position then made sure she didn't see me.
There was a delay as there'd been a breakdown earlier that day, but nothing a swig or two of whisky couldn't sort out...
Cx
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