Legends from our own lunchtimes

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Work Day
- Paris

Without the prospect of visitors this morning, we really did expect to spend it knocking off a few items of housekeeping, perhaps a load of washing or two, a tidy here, a clean there, a bit of paint touch up, nothing special, just the jobs that needed doing.     

When it's cold in the morning though there is little incentive to leave the warmth of the spare-no-expense all seasons doona from Mr Ikea's top shelf, so that although we were awake at what some may think was a terribly indecently early hour, we certainly didn't waste an opportunity to have a long lie in while we waited for the temperature to become more civilised.   We may have waited a little too long in retrospect, because once we had risen it seemed more appropriate to set out on a small foraging mission than to get on with the jobs in hand, and by the time we returned to base with a few odds and ends it was ten past lunch time.

Then of course there was the need to catch forty winks after such an early non-start, and by the time that was done we both felt we needed a bit of a walk to get ourselves back in the mood to do some work.

For an hour or so we wandered aimlessly round the Marais, a district renowned for its colour, in contrast  the painter strangely dressed in a single monotone of grey oblivious to his celebrity.  For a time I wondered if he was trying to be one of those human statue things and I almost started fishing through my dictionary to find enough words to tell him he'd have to move just a bit less if he wanted any decent tips, but thought better of it in the end.

With a seemingly never ending variety of things to discover, we noted that we'd need a year just to get to know that little piece of the city alone, as we turned beside the Centre Pompidou, scooting through Les Halles and finally meandering along the length of the Avenue Champs Elysees.    

With the blood in our bodies by that time circulating nicely as blood is supposed to do after a seven or eight kilometre walk, we were well and truly ready to become productive, but alas as we'd run out of time to start any jobs.

Tomorrow is a public holiday, and it has "washing day" written all over it.

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