Some people drink, some gamble and others smoke but as most people
know by now, my addiction is Paris. If I tried to count the amount of
times I’ve been in the last 3 years, I’d run out of fingers and I’m
pretty sure that the cost of my addiction would highlight my need for
an intervention. Either way, moving across the Atlantic Ocean not only
scares me for obvious reasons but also for the very unsettling fact that
I can’t just jump on the Eurostar when I’m in need of a French fix.
Which is why when a Jillisa bought me tickets to Paris as my leaving
present, I got just as excited, if not more, than a smiling, speed
walking junkie in Camden.
We filled our 2 night, 3 day stay with a return ticket to the year
2062 (an exhibition based on sociological and technological changes in
the next 50 years), where I embarrassingly jumped at the chance to write
an email to myself in the future (sorry Jill). On our last night, a 3
course meal fed, Jillisa, myself and my newly inked up dove ended our
trip with a surprise visit to a mutual friend’s birthday party, where
all on my own, I managed to prove why alcohol is so often frowned upon.
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| Dessert time! |
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| ‘2062, Aller-Retour Vers Le Futur’ |
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| Distracting posters at the tattoo parlor |
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| The morning after the night before |
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