16/08/22 20:42 

You know what would be weird?  If I popped into an Irish bar in Paris for an €8 cidre.  Okay, scary price aside, this Irish bar is the one I’ve taken photos of before and like Bar Latino, I’ve never been in to.  And now, flâneuring through Paris once more, I’ve take the step of stepping inside O’Sullivans.  Although it could be Yates or O’Neills.  But it’s a pub.  In Paris.  With the same surname as Team Leader Jim.  Which is pretty awesome for me. 

Dinner continued after the soup with confit de canard et frites and finally, as expected, I was asked for my choice of dessert from the prix fix €18 dinner menu.  But without looking at the menu.  I remembered that I didn’t want the fruit salad as I feared it may have been be a Del Monte special.  And I didn’t say yes.  It may actually have been fresh fruit, prepared on the spot at the time of my order, by why risk it for a biscuit?  Somehow, my mind pictured the missing menu and I decided to go with the only other thing I managed to recall – tiramisu.  I don’t know how the Italians do it and I don’t know if this one was a decidedly different decision to alter it but the cream on top was amazing.  There was no brandy or coffee (I’m not sure which I’m meant to be missing) but it still hit the pudding spot. 

Chelsea, no wait, it’s Rangers, are playing PSV Eindhoven on the big screen beside me.  I’ve no idea of the reason for it nor who is commentating, although I think Canal+ do it in French.  The reason I’ve no idea is because the volume is off and there are no subtitles.  This is so the music gets to be pumped through decently volumed speakers.  Thankfully, it’s an Irish bar so I don’t have the Latino draw to get me up and dancing.  Or sitting and critiquing those who do.  That said, I’m not sure if Purple Disco Machine featuring Tasita D’Mour are Irish or not. 

The toilets –  

“Où sont les toilettes, s’il vous plait?”   

“Upstairs.”  Goes upstairs.    

“Où sont les toilettes, s’il vous plait?”   

“Ils sont ici” 

– weren’t as grim as I’d expected but there were no discernable differences on the doors.  As I walked past the one sink, there was a door with the international symbol for lady on it.  On the door next to it was nothing.  And both the lid and seat were up.  Which, internationally, means it’s the gents’.  So, I used it.  Upon returning to the unisex sink, I happened upon a door to the left.  Which had the international sign for gents’ on it.  I wonder if that’s why the barman gave me a funny look for ordering the €8 cidre? 

I don’t know what an average wage is for Paris.  Nor am I aware of the cost of living – bills, mobile, rent, car insurance and the rest.  The reason I say that is, obviously before the global financial fuck-up that the majority of us normal people are facing, I wonder how it fares living here (or just outside the Periphique) and working/socialising in Paris.  There must be cheaper areas to go and get drunk of a weekend.  I haven’t explored the greater parts of Paris, the suburbs.  Nor have I actually managed to come to realise before today that each area of Paris is actually its own little area over and above the arrondissement it is sits in.  That’s more learning I feel I need to be doing.  But do the locals, residents and regulars know them?  Once my language skills are vastly improved, I’ll think about getting around to asking for directions and/or an interview.  Maybe under the guise of being an author researching for my new book. 

I’m definitely feeling the flow of writing more today.  Much more my style.  I may need to take more solo breaks to Paris, flâneur around and sit down when I can, to take jots about what I can.  Or take a month off and pray I can afford to live here and not worry about being sacked.