Paris, Friday evening - Right – let’s get down to business.
Like my Bloggernaut compadre Dirsy, my nerves are currently clanging like a fire engine bell.
And while Ben is dealing with his personal squeaky-bum hour by splitting his time equally between the bathroom and his packet of cigarettes, I’m going for the classic diversionary tactics.
Rather than torturing myself with the thought of how I’ll feel if I don’t get a ticket, I’m drawing up a provisional timetable for Saturday’s shenanigans.
