OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 22: Breakfast in Bed!

Part 22:   Breakfast in Bed!

(No-one ever said Blogs have to be sequential; our man in europe -in point!)


In Paris for 5 minutes...and aside of a bout of Pneumonia/extremely exagerated reports of my death abounding in cyber-space...I'm already in Love with a girl called (really!)

LOLA.

Quite (ahem!) un-requited, of course (she doesnt call back) I fold my despair and roam the Metro linguini, popping up at stations with mythical, mystical and Historical names.

Abesses.
Pigalle.
Who-ever "Madelaine" is...she must be very popular because everyone gets off there!

Rue de Bac, finally, and up to the street I come... en cue for an outbreak of biblical rain whereby the City, my Tuxedo AND I

get HOSED!!!!

At the nearest, er...watering hole...I attempt to restore my earlier "joi de vie" with a large Whisky, beer chasers:

"Rive gauche" Paris parades by.

Burberry umbrellas; TRES gauche! Surrounding stores displaying absolutely useless million dollar knick-knacks
(This aint Montmartre)
Bus stop! Bus stop!
A pantomime of old ladies. The only young one throws me a smile, I smile back; WE smile!....:)
Blonde, incidentally.

Should'a, could'a, ought'a ha, didn't...

I note - with mild disgust - that kiddie Scooters (the one's we had as children, back in the 60's) have had more sucess in Paris than any town in the U.S.A., especially with guys OVER 35 years old.

Why settle for a "leg-push" scooter when you can have a Pontiac...in Racing Car red?

...Fur lined-hooded Parkas... No eco-p.c. dead Skunk fur scruples in THIS town.

OOO! Actor Johnny Depp (Capt Jack) and escort, I kid you not! -now sitting at the next table. Furtive, talking in hushed tones;

"Good to see ya!"-I say NOT.

Arriving blondes are not so courteous, and...alas...ogle the poor man.

And the rain goes into Tropical gear, the rush hour (it's always rush hour in Paris) traffic roars and honks and splashes; my heated cafe trat-terrace; smoker's heaven.

OOO! I think I just lost/ate my last tooth whilst nibbling on the free snackie petite bagels!
...Tasted good, though. (?)

There's something quite satisfying about eating your own body parts. Like sucking the blood on a cut finger.
...I must make a note of that.

You get the flu?
You eat your foot!

"Heel or toe, Monsieur?"
"I'll leave it to the Chef.
"Breakfast in bed?"
"Buggered if I know!?.... Ask Captain Jack!!!"

c 2010. davedelacroix/our man in europe/ paris