French National Day

I'm decidedly not an organisation queen. French Guy's flat being at the other end of London, and myself not being entirely sure how to get there, I left home early last night. Way too early.
So, when I had to change buses in Holborn, I decided I could take a little break from public transports.

Another thing I love about London, is that freaks and weirdos are left free to walk around anywhere, day and night. So, no one makes funny faces when yet another freak is sat at a busy bus stop, downing a can of cider from the corner shop, fag in hand, and smiling with contentment.
(Unnecessary precision; said freak=me).

Still with time on my hands, I called my friend Liz, who I knew had just moved around the area. Or so I thought. She invited me over, and -blame the cider- I found myself somewhere at the north end of route 243, in the flat shared by that group of good friends, who I refer to myself as the "shmookin-creek". It says it all.

We had barely found time for a proper chat since our trip to Amsterdam in July, so, an hour and a half later, I was still there, unable to say no to the third joint, and deeply convinced that playing football with a burnt toast across the kitchen was the funniest activity ever practiced in human history. Oh dear...

Somehow, I managed to get my brains back together and remembered I had a date. Late. Actually, "late" isn't strong enough. So I stumbled out and hailed a cab, forgetting behind me bottle of wine, crackers and grapes I had bought. And oh yes, the damn condoms from Boots!
Surely, a night in at your boyfriend's (or in that particular case, at your whatever's, we haven't defined that yet...), should not cost you a penny, but so far I had wasted £25 (cab+ various supplies). Oh dear...

Thank God, French Guy still looked very happy to see me, and didn't seem to notice the state I was in.
Believe me it isn't a legend; the French are really really good kissers. And this isn't a legend either; weed makes us girls really really horny. You do the maths. Should I feel the need to precise that the DVD played itself over and over again whole night in the middle of an empty living room?


I woke up this morning craving food (result of skipping dinner, smoking on an empty stomach followed by much physical activity), and sex. I was dripping wet, again. But he looked so cute fast asleep with his arm around my waist that I couldn't bring myself to wake him, so I lifted the duvet and intended to discreetly finish myself off while he was still unconscious. I think it's my shaking which woke him up... Too late sweetie! I kissed him good morning/good bye, grabbed my clothes and hurried off to the first Pret-a-Manger I could find.
Unspecified expenses: the second pair of socks I've lost at his place in a week (do socks fetishists exist?) plus an earring this time.

When I put down on the counter enough provisions to hold a week-long siege, the man at the till eyed me bizarrely, and asked if it was all for me, or was I being a good girlfriend and bringing breakfast to my man? (Eew...)
"Not my style. All for me, but don't worry, I'll burn it off!
-I bet!" (Eew...)
It wasn't until I went to the loo that I noticed I had eye make-up spread all other my face, and my hair -still the French factor I guess- was very Brigitte Bardot-like in her "bed-head" famous do.


On the bus back home, I was going through my usual routine to safely doze off ( sunglasses on, bag firmly stuck in between my head and the window, alarm set for twenty minutes later - I once woke up in Heathrow and it's not an experience I'm prepared to reiterate), when I was disturbed by a "Eskiuz mee, do you speak Fwench?".
Maybe it was still the effect of all the pot I smoked last night, but I started giggling even before opening my eyes. And when I did open them, damn, he was cute!
So oui, I did speak Fwench! He told me he was freshly landed in London, looking for places to go out and people to go out with, while, as French guys tend to do I noticed, quite obviously hitting on me... So when he asked, I did give him my number, and promised I would show him around.

Apparently, meeting cute French guys on the bus is becoming a new addiction of mine. Like I needed another one!

Time to go though, OG is showing up in an hour...