After finally being allowed out of my practical, I pegged up to the train station and just caught my train to Paris.
Half-way to Paris, the train stopped unexpectedly between stations, the doors opened and we stood stock still. For a long time. With no indication when we might set off again. I had cut things pretty fine for getting to the airport (to minimize the amount of school I would have to miss) and was pretty sure I was going to miss my flight.
Half an hour later, we suddenly got underway (the doors, quite remarkably, still open) and we pulled into St Lazare rather late.
Quite astonishingly, as we alighted, we were greeted by a dozen or so station staff clutching pre-paid envelopes for us to claim a refund, each one stuffed with a certificate of delay. Someone should tell Great Western.
Luckily I arrived in enough time, but it was a little too tight for pleasure.
As for pleasure, the first thing spotted outside the airport was a Wurst van. With a nice English tag-line. It's hard to make out but reads, "When things get Wurst, call: ..."
And then, once in town, there was the boutique selling nothing but Lindt bunnies.
Desperate for the loo, I shelled out a princely euro for the loo at the station. I find it obscene to pay 30p now at Victoria so was expecting great things. Well how's this for a station urinal? (An embarrassing photo to take.)
Having found my sister's new flat, I slipped out into the night to do some shopping. Found some chocolate bars.
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