I always know its the weekend because I get an extra hour in bed in the morning and the shop is five times as busy. Other than that I have little or no way of knowing which day it is, partialy because they’re all of a similar format, viz. get up, open shop, read/write/chat, work two hours, drink, close shop, drink, bed. The other reason is that the French call them silly things like Mercredi and Dimanche, so even if I do see a day written down I wont necesseraly twig automaticaly which one it is. That isn’t to say I dont know the days of the week in French, but I wont pick up which one we’re on casualy, I’d have to be looking for it.

So I cant remember when half the stuff I’m going to write up happened, although I can garentee you that it has been between my last blog post and whichever date the internet has stuck on this one.

One day, which for the sake of argument we will call Monday, or as our continental bretheren would say lundi, (see, I know my French) I opened the shop before going with Patrick, Lucy and Milly to Savanna’s grandparents’ flat out at Montmatre for a waffle breakfast. Savanna’s granny had owned a B&B and made superb waffles with bannana, walnuts , bacon and maple syrup. Good chat all round, and a three waffle ballast to the day.

We had another event in the shop that evening (if indeed it was Monday) where some bods chatted about litterary magasines. I was organising the mulled wine again (I have developed something of a reputation in this regard) and you can now see a picture of me on the S&Co FB page. That’s right, I’ve made it.

Last night I went to Panmellis’ vernissage with the A-Team of Pat, Lucy and Milly. Panmellis was in excelent form as always, and we drank champagne and ate smoked salmon whilst admirin her peice, a composition of different sections of the Giant’s Causway on for different canvases. I’m sure she wont’ mind me reproducin the image here:

http://www.hivernales.fr/artiste2012/panmelis/

Panmellis, for those of you who do not read this blog too keenly, is the intimidating woman who runs the poetry teaparties. Small, Welsh, and brutaly honest, she’s an utterly amazing human being. Her son and grandson were there as well, and she’d put on a rather extravagent spread of sandwiches, crisps and booze. Alas, we couldn’t stay for too long as we had to go back to shut up shop (the unfortunate caveat of tumbleweeding.) Still we managed a little look around some of the other exhibits including the 18+ section. Amidst some rather extravagant canvases there was a wanking machine made from an old treddle sewing machine. The creator gave a demonstration of the mechanics, and I must say it didn’t look like it would be supremely comfortable. One nice touch was a part of the machine which flipped down images of scantily clad women, priests and nuns so you could have something appropriate to look at whilst getting your jollies.

What more is there to tell you delightful hobbits? I’ve been on more missions across Paris, ridden the Montmatre funicular, and taken great delight in stopping people from taking photos in the shop. The time has gone by rather rapidly and I am aware that but a few days sepperates me from my return to the UK. Still – that is the future and I’m busy enough with now.

More instalments at irregular intervals soon, later, or not at all.