Did the snow fuck up my Eurostar to London? Did I get to see Deadmau5? If so, did I manage to get back to Paris? Did I get stuck in London and get fired??
I’m sure nobody is asking themselves these questions because nobody gives a fuck, but to me this weekend has been a little adventure and I want to write it down word by word so that I can relive it, after all, what’s that quote about how writers write to taste life twice?
It’s nearly one am and I know I’m not Having a Rave, Dave, but I’m going to go to bed. I have to look after three kids for eleven hours tomorrow and they don’t like me and we don’t speak the same language and it is the Christmas holidays and they are expecting me to have planned lots of fun things to do with them and in fact I have a sheet of Christmas stickers and my coat smells like damp car park.
On the other hand, if I stay up all night it will be like this weekend never ended, so I might stay up for a bit longer, photoshopping the pictures from Saturday night because I cried all my make-up off on the Eurostar when we broke down in Calais and we were already supposed to be at St Pancras…