I don't want to get up at 7am tomorrow to go my French lesson. Qu'est-ce le point? Last night we went for drinks around Bastille and I ended the night with a ham and cheese crêpe. Again I must ask myself, what is the point? The bar was good, except the cocktail waiter kept smashing glasses trying to twirl them through the air.
It was nice for me and Lauren to be with two people on holiday in Paris, it made me think 'Fuck, people come here on holiday and I spend most of my time in bed eating butter.'
I got nice and drunk and was prepared to go back to Lauren's and finish a box of wine off, but then the mum of the family texted me saying that the eight year old was poorly and that I might have to go and look after her the following day at 8am. She said that I would have to take her temperature.
On my first day with this new family (I need a name for them so you don't get confused with Family Thrift- let's call them Family Decent) the mum showed me the thermometer and told me that if one of the kids was ever ill I would have to take their temperature with this by putting it up their bum.
Ever since I have been dreading the moment that I will have to stick this thermometer up some poor child’s bum.
Thankfully, the eight year old was better by the morning and I was able to roll out of bed two minutes before it was time to pick the little boy up and have lunch with him. Chicken and broccoli do not make a nice breakfast by the way.
Why must the French stick things up their ill children’s bums? What is wrong with the mouth, the ear or under the arm? Lauren’s Parisian landlady told her that when she was on holiday in England, the doctor gave her a thermometer and told her to put it under her tongue. She was confused and tried to explain that it would be better if she put it in her anus… when he eventually got the cut of her hideous jib the doctor was horrified and said to her ‘I forbid you from doing that’. Once he left the room, she put it up her bum anyway because, as she said to Lauren ‘It’s what all the French do.’