Wednesday (was it) - who cares?

Whatever day it was it was the first day there. It started at midnight and ended 24 hours later. In this timeframe several things happened. First was the clock struck 12 midnight, then it progressed to a couple of seconds past and then! three seconds. Only 11 hours 59 minutes 57 seconds left to write about!

It was started by us not having an alarm call and relying on my little casio watch. Breakfast was a budget and a minute. I pinched some bread for later. Jay ended up eating this a couple of hours later. He didn�t know I�d smuggled it away from the breakfast table by sticking it up my sleeves.

To the coach. It�s the usual tour. About the touristy things through the much more interesting red light district. Huge buildings with the word �sex� on them. I think we took some pictures.

Didn�t take pictures of the more traditional sights but I took a picture of someone taking a picture of a traditional sight. We were pretty unimpressed with them, sharing the attitude that we might as well buy postcards. Everyone knows what they look like anyway. They�re small rectangles of paper and you put a stamp on it and, so long as it�s got an address on, they can end up in that destination. Mary explains the sights as we approach them. Meanwhile a lamp post considers jumping into a river.

Well - I thought it was funny. Perhaps I stand alone on a mountain of confusion.

Most people are heading off to a museum - but we�re going to a cemetery. wave goodbye to Helen and her chums and head off to see where we all end up really. But this is where the famous (and dead) people reside. I was about to say �live�.

This is Jim Morrisons grave. He died and they buried him (so the story goes).

Anyway there�s loads of graffiti dedicated to this man, scribbled all over the place. It�s such a big tourist attraction. It�s the only thing that keeps it alive. It�s while I stop to take a picture of a bin with an arrow pointing to the location of the above that the group seems to disappear. It�s me and JD

We leave from a completely different exit and decide to walk to the louver not knowing where it is or where we are. It�s a recipe for being lost and not caring that much about it. Eating bread that�s been up sleeves, buying bottled water and resorting to bus routes to work out where the hell we are.
Very soon we�re dying for a piss and there�s not a latrine in sight. Well the whole of France is a latrine - but it�s worth about 10 francs or so. But to get your money�s worth you�d probably do a shite. I remember quite enjoying this period of the day, especially when missing the louver was decided that it was inevitable to settle for some overpaid cokes and 7 ups. Chill, pee - we�re wagging lessons in style as the louver was compulsory. I think we had some chips. It cost a fortune.

Leisurely walk to the Louver and pick up a French new wave picture of some film we saw in media in context. Then write Cal a postcard. It�s divided into two bits, my bit saying �Hello, if you wanna know anything about the trip ask me when I get back�.

ffffffffffffff