Cocktails at the embassy by the sea tomorrow.
In 26 days my postcode will start with WC1 again. The first thing I'll do is go grocery shopping, buy candles and a blanket and lie on our secret rooftop terrace, listening to the familiar sounds of the city. J'ai tellement hâte that my brain is aching.
I'm trying to concoct an application for a job in Paris but my French has gotten so rusty it's almost embarrassing. Not even Claude Nougaro can save me now.
At a party a few weeks ago someone's eyes widened when I answered to the age-old question of what do you do with your life?
I guess everyone's always living someone else's dream.
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