Had a very nice weekend with Mr H and Les Capons, pottling round Paris and heading to see the tennis. OK, so it seems my suggestion of visiting the French Sewers (yes, a museum – really) proved to be the least popular petit-voyage, as instead of being somewhat reminiscent of the Phantom of the Opera with dark lit passages and illuminated gargolyes by gondola (which is how I remember the Istanbul sewers, 20 years ago) they were… pretty much stinky and sewer-like.
Dull tunnels and some impenetrable exhibitions, plus an all-pervading niff of… well… l’excrement. And not even a quick purchasing thrill to be had in the shop, where the best item was a large stuffed rat. Ah, not exactly the Champs Elysees Underground Stylee…
But the rest was a joyous stream of crevettes, huitres and bulots, interspersed with a practically inhuman amount of baguette. Why is French bread so goddam good?
Oh and the tennis wasn’t bad either. Apart from some legendarily inexplicable French organising (ah yes, if you leave the court we will give you a special re-entry token… but when you come back actually we don’t want to see that – just your actual ticket’. Allez figurez.. Anyhow, we saw Serena Williams narrowly whip some blonde Rusky in a great game, and a Men’s game with David Ferrer, with the screams of 30,000 excited Frenchies in the background as Tsonga beat Federer on their Centre Court.
And with Mr H almost back on form post-op, life chez Chateau Hawkes is almost back to normal… just in time for le soleil to finally come out.
Sx