Don't tell anyone or they'll lock you up

So yesterday evening I was waiting for a phone call. There is a spot near the entrance to my work place on St Germain boulevard that I like to stand when I am waiting for both something and nothing so I headed there to wait for the phone to ring. From that little square cobbled point, which is on a side street off the main boulevard, I like to look out at the city passing by. On many an occasion I have stood looking at the map of the quartier and lost myself in thought about the streets, parks and buildings that are in the area.

The main thing about staring into a map and loosing yourself is that you definitely need a map to do it. There was no map here now. Having noticed this rather obvious gap in my view I still felt a question tugging at my brain. OK, where did this lamppost come from?

I stand in this spot a lot, almost every day, I find it hard to believe someone could sneak in a lamppost without me noticing. Other things were troubling me too. The lamppost looked like it had been there forever. It had even acquired the ubiquitous urine stains that surround almost every permanent structure in Paris.

I walked around it looking at the floor. Everything seemed normal. I pondered over it for a while and then came to the conclusion that this lamp post had definitely been placed there by aliens with a disliking to dimly lit side streets. I decided to get a second opinion because if you're going to go around telling people that aliens are redesigning the city you want to make sure that your story makes sense.

I went back into work, walked up to reception and said,
"have you seen that lamppost before?"
There was a small pause where the French and Russian receptionists processed the sentence in their minds to make sure that what they'd heard was what I had said.
"Are you all right?" Virginie asked me.
"Er, yeah but I was just wondering If you had seen that lamppost before", then added "Oh and the map is missing too!"
Virginie and Anton stood up and looked over the reception counter, looked at each other, agreed that the map had indeed disappeared and the lamppost was new. I asked if they knew when it had happened but they hadn't seen any construction men out there. They also said that they don't generally take a great deal of interest in maps and lampposts. It was a good point that I had to agree with them on. My interest in these things is usually limited to needing maps when I'm lost and if there is a light around when this happens it would help matters tremendously to see where I'm about to mistakenly send myself. The situation here was different in that I was intrigued as to when the post had got there and why it looked like it had always been there. I couldn't help thinking that Parisian maintenance crews were under obligation to install and antediluvianate all fittings in the city. The more I thought about it the more I kind of liked this idea.

I wondered how many other objects in the city had provoked this line of thought and how many other people would question their mysteries in the way that I had. I already knew of two people who wouldn't but there must be more who think like me. I posed the question in my English lesson and quickly discovered that in fact I am nearly the only one who thinks this way. There was one inquisitive man who, when running his regular route, had seen English graffiti on a Parisian pavement. It asked "Are you there?" He wanted to know what was a grammatically correct response to this and I had to reply with "No, I moved. Now I'm here".

Well I'm still here and I still don't know what those aliens really wanted to achieve with a brighter street but if they come across this story I would like to say to them that the new old lights are fine by me but please leave the maps alone, I get lost easily.

Today I will mostly be walking that way

OK, you know when you have one very interesting girlfriend when you have a conversation like the one below

me: I need to get out of bed in the next 10 mins. put on a wash, go to the supermarket then make an actual dinner for myself this afternoon. This evening I'm going to the quiz and celebrating Karims birthday, what about you, do you think you will get to go home early today?

Catriona: no, i am meeting the ice maidens at 7pm then going to see Jelena afterwards about our cloaks

I find I just don't meet enough ice maidens these days.

As it turned out my day was pretty interesting too. A simple trip to the supermarket (is there ever just a simple trip for me?) turned into an adventure in Neuilly and a foray almost to the Arc d'Triomphe. It was also an insight into the psyche of the lost man. Do I ask for directions or continue on a straight line to the horizon.
I tried the latter first but figured after 20 mins that circumnavigating the Earth because I am too pig headed to turn around would be a little extreme to say the least. I tried the former next and discovered I had only been 100 meters from the supermarket originally. The real question is will I do it again. The answer is almost certainly yes.
One good thing came of this. My adventure had given me a desire to investigate in the shop and in doing so I found gluten free goodies for my girlfriend.

You're all a bunch of comedians but I'm the only one laughing

So yesterday was the final of the rugby world cup. It was something I'd been looking forward to for a long time. Even more so because England had, unbelievably, made it to the finals. I turned up to the bar 4 hours in advance to secure myself a seat and settled down to wait for the match. I was alone but thankfully not the only one wearing an England shirt so I pulled out my book, sipped my pint and began killing time.

I suppose that a rugby fan reading a book in a pub on their own must be an unusual sight because I very quickly attracted attention. I heard a noise different to the general hubbub of the conversations in the bar and being an inquisitive sort I looked up to see what it was. In front of me was an oldish, drunkish, very sweaty looking man shouting the Welsh national anthem at me. I ruffled my brow in confusion. I mean, I thought I could hear this man singing at me but it was a little odd so I didn't want to commit myself too soon. I decided that I was imagining things and got back to my book.

The singing became more distinct. I looked up and asked the man where he was from. Thinking back on it now I feel that this was not the most intelligent question to ask, after all he was singing Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau. Imagine my surprise when he walked up to me and said "London mate", in a Tottenham accent.Well this was odd. I generally don't get my own countrymen mocking me so with with a chuckle I said "Fair enough" and continued on with my book.

He was still standing at my table. He looked half drunk and seemed oblivious to his runny nose which looked dangerously like it was about to cascade onto my table. Out of politeness I asked him what he was doing here though I hoped his nose held out longer that his answer. If my judgement is anything to go by I was going to be in for a good story.
"I'm here for the rugby match", he said. "I went to the stadium this morning but they aren't selling tickets".
"Well of course they're not", I replied, "its the day of the final. They've been sold out for, well, for about a year to be honest"
"Yes I know but I thought I'd go down to the stadium and buy one, maybe off the touts."
"OK, good luck, I hear they're going for a good price. About 3000 euros". As I was saying this I was beginning to doubt myself. He looked totally unphased by this remark and definitely did not look like the type of person who had three grand to throw about. Did he know something I didn't?
"Ahh" he growled, "I'm not going to be paying that sort of money. I'll offer 500 maximum. They can take it or leave it".
"...", I said. This was getting more intriguing.
"And if I don't get one then I'll go to a bar near the stadium and watch the game with this".
My confusion cleared instantly. It wasn't that he knew something I didn't. It was just that he was mad. Out of his pocket had come an ear piece on a lanyard.
"It's a referees link". He made this statement to ease the obvious suffering on my face. "I'll be able to hear everything the ref is saying".
"By the look of that thing you'd better find a bar on the pitch", I thought.

Some time later when I had recovered from my trip to planet crazy I heard another shout in my direction.
"Eay, you. Are you stupeed, you think you're going to win tonight?"
I looked up because this kind of remark is often directed at me and I find it's important to discover what it is that I am doing so I can stop it as soon as possible.
"Yeah you, are you stupeed. Why you reading the book in the pub? Eez eet shakspeer?".
This was followed by a hearty group laugh. I realised it was the group of French men at the bar. They had seen me reading and I guess had found that type of thing highly unusual. I can't say that I'm terribly surprised, they didn't look the literary type. In a perfect twist of luck I held up the book, just under my chin to accentuate the sweet smile on my face, to show them the title.
"Merde happens", or Shit happens to translate. He looked at the book, looked at me, looked totally out of his depth and, probably not for the first time, lost. He said shit and turned away. There really is no better way to win an argument than to say nothing at all.

The game started, the game finished, the South Africans won and I decided to go home. I collected my belongings but I wasn't looking where I was going and as I took my first step away from my table I felt wetness on my shoulder. I turned round and saw this tiny man in font of me. He and his friends had been getting on my nerves all evening singing the intro to 7 nation army repeatedly during the game.
"Look what you did, you spilt my beer on your shoulder. Why weren't you looking where you were going?", he squeaked at me.
"Sorry pal it was an accident, I guess we both weren't paying attention".
There had been about a centilitre of beer lost from the glass. My shoulder was almost dry already but the England top was spurring him on to argue.
"No, you weren't looking where you were going, you spilled my beer".
I don't have the ability to be in a situation like this and not point out the obvious.
"Well you weren't paying attention either," I stated matter of factly.
"I was".
OK, now I had to say it. "Well If you were looking where you were going then why did you pour beer all over my shoulder?" I felt rather smug with this line of argument. I had him on the ropes.
He pulled out the big guns. Cupping my chin softly in his hand and looking deep into my eyes he said "Well maybe I wanted to get your attention".
I wasn't expecting this. I had to admit defeat. All I wanted to do was get away from there as quickly as possible. He had well and truly won the argument.

I think about that night and I am reminded of the free t-shirts that were being handed out to the punters in the bar. On the back of them was written, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, you gotta know when to fold 'em, you gotta know when to walk away and you gotta know when to run away".
I think that just about summed up my entire night.