This morning, I was checking out the Eurostar prices for a last-minute trip to the French capital.
It’s coming up to a year since I fell in love with Paris. My first trip to the city coincided with Crazy Yank’s one hundredth (or thereabouts) visit. He was in town for the day on business. We met up in the early evening; went for a wander before he got us a taxi to Montmartre; we had dinner – during which he proposed to me (more than once) – and then, he got in his taxi to go to the airport and text saying: ‘Paris looks beautiful on you. Enjoy. x’
This evening, I receive a text: ‘Just arrived in Paris for 3 days. Will look for you in the Montmartre. x’
It’s from Crazy Yank (of course.)
P.S. I politely declined (more than once.)