I dreamt of eating my fill in the months leading up to our few days in Paris.
I awoke at 3am on our second day with strange gut cramps and spend the next 4 hours on the toilette shitting and puking until the sun was up.
I could barely eat a thing all day. Which upset me more than the sickness itself.
The Louvre was a hothouse. Swarming with people taking selfies with phones mounted on sticks. A Magnificent palace full of centuries of art. That barely got a second glance from my self pitying arse.
And in the afternoon we climbed the steps to the Sac re Cur. We went inside and a placid looking 50 foot tall Jesus greeted us with open arms and a kind smile. Nuns started singing and it was kinda magic.
We bought a coolish Heineken on the steps of the church and looked out over the rows of alleyways hills leading to the guts of the city as the sun dipped.
I ate a piece of stale baguette for dinner and slept well knowing I’d make up for it tomorrow.