All the kooks were out and about tonight.

Tonight I met up for a drink and dinner with S and a friend of hers A, who is out from London for the weekend. It was a lovely warm evening and we met at Café Oz for a drink. We were sitting outside enjoying the sunshine and people watching as they passed on by; playing spot the tourist and spot the Parisian. We also saw a far number of hen’s parties or if they weren’t, then a number of questionable wardrobe choices. Following this we meandered along to Saint Michel and the cheap dinner places where we ate a three course meal and drank a bottle of rose. After which we headed to Quigley’s Point in Les Halles to meet up with M. While waiting for M next to St Eustache Church, an older man with a dog approached. First he tried to give us a flower he plucked from the bush. After a shake of my head and a firm non, non, he proceeded to regale us with a rambling litany in French of how the moon is feminine and the sun is masculine and the male sun is reflected in the feminine moon and they meet and mingle, or some such story. This however, was interspersed with his laughter as he clearly thought he was being very funny, which in turn was making the three of us laugh although we were all turning away to try and hide it and also to avoid making eye contact. At this point he clearly realises that we are not French and starts asking if we speak French and not getting the gist of our turned backs he then asks where are we from, to which S replies Antarctica, which makes it all seem funnier. He then informs us again, amidst his own laughter at how funny he is, that he is a doctor, a sex doctor, before turning and moving on. He was a kook indeed, but a harmless one, and a funny story to tell. Then after I got home and had had a shower I was wrapped in my towel wandering round winding down for the night when I kept hearing a knocking sound. Enter second kook of the night, (if you don’t include the girls dressed for hens' nights.) At first I thought someone was knocking on my door and as it was two o’clock in the morning ignored this. The knocking continued and after awhile I realised it was a guy outside knocking on my windows. One of the disadvantages of being on the ground floor; a lot of ground floor apartments in Paris are the building concierge. Anyway I turned all my lights out and hid till he went away even though you can’t see in my windows thanks to the tricky windows where you can see out, but not in from the other side. He went away or so I thought and I got ready for bed, but realising I was no longer able to sleep just yet, I am sitting here writing this and now he is back again at three knocking. There was no way I was going to get up at 2 or 3 in the morning to let some weird stranger into the building. If he had a legitimate reason to be around at time, he wouldn’t need to be knocking on the window. Anyway, that was my night with the kooks of Paris, you certainly meet all kinds.