So, I went to Paris and took some photos. It was kind of an out-of-reality experience, you know? Well, maybe you don’t. I suppose I’m trying to say that it kind of feels like maybe it wasn’t real now, looking back on the week, since it was all so far outside my normal realm of operation. Especially that bit where I found myself shaving a mohawk into Hilary’s head…

Also: some ladies in the queue at passport control accused me of being American. We’d nearly reached the end of the queue when one of them said aloud “Oh, I thought you were American, or Canadian or something”. At this point I was yet to utter a single word in the presence of these women. Not one. So this raises two questions.

1. Why exactly did I seem to be American? Perhaps… the way I walked?

2. She thought I was, but did not any longer. What did I do to change her mind, still without opening my mouth?

This has happened before, actually. A cashier at Asda suspected me of being a Cypriot, and a loss-adjuster suggested I was of Californian extraction, though in both cases this was after I spoke. Perhaps I exude some… air of foreign-ness? My mind is addlepated (or possibly addle-plated, which would at least increase its resale value).

I think that about covers it. Any questions?

Good. Now back to reality, with exams and red meat and very little cheese.