My muscles and I are not on speaking terms. No, one does not move out of a second floor apartment with a narrow stairwell, and move into a 5 story apartment with no elevator, and stay on friendly terms with ones calf or bicep muscles. A slight error on the lease agreement means we don't have water or electricity connected yet, so we're still camping out in the old apartment, with only the essentials (internet access, chocolate and wine among them).
Still, I'm pleased to report that no-one collapsed in a pile of broken furniture with issues of blood pressure and heart failure, the apartment is very lovely and we were pleasantly thrilled to discover that we actually have a clear view across to the Sacre Coeur. Which we take turns at looking at, just to make sure it's still there.
TOOTLE, TOOTLE, PEEP! HONK, BEEP, BEEP!
3 February 2005
Sometimes, if the timing is right, I will take the bus instead of the metro for the last section of my daily commute. I much prefer the bus, there's hardly anyone in it, and I can have a nice warm seat, breathe and read whatever book I'm engrossed in (with said book at normal distance from my nose rather than pressed up against my face).
While I wait for the bus, midway between the hellish stretch of road that links La Defense with L'Arc de Triomphe, I amuse myself watching the morning flow of vehicles where traffic merges at a horrific intersection. When I say 'merges', those cars can get themselves into such a tight crossweave that D&G could probably sew a garment out of it.
There is quite often a couple of traffic police in place to do the work that a set of traffic lights can no longer manage. I love to watch them whistling, pointing, waggling their white-gloved hands at naughty motorists. And I love to watch the motorists who, much in the way of children playing 'freeze', try and creep through unnoticed everytime the white-hands and whistles turn their backs. But they do a great job, considering the stunts drivers try and pull off even with the traffic police in full view (sometimes you've just got to give them points for sheer inventiveness).
While I wait for the bus, midway between the hellish stretch of road that links La Defense with L'Arc de Triomphe, I amuse myself watching the morning flow of vehicles where traffic merges at a horrific intersection. When I say 'merges', those cars can get themselves into such a tight crossweave that D&G could probably sew a garment out of it.
There is quite often a couple of traffic police in place to do the work that a set of traffic lights can no longer manage. I love to watch them whistling, pointing, waggling their white-gloved hands at naughty motorists. And I love to watch the motorists who, much in the way of children playing 'freeze', try and creep through unnoticed everytime the white-hands and whistles turn their backs. But they do a great job, considering the stunts drivers try and pull off even with the traffic police in full view (sometimes you've just got to give them points for sheer inventiveness).
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