I’m sitting in Papa Loup’s desk. Everything is antique French except my computer and his LiveBox. We’re back in Paris after spending Christmas in Rouen with The Frenchman’s family. Oof. I like the celebrations, but I need to return to solitude. Last night was music night. Everyone who could play an instrument did, including all of the kids. It was fun. And then I sang “Nel Cor Piu Non Mi Sento” and everyone seemed quite pleased with that. (On second thought, “pleased with” might be a bit inaccurate. “Agape at” might be more appropriate as no one except The Frenchman knew I sang, no one knew I knew any opera, and no one could fathom how I did it in a corset. Naturally, it was the Ruby Raven corset, but still.) The Frenchman was sick a lot of the time, poor baby.

I managed to do a little writing, but mostly I read Blood Work by Michael Connelly. God, is it ever tedious. I can parody this seven ways to Sunday, although it isn’t nearly as fun as any of James Patterson’s merde.

Hopefully this week I can get the MP3 from the producer at the BBC for the radio show. I’m still a bit dazed. When we would tell people about the interview, they’d either say “Ah bon?” (which is the standard French response of surprise) or “Toi?”

Yeah. Moi.

Et voila!