|
|
Post by The Curmudgeon on Dec 1, 2011 22:31:28 GMT 2
 The Curmudgeon knows exactly five French words; oui, non and Pepe le Peu. So I guess I'll have to do what I always do - rely on Mrs C, who seems to be able to be understood by those crazy foreign folks much better than I ever could. Because, jet-setting culture vultures that we are, Paris beckons for a fairly last minute weekend break. Mrs C has been twice as a kid, I've never been, so I fully expect to see berets, chains of onions round necks, striped shirts and plenty of ooh la la and maybe even some oh hon hon hon. Unless television has been lying to me all these years, of course. Oh, and I fucking BETTER see a hunchback. Until Sunday evening, folks. Stay frosty. |
|
|
|
Post by trashcanman on Dec 2, 2011 3:07:41 GMT 2
Bon voyage, mon ami.
|
|
|
|
Post by The Curmudgeon on Dec 5, 2011 23:53:16 GMT 2
Returned. And yeah, Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Arc De Triumph blah blah. Of course that stuff is expected.
We decided to go a bit off the usual tourist stuff and instead found out where Jim Morrison is buried. A few trains and metro's and we were there, and also got a photo next to Oscar Wilde's grave. They were easy to find - a woman outside the cemetery was selling MAPS.
Crass and ghoulish? Yep. Awesome? Double yep.
|
|
|
|
Post by trashcanman on Dec 6, 2011 21:45:50 GMT 2
I always assumed Morrison's grave was perpetually surrounded by hippies arguing over who gets to be the lizard king.
"I am the lizard king!"
"No, bro, I AM THE LIZARD KING!"
|
|
