Huh, Ireland, my two faced betraying homeland, was obviously only teasing me yesterday, lulling me into a false sense of security and hopefullness with it’s sunny facade. Becuase it’s wet, gray, rainy and shite today. Foolishly I have weather reports for both Cork and Paris set on my google home page. Here in Ireland a series of stormy icons represent each day for the next week. For Paris they’ve just come stopped short of drawing little happy faces on the string of suns.

This time last week I was sitting under a canopy of vines, having a breakast of home grown grapes and ripe peaches in the sun, contemplating with what Parisian divertisment I would fill my afternoon.

This week I’ve just had a bowl of Tescos cornflakes for breakfast and am huddled in a poncho over a heater for warmth. Outside are slate grey skies, wet fields and chicken runs which, in a fit of whimsy, my sisters have painted bright purple. For entertainment later, rather then a leisurly stroll around the Musee D’Orsay, I’ll probably be watching ‘Private Practise’ on ‘RTE Catch Up’.

On the bright side…. oh, I’ll have to getback to you when I find one.

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