What an entirely bizarre day!

After a not-too-bad start, Philip lost Limoges railway station which meant we missed our train. Little problem as we could get the next one, which we did. However, we lost our reservation so had to make the most of it as it was packed. I plonked Jamie down in the first free seat I could find then retreated to first class for the rest of the journey. My attempts to dissuade the guard from charging me an 80fr upgrade fee - by blinking, looking cute and speaking English slowly - were dashed when he started speaking to me in perfect English. I've yet to meet someone who speaks English on a Thames or Network South East train.

First Class was very nice. In fact, from what I saw, so was second; seats like armchairs. I ended up sitting in a carriage with a guy called Girard who'd broken his arm and who couldn't wear a shirt under the sling. I got to sit and look at him for the entire journey and thought my luck was in at one point when the compartment decided to lock itself. Unfortunately, someone decided to get the guard back to let us out - hopes dashed again.

When we arrrived in Paris, we wandered over to Au Vieux Marais and checked in. I flopped on the bed for a while and Jamie disappeared for a walk. When he came back, I had wandered to a bar with Jeremy (now tanned as well; grrrr) for a gin and tonic, to be told that he had decided to go home today, not tomorrow as we'd originally planned. It is, apparently, his grandmother's birthday on Monday and there's a big family party on Sunday.

That was, as they say, the straw that broke the camel's back. I don't mind the occasional vacant moment but I've been pissed around all week so it seemed easier to take him to Gare du Nord than create "Gawky fuckwit chicken found dead in hotel room" headlines. I was in half a mood to just leave him on a street corner and let him find the Metro and get himself there, but pissed off though I am, that's somewhat unfair.

I can't figure him out. He's spent most of his week with his head in books on Psychology, appearing only to ask what we're doing and whether we're going anywhere, for meal times - then disappearing without washing up or doing anything around the cottage unless prompted - and bed time. Incapable of independent tourism or movement, I've had a shadow again. But, with an A level in Psychology behind him, he's now an expert and has been analysing everything and everyone in a suitably teenagesque way. Much amusement from watching Philip ask him about himself without him realising. He might do better to try and read people rather than books.

So anyway. I'm left sitting in a hotel room in Paris which I needn't have paid for because I could've stayed at Jeremy's house - which I'm doing tomorrow night! I don't think I've ever had such a miserable, ungrateful and uninterested/ing travel companion.

Some fab storms in the evening. Paris is very pretty when illuminated temporarily by bright white sheets of lightning. Out drinking with Jeremy and his friend whose name I forgot. Not sure what I'm doing tomorrow; probably some shopping and hopefully lots of shagging.