Christophe called in the afternoon to let me know he'd spoken to his friend at St. Michele, and I'm off tomorrow at 7pm to have a little play on the organ. I can hardly wait - my little fingers are twitching already just waiting to play.

My practiced phrase for amazing French police officers won't work, apparently. According to 'Tophe, their response is most likely to be "The French make fast cars so we can catch the English who speed in them." Hm.

Traxx in the evening with various people. I picked 'Tophe up at his house and drove in. Xavier was there flaunting some boy ("zis is number four") which got tedious after the first hour of them ignoring everyone and trying to figure out what they'd each had for breakfast. I could've told them.

Felt a bit left out, really; 'Tophe still maintains undying commitment to someone he hardly ever sees (not that we've ever been there before), Icks is busy sucking the life force out of some poor student through any available opening in his face and I'm still battling with the language and embarrassing myself by asking the local shiatsu therapist if he'd mind treating my arse. Still. Laurent snogged me and William did unspeakable things in my face on the bar, so I can't have reason to be too upset.

A bit of Panthère Rose but I wasn't really in the mood, though Patrick in a leopard-skin catsuit brought a smile to my face. (It was his hands down my pants rather than the catsuit that did that.)