The Birthday Approacheth

So, with my birthday fast approaching, I've hit Paris in fevered anticipation of a celebratory rendez-vous with the boys, Pete and James, both of whom have flashier looking websites than I do, and are worth a squiz or three.

And boy am I looking forward to it, not least because I have declared the 10th No Budget Day! Which will make a great change because Paris is so expensive to live in, I've been surviving on smuggled breakfast rations, French bread, and gruel. Though in France they call it 'Le Gruel'.

So to save money I've been stopping in the evenings, with one of my mustardy glasses, some cheap Smirnoff I bought in Montpellier, and some cool American guys called Bryan and Brian, who are my temporary room mates. I've decided that among all the nationalities, or at least of those I've met so far, Americans make the best travellers to chat with. Is this because they speak a similar language, or something more pervasive than that? I don't know, but I have a lot of time for them. So much time in fact, that I've created a three point game to play when talking to Americans, which I'm glad to say proves as much fun for them as for me:

1. Every time food gets mentioned, find a way to drop 'teatime' into the conversation. Try and say it as though it's two words.
2. Subtly grin every time you use the word 'trouser'. Even if they don't ask, emphatically deny that it's a made up word.
3. Tell them it costs a dollar fifty to use the bathroom in Harrods. While you're at it, use the word 'loo'.

If anyone can think up more, or if you are an American currently muttering, "A buck fifty? They gotta be kidding!?!" then drop me a line.

And international confusion seems to be something of a theme, because I've discovered the answer to one of, well, at least Europe's greatest oddities - why did Picasso die a pauper when he was such a brilliant artist? Despite all the theories that have been bandied about, I can now exclusively bring you The Truth. The reason Picasso died so poor was not, in fact, because he was not recognised, but because he spent every penny of his money buying canvas, oils and brushes in order to paint enough paintings to create a Picasso museum in every bloody city in Europe. I swear there's not a single city that doesn't have some kind of tribute to the one-eared artiste.

And that's really a tribute to his genius - that he worked so hard in, frankly, a very laid-back climate. Take France for instance. Over here they have a nationwide chain of stores, a bit like Circle K or Seven-Eleven, and they're called Petit Casino. They're so named because of the quaint tradition that every hour, on the hour, they roll a pair of dice. If they total two, three, seven or eleven, then they stay open for another hour. Otherwise, they close for three hours and twenty-seven minutes, before rolling again. The whole purpose of this is to make it complete impossible to predict when it's possible to buy groceries on a planned or ad-hoc basis, thus adding to the cultural laisse-fair, and confusing the hell out of the tourists...

And confused I am. So I have a question for you, and I seriously would be interested in the answer to this one. In French the adjective comes after the noun, "The red ball," for example, becomes, "La ballon rouge." So why, "Le petit dejeuner," rather than, "Le dejeuner petit"?

Despite the confusion though, I did learn one thing today. I found out that my boots aren't water proof, they're water resistant. This means that instead of actively repelling water, they freely mingle with it, whilst they send coded messages to each other in silly French accents...

With that resting in the brains of the cunning linguists out there, I think I'll leave you with something a bit deeper. So here's a three-thousand year old Zen Koan for you:

If Sandra Bullock is in my room, and no-one can see or hear her, is she still doing an erotic striptease?