bloody hell, what now?

Last night I went for a spot of shopping and dinner on Oxford Street with my chum D. Paris clothes being chief on the agenda (three weeks to go, and as yet, I still have a ton of stuff to sort out, loads of things to buy, an online aptitude test to complete, insurance to buy, I still can't speak basic French, and I still don't bear an uncanny resemblance to Eva Green or Marion Cotillard). But I digress.


Browsing the rails - in French Connection, funnily enough - I felt my bag vibrating with an incoming call on my mobile. I fished it out, only to see the American's name flashing up.


"D!!" I hissed. "The American!! What do I do? Do I answer it?" (why did I even ask?!)


"No!" she said, incredulously. And quite rightly. This is why I should never go anywhere unaccompanied.


So, back in the bag it went, and eventually he rang off. Didn't leave any kind of message, so I think we can safely assume he was just bored and desperate for company. Never mind - I'm sure he can find plenty of other people to go drinking on a roof with. Preferably near the edge.