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photo, group, bob,edna

The whole 'Group of the Week,' Bob and Edna.

Our Université d'Eté

Paris:– Thursday, 1. September 2005:– After having a bit of weather that felt very like the first twinges of autumn – which should have degraded into very foul times, according to the usual scenario – the weatherman has instead booted us back to summer. Oh glorioso! Yesterday, 32 or 33 flaming degrees, blue sky all over, not one cloud, not even over the horizon.

Was it fine? Was it great? Was it luxurious? Yes, yes, yes. Was I out in it? Affirmative. Did I see the gold of the sun striking the gilding on the bull at Trocadéro. Mais oui. And there were the purple shadows belonging to the Tour Eiffel, to match the green of the Champ de Mars. It was the banana bird time!

Well, that was one day in the life and tomorrow is another day. One that, according to tonight's TV–weatherphoto, last day of august, trocadero news forecast, is not going to be so lined with silver. It should be cloudy out west and here it may be mostly sunny, and the temperature is supposed to be an unseasonal 26 degrees.

Last day of August, at Trocadéro.

As soon as Friday is out of the way more sunshine is expected for Saturday, for all of France except some parts to the east. If we are good the temperature will hike up to 28 degrees, if not more.

By Sunday a cloudy front will be harassing the western extremities of France. If this holds off, stays out there long enough, it will be mainly sunny here. Again the high temperature is expected to be 28 degrees. This whole solar business may continue on into Monday. Can we take it? Yes, like ducks.

The 'Superpanne' Report of the Week

Perfect weather too good to be true is also too good to last, so today has been a bit cloudy. If anything it was a bit overbright yesterday and maybe a bit warmer than it needed to be, but all the same it could has eased into semi–sunny instead of looking like it might rain. Luckily this has been an idle threat and nothing more.

So I do my routine that I'm sure all readers and club members have read so many times that they are sick to death of it. I am just about as fed up with doing it and I don't understand why I don't take the Métro to someplace different, like Rép!ublique for example, and begin my spiel from there.

One good reason for not doing it is because I'm late again. I get up hours ahead of time and hours later there's no time left to spare and whiz out the door I go and down the stairs and past the cemetery and into the Métro and ride ride ride and hop out at Odéon, and you know the tiresome story.

What was new today? Why, not for the first time, I noticed how smooth the stone blocks are on the Pont Neuf. Just think. You get a bunch of stone and cut it into big blocks, and you build aphoto, cafe lunch table bridge out of them. Three or 400 years later, all those shoes scuffling across the bridge make the stone nice and smooth. Even barefoot, probably comfortable.

But all the rest is the same as usual. The kiosque has a paper for me, the dog place on the Quai du Louvre stinks like dogs in a dog place, the snack joints are trying to attract customers, ditto the trinket boutiques, and the club's café is squatting in its hallowed spot like the red–awninged sultan of garlic.

Other people ate, but not the club's 'Food of the Week.

In the café's 'grande salle' there are even two club members waiting for the club's secretary, who is not late again, due to a fast watch. These are, from left to right, Edna and Bob Bradley, from a place in Orange County that is not Santa Ana. It's close but no prize.

As has happened in previous weeks with the Bradleys Edna has questions for me before any of us are sitting down. There is nothing wrong with asking me questions while upright but I do not feel like I am the club's secretary until I am sitting down. I think it has something to do with balance.

With my gyro in tune, I listen. An immediate problem is what Edna has. She must write a note but she has left her collection of note paper in Costa Mesa. It is a big, fine collection too, she says. The only paper that comes to hand is a notebook so full of Paris notes that has no room for an extra one.

I rip a page out of my professional reporter's notebook and hand it to Edna. It has many empty pages andphoto, cafe corona I won't miss it. And besides, I always have scrap paper in another pocket, for instant notes. The last one I wrote was 'plats 8€.' You can write your own note right here – 'there's no free paper in Europe.'

Lest members forget – the 'Club of the Week' meets here.

Right. Now where were we? Bob explains what his filters do to junk email. If they get through the first filter the second takes over and if they survive, the third chews them up, and Bob says there is often nothing left. I explain that I can't do this.

Edna wants to know where she can get a battery for her watch. The easiest to find is the watch repair section in a department store, but she might have to wait. The cheapest and fastest are the places that make keys, often fix shoes, and do odd little jobs – like have every kind of battery available.

Outside there is a wail of police sirens closely followed by several motorcycle cops flying by, followed by three copcars stuffed with cops, at lightning speed. Could be the revolution.

On another subject that I have forgotten, Bob observes that men's pants are only sold with the purpose of making one need to buy a belt. He thinks it is a trick. Personally I hae never seen underwear with belt loops, so I guess if you want something to hold a belt in place, pants will do it, although you could hang it around your neck and have cool knees.

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