Thirst No Shame

photo, group of the week, george and josef George and Josef, the Dudes of the Week.

"One Beer and I'm Bombed!"

by Ric Erickson

Paris:– Thursday, 15. February:–  We had some more exciting weather. I should write that France had some exciting weather because Paris didn't. The winds huffed and puffed and blew some stuff down but on landfall they ran out of steam and all the little pigs were mostly safe and sound.

Meanwhile I am still trying to make sense of the France–2 TV weather–news maps. One of the ladies was back tonight but she really ran through it fast, stood in front of Saturday so I missed the temperature, and left me confused in general. But there is semi–good news for the next few days.

The big picture showed that there's a high over the important part of France, with miserable weather out west and out east. It means snow in the Alps but we hardly care a fig about that here. Tomorrow should be – semi–sunny, with a high of 14 degrees, somewhere in there.

The outlook for Saturday was confusing, but you know already. If the bad stuff coming from the west arrives with some retard, we will have mostly semi–sunny skies. My guess for the temperature is 14 or 15 degrees.

photo, the big beer itselfBig Beer of the Week.

More clear, Sunday, should be more clear, perhaps even sunny around here, and most of northern France. This, with a temperature of 13 degrees, will make it a rare sunny Sunday in Europe so you will be wise if you are passing it right here, rather than in dismal Moscow. That's a temperature range of 55 F to 59 F for the finger–counters.

The "One Beer and I'm Bombed!" Report

Sweet it was this afternoon as I wound my way to the club's café on the right bank, between the Pont Neuf and the Louvre. Folks I saw, though few, were grinning in delight. Or maybe they were squinting. The sun was low because it's still February and when it's bright it gets under those eyelids unless you keep them close together like that guy's sister in Little Big Man.

The Seine was brown and the level is high and I when stopped to study it I was accosted by a beautiful visitor, and her boyfriend, with a camera – to take a shot of them with the sullen river and the palace–like Louvre in the background, which I did and gave them the camera back with the best photo of their visit that they will ever get. Well, I didn't set their white–balance, but it will be pretty good, even if their faces are in deep shadow.

photo, cafe of the week Muddy Café of the Week.

My good deed done for the month I got across my bridge and noticed quite a few folks sitting out on the terraces along the Quai du Louvre, basking and listening to the sappy birdsong made by filthy pigeons. I am glad to say the scaffolding has been removed from the club's café. It might have provided some shade because the awnings were parked up high, but sunshine is too rare to waste, isn't it?

Nothing happened immediately so I read some of today's Le Parisien without coming across any terrific stories. What does the youth aged 15–35 want? According to Le Parisien and some polling outfit, the kids would like everybody over 35 to get lost, go farm palms in the Canaries or something. Well, Johnny Hallyday moved to Switzerland, but that's a preserving fortune story.

The baby being born in an apartment on fire was kind of interesting. The ambulance crew had quite a tussle with that one. And that's where I was when member George Broadhead entered the café.

photo, george tests big beer of the week George overcomes thirst.

"Here's the sun I ordered!" he remarked, before telling me about the adventure of getting from Brooklyn to JFK in the biggest snow storm of the year yesterday, and of the lousy retards and endless delays in unfreezing the planes wheels and getting it off the runway.

I immediately noted jetlag in the reports booklet. Not without reason because his next observation was about the ice melting at the ice rink in front of the Hôtel de Ville. "I'm dying to see some snow here," he said. Before I could point out the club's official position on snow and wintersports in general, he said, "I'm thirsty!"

When Patrick the Waiter of the Week eventually came over he told George that beer was available in three sizes, demi, pint or formidable – or, small, medium and extra large. George choose XX without hesitation.

George's daughter is along on the trip too, sort of. She started from Seattle and probably got a bit twisted around JFK, ending up here but more jetlagged than George. "She's the only one that eats red meat," he said, telling me about the red–meat place where he intended to dine, if conscious.

Patrick brought a café for me too when he got around to it. George immediately pointed out that cubed suger was more correct than granular. He said he learned this from the movie, Le Divorce. "One beer and I'm bombed!"he exclaimed. It was a quite a huge beer though.

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