Good news is that my boss is back and he doesn't think my lace trousers look like army pants, hurrah. He also brought us back some sort of indian dessert which was basically like eating nutmeg flavoured, hay-like candy floss. It may sound odd but the other Irish intern and I did a pretty good job of polishing it off. Maybe it's because we're (Northern) Irish that we enjoyed eating hay... there's probably some awful stereotype joke about that somewhere so I thought I'd put it out there first.
I started writing this at 20h00, then mama dearest face timed and well here we are 2 hours later and no further on. We have however just set out a plan for my life in Paris to avoid further social exclusion, so I am starting Spanish lessons tomorrow and finding myself a French boyfriend (Karl says I don't have to be fussy because I'm only here for 6 months, it's good to see he has high hopes for me). Obv will keep you posted on how that turns out but I won't hold my breath as I would almost certainly die.
In other news my French is quite possibly getting worse and I could well be homeless again if people don't start replying to my emails (that is if my neighbours don't complain about me belting out Natalie Imbruglia at the top of my voice and get me evicted first). I came back from a weekend in Bordeaux thinking only positive thoughts, but that lasted until I got within about 15 minutes of Paris and hasn't really resurfaced since. First world problems are a bit of a nightmare really.