I've gotta keep this brief as my French hosts (Ha!) at the Hotel We Hate The English will not let me connect to their Wi-Fi. So much for the old entante cordiale then!
It's been a character building kind of day so far.
The Spitfire I flew over in took just 45 minutes to get to Paris. Followed by another 30 waiting to land and yet another 20 to reach the terminal from the distant field it landed in somewhere near Belgium. Hint: never fly Air Frog.
The question is now, whether to risk waiting 30 more minutes waiting for a glass of frothy water by the name of Kronenpiss, or to accept defeat and stay in to clean the hotel room? Christ I'll be glad to be shot of this place come sunrise.
Watch this space for more merry tales from Gay Paree. I'm off to sink a carafe or two of Vino Rouge…….