Thankfully, Darren and I decided not to make a big night of it. Jack went into town.”There’s a bar in Montmartre.” I like it in Montmartre, and if I’m going to be there on a work night it won’t be because of kickykick. I’m trying to have a generally positive life experience here, and that takes in the sockball, but only if the sockball doesn’t take me in.
As I write, had I gone into central Paris, I would now be finding my way back here on the metro with bad adrenaline. The England team lost again. As is their job they led us on. The lionesses men’s team is pretty good, but they were no match for the Spanish.
I’ve been bouncing around today. My pass no longer works at all, which is totally not surprising and really really obstructive. All the security is tight as fuck, and there seems to be no track to have someone who can be access all areas. Unfortunately that’s my job so I’m building a catalogue of contact numbers and Google pins that help me get in and out of all these places, but today my card came up cancelled because it is. My contacts can frequently talk me through security, but it really doesn’t help that once again I’m looking like a chancer while dropping off essential wayfinding. Get me a pass for the event… It’s nuts that I can’t ever identify myself. I’ll solve it, that’s what I do. But it is annoyingly inefficient.
They are having a huge firework display tonight for Bastille Day. Earlier on they demonstrated the full might of the French military. Six planes, a guy with a moustache and some cannons designed to spit out white flags.
The Swiss are next door at least. They have an army. If someone takes over again they can come and liberate when the time is right. Meantime bof. Lucky the pilots stayed at work the whole time those planes were in the air.
AlBarclay 