The day got off to a cool start, with a ride to work on a friend's scooter - not the one where people in suits look a bit daft standing on their toy and, as it was, pedalling against the pavement, the one with an engine that people have when they're too short on dough to buy a Harley. I love riding (passenger, not driving, that'd be dangerous) a moped, motorbike, scooter; I ain't fussy: as long as it's got 2 wheels and an engine, I'm a happy bunny. I look completely stupid with a helmet on but I don't care. It's one of those things, you don't really know why you really really like it, but you really really like it. So today being the height of the transportation strike in Paris, I threw a tantrum on the basis that it would be the surest way for me to get to the office. And it worked.
Tomorrow however will be an entirely different kettle of fish. I'm going for a long week-end (the only form of vacation I've been having for the past three years so don't go saying I'm spoilt rotten), and the plane flies at 10:25am from Charles de Gaulle airport. Now, on a good day, Roissy is about an hour away from my home. Check-in begins at 8.25, so you do the maths, I should leave at or around 7.30. On a good day. The strike officially ends at 8.00am tomorrow. That means we don't really know what the traffic will be like for public transport. That means I have to leave home at 7.00 at the latest. Lots of people have told me time and time again that it's OK to get up early when you're going away somewhere nice.
No it's not.