The lingering smell of Indian faecal matter has been replaced with sweat-stained clothes and a tub of soy yogurt left unattended.
Not romantic? You're probably right, but as I frown at the now black rear-end of my favourite pair of shorts, I reminisce about its happenstance; a bike ride through Parisian streets in forty degree heat, smiling lovingly at The Cockney as the perspiration in my pants gathers momentum.
The River Seine now taking up permanent residence in my undercarriage, we take in the extraordinary cabaret show at The Moulin Rouge. Feathers, sequins and abundant displays of nipple tantalise; so much so that I contemplate blinding The Cockney with his beer bottle as he grins excessively.
Finally hitting the hay and I am pleased to report that although sleep overcame us both rather quickly, so did The Cockney's exuberance to repeat the cabaret show within our hotel room. The sequins and costumes were absent, but the enthusiasm was more than present as his ear-sucking techniques led to the ingestion of one of my favourite pair of earrings--just another reason to celebrate 100 Days of Happiness ...
Kristy ;)
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