Today was a beautiful day in the city, all the Parisians were returning to work after a sunny and relaxing weekend and the streets were nicely empty to allow me to wander at my leisure. I managed to sort out my bank account after three trips to the bank and three hours. French bureaucracy leaves a lot to be desired at the best of times, but after being told that my housing contract was not sufficient proof that I lived in Paris I was about ready to cry, tear my hair out and run towards the nearest train station! However, a visit to my fantastically patient, good-natured and funny estate agent soon remedied this frustration. (Apparently in GB a pleasant estate agent is impossible to find, but in France the situation seems quite the opposite.) Jaques, the agent, has a fantastic sense of humour, and even through our linguistic barrier he manages to make me laugh. But nothing prepared me for today and the moment that he pulled out an ancient typewriter with which he used to write my letter to the bank. After realising that he was not joking, this time, I realised I had a silent appreciation for his refusal to accept modern advancements and for being a fantastically-pleasing French eccentric. It is moments like this that make me realise how truly lucky I am to be in one the the most beautiful and also quirky cities in the world.
Mood - Satisfied