The Last Time I saw Paris, my heart was young and gay … Yes well, that was then, this is now. I should be in Paris right this very minute actually except I never got my arse to Waterloo for the 12.09 Eurostar today.

I had planned a trip with three purposes – to see my friend Sue who does important things for top bananes at L’Oreal, and is presumably handsomely remunerated Because She’s Worth It – to see my sometime ex Meki and very possibly have yet another hour long row with him at the top of my voice which does wonders for my French vocabulary but sod all for my temper – and to meet “un type” with whom I had been corresponding on and off.

Despite reminding me for the three years or so that she’s lived in Paris that I owe her a visit, Sue trumped my invitation to cocktails and dinner ce soir with the arrival of visitors from Australia. Meki maintains (or is maintained, possibly, I think he’s a bit of a courtesan) a home in Italy and had to fly there this morning to take care of some urgent business with his bank, which left me with the prospect of three days with the type and it occurred to me when chatting him on MSN last night that he bore an alarming resemblance to John Profumo as portrayed by Ian McKellen in “Scandal” which made it a bit of a double no-no for me. Not to mention I don’t have big enough chairs to pose as Christine Keeler. So I bottled out.

I think my reluctance has something to do with not liking Paris as a city very much, my new-found morality, the pluviose weather forecast, and the influence of a couple of slightly nicer chaps I’ve met in the UK recently.