A Slow Prance Towards Death.

Hey Campers,

Well it’s been a rather long and arduous week and I’ve begun to fear that perhaps I’m not quite as adept as recovering as I once was. Granted trying to party like a teenager when one has passed one’s first youth is perhaps not the wisest course of action. In my defence I think last weekend’s effort in Berlin – 5 parties/3 days/8 hours sleep between Friday and Monday – would have finished off many a lesser man.

There may be those among you who feel I may deserve all this week has offered up – tiredness, mood swings, inability to string two sentences together and feeling like I’m going to keel over after climbing a single flight of stairs – and you would receive my full support. There is a reason I moved to gay Paris – apart from the love of a good man – and that was to escape the temptation to relive my glory days in Sydney. A time when sleep was something to be worried about later and the weekend could range anywhere from Wednesday to Tuesday. Don’t get me wrong, Paris does have great bars and the occasional fab dance party but isn’t what anyone would call a clubbing capital by any stretch of the imagination. This coupled with a relatively well behaved husband has kept my inner wild boy happily under lock and key – apart from the occasional odd outing every now and then.

Judging from my body’s pathetic recovery rate this time around it is probably a most fortunate turn of events that I shan’t be indulging again until my triumphant return to Australian shores at the end of the year. Not to say that I have adopted the role of a middle-aged house herr just yet, but there is something to be said for regular bouts of moderation and the joys of afternoon naps with cats.

Speaking of which, it is looking a tad grey outside and the aforementioned felines are looking rather cosy on the bed. Maybe a quick lie down before afternoon tea time is called for. Stay tuned for the more seedy details of my Berlin adventures.

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