Paris, I hardly knew you

I take it all back. Paris was good fun and I'd like to see more. And with hospitable relatives in the heart of the city, it's quite likely I will. The metro signs are still idiotic and so is the signage at Charles de Gaulle airport, but I didn't let it bother me. Perhaps because I wasn't in a hurry. Men didn't bother me either, though some American friends reported being harrassed similarly.

Spent most of Sunday lazing about with my cousin and his family and caught up on the family gossip, while they struggled with my quaint passtime. 'U2? That's Bow-no, right? I don't know any U2 music,' my cousin said. I didn't know where to start. He plays golf, my cousin.

The little band that roared performed well, the audience were civilised. Circumstances meant I had to watch both shows from the back and the sides rather than the front pit. So I basically saw nothing but the screens. I hated the first show for that reason and but loved the second. It was just one of those nights when the stars align and great, great emotion spills over. At one point I found myself scarily in synch with B. as he walked down the catwalk, took off his specs and I saw the look on his face.

'I bet he's thinking of hanging out with his father in Paris that one time,' I thought. A couple of minutes later, near the end of the song, he starts telling that story. His father drinking him under the table in a bar in Paris and putting him to bed like a child. Then B. sang 'Torna a Surriente' (Return to Sorento), operatic voice and all, just like G. did in Dingle last year. They're one, but not the same.

KLM cancelled my flight back, but not to worry, I got a ride back from a friend, conveniently bunking at the airport Ibis hotel. It felt like the autoroute du soleil. Blue skies and sweltering heat.

All in all, a great weekend and guess what, it doesn't end here - the rest of the week is all mine as well.