Paris 1. DrF Meets his Neighbours

26/09/2003

I got locked out of my building on the way back from a party at 4h30 this am. I eventually had to call my neighbour, who lives above me, after trying to batter my way in by running accross the street and hurling my frail body at it - hoping in vain that either the fukkin thing would give, or that somebody would come and arrest me and I'd have a place to sleep. She was distinctly unimpressed when I woke her up, telling me to use my key (what bloody key, nobody gave me a key, that's what the code pad is for, so you don't need a goddam key... I wondered why the door had been left open when I left the building to go to the party - and locked the fukn thing behind me, now I know why.) She was even less amused when she got to the bottom of the stairs and encountered my pissed self being let in by a delivery man. I followed her back up the five flights of stairs she'd had to come down in a very short kimono, apologising profusly and trying not to look up it. This was the point at which I realised that she actually has a rather fine set of legs. The only time I've ever interacted with her in the 18 months I've been her neighbour is when we pass each other on the stairs (which was when she foolishly gave me her phone number) and once I phoned and yelled at her by mistake when her neighbour, whose flat is also over mine, had a drunken evening and was making a lot of noise.

I will have to buy her a present and tell her I'm very, very sorry again and again.