In approximately 1 hour and 27 minutes my son will land back at Gatwick after his first trip abroad with the school. Approximately is not accurate, in exactly 1 hour and 27 minutes my son will land - how do I know this? Because I am his mother and I have been counting down the minutes until his return. I am under no illusions that he has been doing the same.
The real attack on French culture here is the parliament's decision to reinforce the state of emergency, by no way a banner for tourists or French citizens alike. We look at France as the birthplace of modern democracy, and the country's founding call for liberté is something we should not take for granted the world over.
One thing that always impressed me about springtime in Paris is how comfortable women here seem to be with peeling off the winter layers of clothing. All of a sudden, like tulips in the Tuileries, pencil skirts, nude legs in sling-backs and sleeveless arms crop up everywhere. It's like they have nothing to hide. How liberating that sounds.
Climbing down the plane steps, Reunion has clearly pulled out all the stops. It's like one of those ridiculous Hollywood tropical islands, like Spooky Island from Scooby Doo, when you arrive to postcard palm trees, people flinging flower necklaces around your neck (this of course didn't actually happen) and with 'Pass the Duchee on the Left hand Side' playing as the soundtrack.
In a previous article for the Huffington Post I went public about my language shame; well I am pleased to announce that I am (hopefully) on the course to rectifying this rather embarrassing situation. I have decided to start taking language classes so I should be able to speak something other than English...