Paris - PART THREE.

This was the most sickeningly perfect evening.

On Wednesday night, after freshening up and waiting for the rainfall to lessen slightly, we walked to dinner, using the Eiffel Tower as our compass.

The restaurant came recommended by our travel guide and was a magnificent mid-holiday treat. Greeted at the door by a typically French suited waiter, we were escorted to a table for two, adorned with a white linen table cloth and large sparkling wine glasses. The waiter spoke perfect English and noting our lack of French speaking capabilities he hastened to translate the entire menu. Matt ordered the beef consomme and the chicken, while I went for the fillet of cod with sauteed green beans and broccoli and the creamiest mash potato. I could have been simply given a plate of their vegetables and been more than happy, they were so delicious. We drank light, fruity French wine and discussed philosophy (we didn't do that). After dessert we paid the bill and walked back towards the Eiffel Tower, now lit up against the sky's black, misty backdrop.

After a few minutes of sitting in the park the Tower's light show began. The glow of it lit up the mist in the air and produced an ethereal haze, all mysterious and surreal. It was one of the best things I've ever seen. I didn't think the Eiffel Tower would interest me hugely, before arriving in Paris, given how often we see it in photographs and on television, but it was simply magnificent. I could look at it for hours and still be just as awestruck as I was on first sight.

Paris - PART TWO.

Our third day in Paris began on Rue Mouffetard, a bustling little foodie street, bursting with colourful fresh produce on street-side market stalls, and too many options for your morning pastry fix. We then got the metro to St Germain and, under strict instructions from everyone who has ever been to Paris, stopped by Laduree for a bag of macaroons to go. Still with food on the brain, and with the knowledge that Ernest Hemmingway would often frequent a cafe nearby, we headed to Les Deux Magots for lunch.

The service left a lot to be desired and I ordered a steak sandwich, forgetting I was in France and said steak sandwich would come to the table still mooing. My apple juice cost seven Euros, which, together with the raw cow, made me nauseous. Hemmingway obviously thought different, but we were not too taken with the place.

We walked down to the Luxembourg Gardens and managed to take some flower snaps before the heavens opened. We had a coffee (for me) and a glass of wine (for him) and then took the metro back to the hotel.

Soaked through and with my fringe stuck to my forehead in only the most attractive of ways, we freshened up ahead of that night's activities (not in a rude way) (they involved posh food and the Eiffel tower). You'll have to wait for those pictures (I repeat, not in a rude way).

Paris - PART ONE.

If you're wondering what that noise is, it's me, skulking in, bearing the gift of photographs and apologising for being a terrible embarrassment to the blogging community. I'm here now though, back from wherever I've been (Paris, and then bed), and I'm ready to share my life again.

The week after the course finished and booked only a few weeks in advance, my boyfriend and I went to Paris for five days, partly because we wanted to celebrate and relax, but mostly because we like croissants. 

Our flight was at 6am and the less I say about it the better. Panic attacks descended and I experienced the worst hour of my life in which it suddenly dawned on me how unnatural it is to be in a large cylinder 23,000 feet in the air with a load of people you don't know. Once we landed in Paris, we got the train to our hotel. We entered reception with glee on our faces and Parisian excitement in our bellies. 

"I'm sorry, there's been a problem with your room and we're fully booked, you can't stay here, we're going to have to send you to another one of our hotels." 

Not quite the news we had hoped for but off we went, to the next hotel. We'd originally booked a 4 star hotel and upon arrival at the new hotel, soon realised that this one was not, in fact, 4 star. With dated brown wallpaper and bedding, the most God-awfully uncomfortable sofa, and a mysterious buzzing sound that gave no evidence it would ever cease, we went back down to reception and demanded to be taken somewhere else.

We were taken somewhere else, luckily, and ended up in a very nice hotel with an excellent view, five minutes from the Eiffel Tower. Complaining works, kids. 

As our first day was consumed by anxiety, travel, anxiety and an extensive tour of Parisian hotels, we didn't take any photographs. However, in the afternoon we went to a lovely little restaurant and ate the most incredibly rich and delicious beef and mushroom stew with crusty bread. And then bought cheese supplies from the local supermarket and took it back to our room to consume that night. So it didn't end too horribly.

Here are pictures of our second day. Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysees, and a magnificent pulled pork sandwich and glass of white in a wine bar. 

It's all over.

An 100 words per minute shorthand exam and a video journalism session saw out my time as a student journalist on Thursday. It was closely followed by a night out in Brighton with my journo pals, drinking, dancing and reminiscing as if we'd been studying together for 15 years, rather than 15 weeks. It certainly feels like it. It was surreal and sad but the relief of revision anxiety finally coming to an end was joyful.

The last 15 weeks of News Writing, Media Law, Public Affairs, Subbing, and (f***ing) Shorthand have been the most intense, stressful and fun of my 21 years. I've learnt so much and, although I could happily stay in our Brighton Journalist Works bubble for the next 21 years, I feel ready to go to grownup job interviews and get a grownup job doing what I've always known I was supposed to do.

Besides all the lessons, exams and seemingly endless shorthand practice, I've made some wonderful friends (and made a special man friend too). Lottie, Amy and Steph - let's be friends forever. And get matching tattoos.

I'm going to miss all 17 of our lovely group, it's going to be very strange not seeing everyone every day. You're all great and I wish you the best of luck. Let's take over the media world.

Apologies, I'll stop being an overly emotional sap soon, I promise... right after I've finished sobbing into my shorthand textbook. I'LL MISS YOU MARIE CARTWRIGHT. 

I'm scared witless, having a mild identity crisis, and not entirely sure I'm going to be able to get through a job interview without sweating so much I become severely dehydrated, but strangely at the same time I'm so excited. I want that byline, to become a working journalist, and I want to write every single day. Wish me luck.

7 days - 15/52

[a picture a day]

Monday

He likes his picture taken. He knows he's handsome. 

Tuesday

 Car selfie, listening to Paramore.

Wednesday

 Then he got a bit too comfortable with pictures.

Thursday

 Felt lots more inspired and at one with the world. Due to warmer weather, admiring the world, and reading brilliant words. 

Friday

 PA revision can suck my dick.

Saturday

 An afternoon of alone time. I ate a good sandwich, spent over an hour browsing in a bookshop and another hour reading in a coffee shop. It was just what I needed.

Sunday

They're out, it's Spring, finally. 

disclaimer - sometimes I cheat and use photos that weren't taken on the day stated. I figure it doesn't make much difference, my life/days tend to look similar and the words are true. 

Heat.

I'm an Autumn/Winter lady. An encourager of cooler climates and opportunities to wear woolly hats. I like snuggling by an open fire with a favourite film flickering on the TV and a mug of hot tea clasped in my palms.

But, frankly Britain, this is taking the piss. Snow in April? I'll pass. It's miserable and we're not impressed. February blues have outstayed their welcome and it's getting awkward. 

So happy were we then, when the weather forecast spoke of a mysterious temperature known as "highs of 18°C", due to arrive this Sunday gone. There were street parties and the Queen danced naked on the roof of Buckingham Palace. 

I went to a tiny village called Warninglid, for a pub lunch, a crisp glass of white and stroll in the rays. I didn't wear a coat and I had the car window open while driving. It was totally awesome. 

What did you do to celebrate sunshine? I'm ready for short-shorts and sandals now.