Franck should just be flying over Paris right about now. He left Victoria at 5:00 last night.
It’s 12:30pm in Victoria now (the next day) and he’s not even close to La Maison des Chaumes yet.
Once he lands at Charles de Gaulle he still has to survive a ride down Roissy’s notorious Jetson tubes, take the RER C to the Gare de Lyon, then hop on the TGV down to Dijon where his parents will pick him up and drive him back to our Burgundian crash pad.
And this is all going on the assumption that everything is on time *snort* and that he hasn’t been held up by any strikes *double snort*.
When I am actually the one travelling I go into a secondary state where I lose all sense of what time it is, or even what day it is. It’s really when I am the one sitting at home, tracking someone else’s progress acros the Atlantic that I realize no matter which way you cut it, Victoria to Villers-la-Faye is a long haul.