Ashlee is one of my best "I don't need to see you for a long time because we just pick up where we left off last time" friends. Last time I saw her was in a small café in Montmartre after 5 months of living in different countries. This time we met on Thursday night for a hasty supper of bread, cheese and wine in a small wine store tucked away in the back streets behind the Sacré Coeur to discuss the importance of creating good karma and Ashlee's imminent (next day) permanent move to the south of France. Jack, an incredibly gorgeous, tall, dark and far too young Australian, joined us for half an hour, nibbled on some chilli-coated cheese and described how he woke up this morning in a 4-star hotel complete with fluffy dressing gowns and a beautiful girl in his arms. Ashlee and I just sighed.Jack had offered to drive Ashlee to Nice (I suspect so that he could lie on the beach and top up his tan) in an upgraded white van with a creatively splintered wing mirror. The van still need to be packed. It was getting dark. What else do you do in the tiny lanes of Montmartre on a Thursday night than stagger along the sidewalk carrying the contents of a friend's apartment and her collection of 50 pairs of designer shoes all in their original boxes?
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