Le Weekend à Paris

The usual suspects met at Waterloo International.

The clock said 8:00am. There was Jon (vodka for blood) Key, James ( my body is my language) Hammersley and Jim (primate dancer) Newell.

Security was passed. Sweet coffee drunk. Plans were made.

 

Bad Nads Hamidou was there for the rendez-vous at the Nord Gare.

Arnaud (the wheels) Haquin took us to the safe house. We caught up over quiche and Danone products which Bad Nads had procured after a recent heist.

 

The crew tooled up and headed for the Sacred Blue to get a birds eye of the town. Yeah.

French onion soup was taken as a warmer to the Parisienne rain.

 

The crew split.

James ( my body is my language) Hammersley and Arnaud (the wheels) took of to pick up Adrian (kevlar hair) Eddy. The rest had some business in the area of red windmills. Jon (vodka for blood) Key wanted some classy gear to sort out his lady.

 

Evening time.The crew went out to play.

They met at the restaurant and quickly partook in the ceremonial Vodka drinking.

Jon (vodka for blood) Key taking lead.

 

After the four hour meal, it was time to meet the Paris massive. As it should be.

They danced, drank, sang and took photos as evidence.

 

When the hour hit four they made it to the Tower, of Eiffel style.

They checked in with Tim (the Bishop) Brown, manning the hot desk back Angleterre side.

 

On the sabbath one mission was left.

With the Eddy model plane they sent out the message to the Paris massive below, vowing to return.

 

They left as they had came, Kevlar hair by plane the others by train.

They parted company in silence.

Nodding knowingly at the impending future weekends.

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