Paris, 7:10 p.m.

I won’t say it was the best transatlantic flight ever; the cabin felt as hot as Paris this afternoon—eighty-plus degrees (minus the sun beaming down on our heads)—and the food was truly dreadful (no surprise, eh?).

Arrived at 9 a.m., midnight Laguna Beach . . . a thirty-minute taxi into the city and, after a brief wait for the concierge, we were in our apartment and unpacked.

The rest of the day we waged the battle of staying awake. Considering it’s past seven and we’ve yet to succumb I’d say we’re not doing too poorly. (Of course, a few pints and a few Ricards certainly help.)

We’re now in for the evening: a bottle of 2005 Château Belvue Bordeaux (a gift from the apartment owner), rillettes, pâté, baguettes, mirabelle plums, and a rhubarb tart for dinner. If we make it till 10 p.m. I’ll be amazed.