made better by a trip to WH Smith. Got the New Yorker's Book of Food and Drink, Foreign Tongues, and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society. New books are always a good antidote to whatever ails you.
Then went out for dinner to a fondue place in Montmartre that serves wine out of baby bottles. Yes, it's a bit of a tourist trap, but it was more fun than expected. I had last been there when I was a teenager, believe it or not, and it hadn't changed a bit. Even the waiter was the same. He used to be a metal worker and started working there 21 years ago, is retiring at the end of the year. Crusty and irreverent and funny and intolerant as only an old-time Parisian waiter can be. Plus, I scored a phone number. I've still got it baby, whatever "it" is.