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22.06.02: Le Bistrot, rue Alphonse Baudin / rue St. Sébastien Every day now seemed to feature a "last" something, and tonight it was a last soirée chez moi. In the morning I got out early for a last (well, more like first) search for some kind café-centric picture book, something to possibly model mine on (or else just for photos of interiors). In terms of things English, the best I found was a coffee-table book -- no pun intended -- at W.H. Smith. I then rode back to the Canal to meet Brian for one last leisurely Saturday lunch, but since the place I wanted to try was closed, we opted for the Cambodian restaurant nearby. Looking through the book I'd bought, Brian made the obvious suggestion that we hit one of the wackier cafés featured in it. We settled on a tiny place in a nondescript part of the 18e with some very colourful and slightly creepy tilework, something of a cross between Portuguese azulejos and a Bosch painitng. Unfortuntely since eveyone inside was watching the football game, we couldn't exactly bask in the décor, so after one drink we headed for a joint in my area, which not only seemed to have a crowd of young-ish regulars, but also a wooden foozball (babyfoot -- I kid you not) table, and chairs of deep blue velvet. Not much doing this afternoon, except that this was the first and only time someone was upset by my photgraphing -- "you never know where they end up," were his exact words approximately.
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