I went to Paris and all I wrote was this lousy blog

I was a 27-year-old failed Australian journalist, wide eyed in the city of lights: It was my right, nay my destiny, to follow in the footsteps of every other late-20s failed Australian journalists before me and write a book.

But with “I came to Paris and you should know about it” a genre in its own right these days, what could I possibly say or experience that was different? And then it hit me: romance, bromance, dates, mandates, travel, travail and travails.

A typical Parisian Saturday

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