Better Than Yoga

I have a confession: I didn’t go to yoga yesterday. I’d booked the class days ago with the best intentions, and when I left for work in the morning, it was in the mindset of being out until 8:30pm (when yoga ends), save for the fifteen-minute stop home to change into something a little more appropriate (because I don’t tend to go to work in leggings and sports tops).

The best laid plans of mice and men, and all that, though. Having spent the whole day achingly aware of the glorious sunshine on the other side of the office window, by about 4 o’clock, I had made up my mind. I couldn’t commit myself to spending another minute – let alone another hour – inside, when it was 22 degrees and clear blue skies were calling. I cancelled my class and sent a message to my other half proposing we do something outside-y. He replied to meet him at Trocadéro after work. Sorted.

If you don’t know it, Trocadéro is the area around the Eiffel Tower, on the opposite side to the Champ de Mars. You know that sort of platform where everyone has engagement photo shoots and takes pictures pretending to hold/lean on the Tower? There. I described it a little more a couple of posts back, so I won’t bore you with a second identical description. It’s a great place to relax and enjoy the sun, anyway – apart from the platform bit, there are lots of squares of grass, intersected by little paths and flower beds, and plenty of benches if you don’t fancy roughing it on the ground.

We did, though, so we picked a spot and spread our otherwise-wholly-unnecessary jackets down by way of makeshift picnic blanket. And it did turn into a mini picnic too:  next thing, Jeremy opens his satchel and produces a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, two wine glasses, a tub of olives and some cheese! He even remembered the cocktail sticks. There were also a couple of these sorbet ice lollies, which had actually fared surprisingly well, considering the journey they’d made, and the weather – but did have to be eaten pretty sharpish.

We sat and talked and laughed and generally enjoyed the whole scenario until the wine was gone and the shadows from the trees had long overtaken our patch of grass. It was one of those evenings where everything was so deliciously cliché that you’d probably roll your eyes at it if you saw it in a film – y’know, because “people don’t do things like that in real life”. But then, I always thought “real life” was overrated anyway.

And did I mention how much I love a good cliché?

P.S. 26 degrees today. Not that I’m showing off or anything. Well, maybe just a little. But 26!