Fifth Business...

... Or, "the inevitable fifth", who I haven't seen in about a month. Toby is our mystery flatmate. Clear signs of his presence assure us he hasn't died leaving us devoid of his share of the rent- like last night, when he seems to have decided to shave his head, leaving a gift of a full head of hair in the bathroom sink; I think its highly unfair that he's able to scare the living daylights out of a frightfully hungover me at the crack of dawn without even going to the effort of being there in person.
But in themselves, Toby sightings are rare.
When leaving for France, I took care to pack in advance- I know what I'm like, and have a tendency to leave everything to the last minute, and it never gets done. Then I spent too long saying goodbye to everyone and had to run out the door- and picked up the wrong bag .
Arriving in France, I opened my bag hunting for my toothbrush- once we'd found a hotelier willing to let us continue to live in sin in peace- and found... packets upon packets of that arch nemesis of dental hygiene, Shortbread.

Oh, yes- I'd arrived in France devoid of anything bar what I was standing up in.

I then spent the next hour trying to get hold of Toby-
"Tobes. Why the hell do I have a bag full of shortbread?"
"I can't explain it Im! It's just... I had a long drive, and it seemed like a good idea at the time, and they were buy three get two free and.."
"And you didn't warn me why? You were there when I left!"
"But our bags are so similar, and.. OK. I thought it'd be a nice suprise for you on the plane, I know you hate airport food."
"And you didn't think I'd rather have clothes to wear?"
"Well you do wear J's jeans a lot..."
I hung up.

And then I spent the next week or so wandering around the city in a pair of J's jeans, rolled down to my waist and held in place with a belt and braces- the only shoes I had with me were four inch heels, so I'm now adept at walking in them.
Tick. Good thing.
Good thing I had my lucky beret with me, otherwise I'd have stood out like a mad woman among all them elegant Parisiennes.
Oh, and you know what song was playing in the hotel lift that evening?
Dude Looks Like a Lady. Oh, yes.