Aeroplanes, fireworks and.....Hugo Chavez

So, Bastille day. Quite the day.

I was sat happily typing away at my desk when I heard some almighty noise outside. I went to the window and in the sky - really, really low - was a big passenger jet, flanked by two military jets on either side. Oh lord, thought I.

But no, it was the start of the military flypast for the 14th July celebrations. For the next ten minutes, aeroplanes young and old flew over my building, in formation and with the obligatory tricolor fumes. Amazing.

An hour later, the street was filled with horses and riders in full ceremonial uniform as they made their way back from the Champs Elysees parade to their barracks in the East of the city. Low flying aircraft and two hundred horses in the street. Could it get any odder?

You know me well enough to know that it most certainly could.

To top off the day, we had the fireworks. The most amazing firework display was promised, and I was invited to watch them from the balcony of my new Mexican friend. The one I took for Tex-Mex. He has forgiven me, apparently.

Anyway, he lives with his lovely wife (also Mexican) by Bir Hakeim metro station, on the 12th floor with an amazing top to tail view of the Eiffel Tower. Their view not only takes in the tower, but also stretches across the river to the Trocadero - in other words, you'd pay serious money for this view of the fireworks, so I was pleased to have taken a bottle of pink fizz to thank them.

I said that the day got odder, and it certainly did.

The other guests at the fireworks party were: 3 Venezuelans, 1 Brazilian, 1 Italian, 1 Englishman, plus me and the two Mexicans. So we all sat there speaking mongrel French, eating guacamole and generally putting the world to rights.

Trust me when I say that when I learnt to speak French as a youth, I never thought I'd be using it in heated discussions about Venezuelan politics.

To be frank, I'm amazed that I even have an opinion on the subject, but I guess that's the miracle of beer.

22h45 and the Fireworks started. Stunning. Too amazing for words really.

The downside was the crowd of 600,000 people all making their way home afterwards. I walked a mile or so before I found a metro station that was a) open, b) not besieged by people heading for home and c) on a decent line for me. At 2 am I walked in the door and slept, dreaming in French of fireworks and, worryingly, of Hugo Chavez.

It was back to work today, but fear not, holidays are just around the corner.

In some ways it's a shame to be jetting off to a far flung island just as the weather is turning really toasty here in France. But this sounds like I'm moaning about going on holiday, which of course I'm not doing.

Three more sleeps and I'll be on the plane.

First stop Osaka, The hotel I'm staying in has lots of good reviews online and it's right in the middle of the shopping area - which, let's not kid ourselves here, is what trips to Japan are all about.

Much excitement. They may not have fireworks over the Seine in Japan, but they do have stores full of useless-but-pretty shite that has my name written all over it.

Woo hoo, holidays here we come.