Somedays I like to just come home, put my feet up, sit on the sofa with the boy and slowly fall asleep in front of a badly-dubbed episode of CSI.
I know, it's hardly rock and roll, but hey, even Joan Jett needed a rest from time to time, right?
Last night was one of those nights. I've been out every evening for 11 days now, and have a full weekend of visitors from the UK ahead of me. I'm struggling with my extended commute and thus my extended day, and I needed a rest.
When I got home, le FP was sat on the sofa with our lovely Dainty Friend - a truly beautiful, petite, gorgeous French girl who is an old friend of le FP. She's easygoing, funny and fun and the three of us ate bowls of pasta and then cuddled up in an ugly old pile of arms and legs to watch TV.
I was enjoying the love-in when the doorbell rang.
It was a crazy French-Canadienne friend, turning up to show us her latest purchases - a pair of rubber trousers and some Louboutin-esque red, sparkly heels. My evening immediately descended into chaos as she stripped off and threw on the rubber pants before giving us her best ANTM runway moves.
The champagne got opened and I figured my cosy evening was over.
The doorbell rang again.
It was the other le FP, le FP Light we'll call him. FPL had brought his boyfriend round to show us his broken hand - he'd fought off some muggers in the cité where they live two days ago and was visibly hurting.
So, amidst screams and whelps and cries of delight - this group hasn't been in the same room as each other for some time it would seem, and they had lots to catch up on - I headed off to the drinks cabinet. Well, it's actually a white leather trunk stocked to the hilt but I like to call it the drinks cabinet.
I opened the 12 year old Japanese whisky and retired, gracefully to my bedroom.
I popped open my freebie webbook (thanks Sony) and did a bit of surfing whilst sipping at the single malt.
Within minutes, I wasn't alone.
Le FP arrived and lay down on the bed next to me.
"Sorry" he said, looking sheepish.
We were in the middle of a tender moment when the door to the room opened to a chorus of screams and a round of camera flashes. Le FP got everyone out of the room eventually and, feeling like a party-pooper, I went and joined them in le salon.
As I got steadily more drunk, I relaxed and started to appreciate the company of these crazy people a bit more - either that, or I started to care less....
At 2am, they all headed off home - except for the one that had decided to stay overnight - and me and le FP went to bed.
I got up with my alarm at 6am this morning, leaving le FP in bed - he had at least two hours of sleep ahead of him before he needed to leave for work - a day's fashion shoot at a fancy design hotel. He didn't even wake up when I rolled him over to kiss him goodbye.
Now I desperately need a night off.
I need for no-one to turn up unexpectedly.
It's going to be Sunday evening. Lights out, no-one at home.
I'm hanging out the do not disturb sign.
Heaven help anyone who comes a-knocking...