I'm not, however, and I don't, and I do, and I can't imagine it for a moment. And neither can, I'm afraid, the rest of the west, for want of a better term.
And so I ran, leaping gaps, fording peetrails, encountering strange tribes, deciphering faint signs and train times, finally squeezing daughter through the Gare du Nord Eurostar check in and onto the 18.13 for King's Cross Saint Pancras in the nick of time, give or take a few seconds.
Well, it's been a long 24 hours - the clocks went back, adding 60 minutes - and I need a good 9 or 10 hours to face up to the next 7 days. Sweet dreamtimes - see you in Neverland!