I'm seriously thinking it's time to come clean and admit what just about everyone who's ever visited this blog has known from the beginning: that there's not really enough material to keep a self-styled Toulouse Town Cryer in headlines when he hardly ever goes out. Tara Palmer-Tomkinson I am not; I'm more likely to be found replying to e-mails of an evening than snorting controlled substances out of another local socialite's navel, more's the pity. In any case, even if I were out on the tiles every night, you'd soon be familiar with most of the venues: a couple of rather dodgy nightclubs and a casino. OK, there are probably hundreds more (I should maybe just ask one of our student neighbours) but, to be quite honest, I don't give a damn. Nightspots are nightspots and probably don't differ that much from country to country; I found late-night bars in London, Chicago and Hamburg to be equally squalid; cheap curry houses in Manchester and Sydney practically identical and other establishments of any kind of repute more similar than the countries where they were located. Toulouse does have a lot going for it in the way of culture, though; a selection of straight theatre, opera, ballet, modern dance and alternative entertainment not even the socialists in the town hall have managed to destroy. Toulouse also has its fair share of what you'll find anywhere: cinemas, good restaurants, brain-dead youths pumping music out of their car hifis at 300dB and hirsuit homeless arguing the toss with lampposts at 1am.
There's a very good theatre just round the corner from where we live. Mrs. F and I have been a few times and keep on saying we'll have to go again, sooner rather than later. We'll probably organise a babysitter and go next week. Providing I finish my e-mails, that is.