I am earning £–,000 a year and I’m a single man with no children, so I should be financially very comfortable—but I’m not—because of my £–000 credit card debt. Christ, its only 1140. Being too early every day is so often the bane of my holidays—although arriving at Fifth Avenue after 6 on the first night was responsible for me losing sight of the intriguing woman so quickly. 1145. What the hell am I going to do till 556 this afternoon? A marathon Cine Paris session would be fine if the films weren’t as rubbish as they are this week. Carry on drinking my cans of Jupiler in the hotel lounge is probably the cheapest option—for a while at least.