8.15am: I wake up feeling like I wasted yesterday a little bit and that I should make the absolute most of today, my last in Paris. Plus now as there’s really only so much financial damage I can do, I loosen the purse strings a little. I head straight for Les Deux Magots, a café that can count Simone de Beauvoir, James Joyce, Jean-Paul Sartre, Pablo Picasso, Julia Child and Ernest Hemingway as one-time regulars. It’s pricey, but it gives good Instagram. I have a coffee. €6/£5.26
9.30am: I make the dire mistake of going into Brentano’s, a book and stationery store on Avenue de l'Opéra. It is a treasure trove of stuff I want but definitely don’t need. I buy a book (How To Be Parisian Wherever You Are by Anne Berest and Audrey Diwan – can you tell I’m upset to be going home?), two notebooks, a bookmark and an Eiffel Tower-shaped paperclip. Somehow that adds up to €51.35/£45.05.
10.15am: Foiled on my last attempt by soldes at Kate Spade, I finally make it to the Palais Garnier. It doesn’t take long to tour the publicly accessible spaces, but they are very impressive. One room in particular is so opulent it makes me make "ah" noises. Because I bought a Musée d'Orsay ticket within the last seven days, I get in for a reduced price of €8/£7.01.
11.30am: I walk to Sacré-Cœur, the highest point in Paris, forgetting until it’s too late that this will involve some serious hills. Every time I’ve been to Montmartre I’ve been unimpressed, and sadly today is no exception. Paris is filled with tourists, but Montmartre seems to only have them. It’s feels like the French pavilion at Epcot.
12.45pm: I stop at Café des Deux Moulins, where Amélie worked in the eponymous film. I have their signature dish with their signature beer: honey-roasted camembert and a Fabuleuse. It’s a religious experience. Before I’ve finished, I’m already googling how to honey-roast camembert at home. €17/£14.91
2pm: I walk to Parc Monceau because there’s a pretty picture of it in my guide book. But in reality, the park reminds me of the Emerald City in Return to Oz: unkempt, rundown and filled with the partial ruins of things.
3.30pm: Back at the Centre, I prep for my evening plans. They’re ambitious: I’m going to Bar Hemingway at the Ritz. Problem is, I had no intention of going there because prior to the unexpected payment, I simply couldn’t afford to, but now… Look, I’ll just have one, it’s my last night, etc, etc. I put on the most respectable thing I’ve brought with me, a £30 Primark dress so synthetic the care label probably recommends carrying a fire extinguisher with you at all times, and a pair of grubby ballerina flats. I unwrap my new Kate Spade bag and hold in front of me, like a talisman.
6.10pm: I think there’s every chance I’ll be turned away from the bar (with a ‘Residents only tonight’ or some other polite excuse) and arrive only 10 minutes after opening to minimise this risk. There’s no problem, though. Being a lone drinker, I’m directed to take a seat at the bar, but I’m soon emboldened by my first cocktail and ask if I can move. The bar is absolutely tiny – when I walked in initially I thought I was in the foyer of it – but I refuse to feel bad about taking up a table. The staff are professional to a fault and transfer my accoutrements for me. There’s a lot of them. As well as my cocktail (which has a freshly cut flower in it), I’ve been served a glass of water garnished with cucumber, a tiered tray of nibbles and a bowl of olives. I order two more cocktails. Hemingway is everywhere. His Life magazine covers are framed on the wall, there’s one of his typewriters in the corner and behind me on the bar is an early edition of A Moveable Feast. He ‘liberated’ this place from Nazi occupation back in 1944, reportedly with champagne. This has been an incredibly special week for me and I’m feeling what the kids call totes emosh. Or maybe I’ve had one too many of these amazing cocktails. I ask for the bill: €90/£78.95 for three cocktails and I leave a €10/£8.77 tip. The best part of the experience is that on the way out, I get lost in the labyrinthine hallways of the hotel and have to ask a lobby host for directions. After she gives them, she leans over and whispers conspiratorially, "I love your dress!"
10.30pm: Dinner is a drunken McDonald's. I think it was €9/£7.89.