After the flatpack furniture debacle, cooking dinner seemed too exhausting so we hopped in the Renault and drove 22 miles to a McDonalds. Whenever I think about McDonalds in Europe, I think about Vincent Vega’s speech in Pulp Fiction when he’s telling Jules about McDonalds in Paris; Le Big Mac, Royale with Cheese, fries drowned in mayonnaise, beer … you know what I’m talking about. So even though I was in Apt and not Paris, there was no way I was having a coke with my Le Big Mac. And you know what, that was a tasty beer.
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