I’ll make mistakes in future. I might be back in Paris alone, twice more, thrice more. Who knows. But as I get older and glean what can only be described as a soupçon of knowledge (don’t be the bore who always does the right thing in a relationship, where’s your passion? Give your friends something to bitch about, for goodness' sake), all I know is that it really is better not to know what’s around the corner. The mystery of being single is something I embrace rather than fear, because there’s nothing more terrifying than knowing you’re spending it with someone who makes you feel overdressed at the party. This time Paris sat back, took a long look at me and said 'Huh'. I’ll take that.