I've only gone and found it!

There are 3 things in life I love more than most;

1)- My Family(gaaayyy)

2)- Apple Juice

and maybe the most important 3)- Milk.

To tear myself away from Britain and it's glorious production of milk was one of the hardest things about my going away. Day in, day out, for nearly 22 years I have consumed milk like armageddon was coming. It goes with everything. Cereal? Yep. Biscuits? Sure. Tea? Classic. Casual thirst quenching beverage? Obviously. Fit for all occassions and unrivalled across the planet by its freshness and taste, British milk has been a huge part of my life. So, with my 9 month absence, it was looking like a long distance relationship I'd have to make work.

With this is mind, I thought I may, with the French love of all things agricultural, be able to find some sort of substitute, somewhere. On my first visit to the local Carrefour (French Tesco), my hopes were dented slightly as the shelves of long life milk took pride of place (I find these and other non-refrigerated milks deeply, deeply offensive). But to be honest, I was so excited at food shopping for myself again, my search for any fresh milk was fairly lacklustre. I ended up settling for some chocolate milk, CandyUp, to be precise, but it's just not the same.

Setting out for my second visit to the supermarket with a much reduced shopping list, I thought it the perfect time to go on a real hunt for some pasteurized milk. Coupled with an emptier shop and it being the first day under 20 degrees, I was also, for the first time, comfortable in my winter clothing (which mum so kindly forced me to pack in abundance, leaving me with no option but to operate my 5 t-shirts on a Rafa Benitez like rotation policy). 

I set out snaking my way through the isles, tinned veg isle, bread isle, the cereal isle (no Shreddies..my 4th love) until I approached the big one. With my back turned on the disgracefully large long-life section I used my MilkRay vision and homed in for the kill. A couple of dead-ends, luring me in with the word frais, only to be turned away when the expiry date is in 100 years time. And then came the moment, I saw it. Slightly left of centre, a couple of rows up, pasteurizé, frais, qualité. I went for it, Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Bottle of Milk I thought.

It was a punt. I've been to several French/European hotels and they all claim to serve fresh milk but it always ended up tasting like cold feet but I figured at 1.17 euros, it was worth a risk. So as I got home I unpacked my bag and unloaded my shopping. I took out the milk, placed it on the desk and opened it. Glug, glug, glug. I waited for any horrible after taste...but it never came. RESULT. It will never, of course, be able to beat British milk but for now, it feels like if British milk were my girlfriend, then this French milk would be Skype with a HD webcam so as to keep in touch her.

Some would say I'm the happiest man in Paris right now....

here she is!