9.00am: The commute to work in Paris is dismal. The first option involves meandering through the cobbled streets of the Marais, obliging me to stop at a café for a croissant and a coffee. Or I run along the islands in the middle of the Seine, past Notre Dame, along the Left Bank with the Bouquinistes, past the Louvre and through the Jardin des Tuilleries. I shower, and wonder how I'll ever go back to the Northern line.

10.00am: I pick up my friend and we go to the kitchen for a coffee. I say kitchen - it is in fact a shrine to Perrier water, Orangina and Nespresso machines. We are joined by half of the team, and finally get back to our offices half an hour later. Mornings generally start more slowly than in London, and not before an assessment of the failings of the Metro that morning, or what the politicians have done now. Some things really are the same either side of the channel.

10.30am: I have a meeting with an English partner and French associate regarding an international restructuring. Along with an associate in the London office I'm looking after the aspects of English law. We're working to a tight completion schedule, and having problems getting the documents we need from the other side. The partner picks up the phone and after a two-minute rebuke of such eloquence and persuasiveness that it left our jaws on the table, it was sorted.

11.30am: I call the associate I'm working with in London, to work through an agenda for everything we need to get done before the closing the following week. I then draft a long email to the other side, setting out which documents are still outstanding and various points still in negotiation.

1.00pm: Time for lunch. My supervisor Camille loves food, and the subject dominates the majority of our conversation. We go to his favourite place, a tiny bistro off Boulevard des Capucinces. He is friends with the owner, who ushers us over to a rickety table. Camille has a juicy rumpsteak with a mountain of frites (as ever) and I get convinced by the maitre de to have the confit de canard with potato dauphinoise. A normal lunch in the Paris office.

2.30pm: One of our clients calls and requests a due diligence report on a loan they are thinking of purchasing. I spend a couple of hours reviewing a facility agreement and drafting a report which identifies any potential problems. I then phone the client and talk through a couple of the points.

5.00pm: Camille starts talking about food. He decides that we haven't eaten enough today, so we go to his favourite boulangarie. He takes back to the office a freshly baked galette de rois which he demands everyone in the team join us for. We then embark on the French tradition of someone (me) hiding under a table (my desk) and calling out the name of each person in the room who then takes a slice of cake. The person who gets a miniature figure of a king hidden inside becomes king. There don't seem to be any privileges attached to becoming king, but you do get to wear a crown and be smug for the day.

5.30pm: In the middle of this commotion I receive a request from another client to give comments on some transfer certificates. This turns out to be more complicated than expected, and involves a lot of drafting, which I enjoy. I then translate a short agreement from French to English.

8.30pm: I meet up with my friends, who have been seconded out to other law firms in Paris. We meet up in a café in Saint Germain, where we share a bottle of sancerre and a plate of charcuterie and talk about how we don't want to leave, ever.