Two days in Paris

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Only a few photos, but a lot of laughs, great company and one particularly, breath-taking memory of Paris by night on the back of a scooter.

Paris photos MUST be taken in black and white

Paris photos MUST be taken in black and white

Law abiding black and white photos

NOTE: Not many people may know this, but there is an actual law that states you must take at least 50% of photographs of Paris in black and white.

Saturday morning breakfast

Saturday morning breakfast

This colour photograph is within the allowed quota.

If you wish hard enough, you can do magic with your brain

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I have a magic brain.  I started wishing yesterday for something to happen.  I wished really, really hard all day yesterday, all night and then today when I was getting up at 4.30am (when what I really wanted to do was stay in bed with my hot host).  That was not good, but necessary.

Then, at 12.11 today, the wish came true.

So, comprehensive, infallible scientific evidence, if ever it were needed, that if you really want something hard enough, you can make it happen with your brain power.

Walt Disney was right, wishes really DO come true.

Not-absolutely-necessary-for-wishing star.

Not-absolutely-necessary-for-wishing star.

“……..Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you
wish upon a star
Your dreams come true.”  See?

NB.  Stars not strictly, absolutely necessary for wish coming true-age.  You’re welcome science world.

Post good-times come down

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The only problem with having a whirlwind break away in a beautiful city with a really funny, charming and attractive man, is the return to reality…… Charles de Gaulle airport 6am, Easyjet, afternoon classes, an argument with a teenager in the queue and pain in parts of your body you didn’t know existed.

Stage direction: whispers behind hand out of corner of mouth, “That last part I can live with……”

Living the Dream

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I’m living out a fantasy right now as I type, but not the one involving Johnny Depp dressed as Jack Sparrow, that’s another post for another day.

Stairs to my apartment

Stairs to my apartment

Picture this, I’m sitting with my really long legs (work with me people) curled under me on the sofa, wearing an oversized ‘boyfriend’ jumper (it’s just an expression, don’t panic anyone), writing my latest post on a Macbook Air in the cutest little Paris apartment in the 19th Arrondissement – overlooking the balcony of the B*tch Killers of Rue de Meaux – but we don’t think too much about that while living the dream, and anyway, they’ve seen me naked now, so I think that makes us friends.

In my mind, I’m a successful writer, this is MY place, the jumper belongs to my extremely hot, funny, giant-brained boyfriend who I have kicked out for a couple of hours, to give me my space to write while I’m inspired, in a Marlene Dietrich kind of, “I vant to be alone” way.  There is a glass of ice–cold champagne to hand, every successful creative needs to drink while working and really it should be a robust red, but I drank way too much of that last night and well honestly, I can live with a 98% accurate fantasy.

I think it suits me rather well this life, except the legs, they’d just look stupid and I wouldn’t be able to keep them under control, and I’d be staggering around like a boyfriend jumper-wearing Bambi.

SO to live that life is so far away??  All I need really now is the boyfriend thus boyfriend jumper, but I could just go to Zara Man and get a size large…. a publisher and approximately 200,000 euros for the place and the Macbook and the wine, and the fantasy becomes reality. Remember, nothing is impossible.

(Let’s have this conversation again in twelve months!)

How I found myself in a crack den

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Poshest ‘crack den’ ever!

OR: was taken by my  host  to simply pick up his scooter from a friend’s apartment.

Because of your guest’s mild nervousness at being in a city where she doesn’t speak the language and is completely at the mercy of a man she barely knows (hot Frenchie), it’s not a funny joke to phone ahead to your best friend and ask them to pretend to smoke crack when you arrive to collect your scooter and some mail….. (well maybe just a little bit).

The b*tch killers of Rue de Meaux

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I think I’m witnessing the disposal of a body, on a balcony across the road.  I can’t see the body, but I know it’s there from the lifting and grunting and dragging from the two men stooped over something quite obviously heavy.  A body.  My delightful host has said nothing to quell this suspicion, in fact quite the contrary, fanning the flames.  Apparently the chaps over the road are the B*tch Killers of the 19th Arrondissement.  They have a branded van and business cards and drive around disposing of bitchy women apparently, which, I am told, is a particular problem in this neighbourhood.

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Nice blokes by all accounts.  Who knew?

(I’m too scared to take a photo in case it’s true).