Life in Paris

Paris, I miss you…

I have blogged before about Wednesdays I think, but I am to blog again. This time to write about an incident which made me, quite simply, laugh. This, i should mention, is an extremely rare occurrence on a day consisting of 10 solid hours with 3 children under the age of 9.

The youngest, who has turned four recently, has picked up a habit from his insanely annoying 6 year old brother, which I simply cannot put a stop to. Every single time I walk him home from school, or the park, he runs into the rather refined Hotel de Suede, and grabs a random leaflet from their lobby display. So far I have had to read to him about “Transport links to Paris Airports”, “Park Asterix” (3 times) and “Chateau de Versailles”, just to mention a few.

Today, however, he selected one entitled “Musee de L’erotisme”, with not only a rather interestingly positioned man and lady on the front, but also a -2Euro token attached. It kind of made my day!

I bought one!

The dreamer or the realist?

I am a realist at heart, even a pessimist at times, but in a way i’m glad for being that little bit less exposed. I simply hate to be let down, but I do long to be brave. To be able to dream, to imagine, to expect, like couragious dreamers do. 

I’m in love with your “ultimate dreamer”. He is confident in things I don’t dare even begin to think about. He talks to me about our plans, our future, with this huge, wonderful vibrancy. It’s so life-like, so convincing. Yet I falter, The Pessimist, pointing out the faults and flaws in The Optimists grand scheme. 

Yet we work, it’s wonderful. He lifts my hopes, dares me to dream, and I realise how wonderful it can be to allow yourself to get carried away, and that the blow of disappointment needn’t be fatal. Whilst I keep him just a little bit grounded, like the little weight on the end of the string tied to a helium balloon. I cushion the fall, minimise the upset. He brings out a better side to me by giving me a little dose of his confidence.

Who would have thought it, the optimistic dreamer and the pessimistic realist, it’s a match made in heaven!

Happy Birthday

So i’m sitting in bed, laptop on lap, sipping diet coke and looking for inspiration….

The comforting sound of the bubbles gently popping as they reach the surface gets me thinking about how much I depend on the stuff. Sure, I love it for its taste (nothing else containing a mere 0 calories tastes anywhere near as good). But that’s not really why I drink it. It has an effect on me, puts my often out-of-focus mind into razor sharp focus, allowing me to concentrate, and think, intensely.

Hence why I’ve got a litre of the liquid on my bedside table as I type.

You see, I really shouldn’t be in Paris, not today. I should be precisely 494 miles north (according to Google Maps), preferably in bed.

Please, let me introduce to you a boy I met a couple of years ago. In a few hours, 489 days ago exactly, he asked me to be his girlfriend. I had no idea things would turn out the way they have. I’ve ended up with a best friend and the love of my life, all rolled into one gorgeous, loving and extraordinarily kind boy. No amount of diet coke would give me enough brain power to figure out how I got so lucky.

And so, all the way from Paris, I wanted to wish you a Happy 19th Birthday - I just hope you read this!!

I love you.

A love story

I’ve fallen head over heels in love. Again.

It’s different the second time round, more familiar, less confusing. I know I’m in love, no doubt about it. But nevertheless, I wasn’t ready for this. Love tends to have this strange way of creeping up on us. We don’t see it coming until it’s too late, and we’re suddenly dizzy and falling, deeper and deeper into it, with no chance to turn back, think twice, change your mind. This, however, was love at first sight, a complete and utter accident, smacked me right in the face at about one million times the speed it did the first time.

Sadly he doesn’t love me back, he can’t, he doesn’t have a heart.

I see him almost every day and my breath catches in my chest every time. I gaze up at him and remind myself that it doesn’t even matter if he can’t love me back, for he is totally magnificant. The most beautiful creation, and I want him, all for myself. But he doesn’t belong to me, and I am not the only one who stares at him, at his refined beauty.

Life is all about sharing, so go, feast your eyes.

http://thbz.org/images/paris/7/delorme-maison.jpg

He’s too old for me anyway…

Egg Incident

Today the little boy smashed an egg on the cream carpet. And you know what, it wasn’t even his fault.

There are two possible things to blame here:

1. He’s only 3. When I demanded to know why the carpet was now adorned with a yellowy gunk, his huge brown eyes gazed up at mine and he simply repeated over and over again- “There was a baby in it”. The repetition was there for my sake, as he now firmly believes that I am too stupid to even know where hens come from.

2. This rediculous game.

Yes it is for 5 years old and over, but who, in their right mind, creates a game which frankly just teaches children that eggs are made of rubber and definitely bounce.

They don’t.

There’s the carpet to show for that.

My First Visitor

5 days together in my shoe-box room, 4 nights sharing a teeny single bed, 3 indulgent stops at cafés and restaurants and 2 strolls under the eiffel tower, all with 1 extremely long awaited visitor…

Today is Wednesday a.k.a The Day From Hell. Each Wednesday evening I retreat, utterly defeated after 12 hours with the kids, to my cupboard. Once safely inside, I attempt to soothe my pounding head and wrecked nerves by plugging in my fairy lights, lighting my scented candle, and downing a glass of diet coke (2 paracetemol: optional).

This Wednesday was particularly hellish, probably because I had the most heavenly weekend. I don’t even know where to begin. Probably at Gare du Nord, where I was busy doing my meercat impression looking for a bloody loo when I stumbled into my visitor. Not exactly the slow mo, crowd parting, romantic reunion I had planned. But it was like heaven, all the same.

The weekend just got better and better. Being able to speak face to face again with my best friend, ending up in the Moulin Rouge, introducing him to my (drunken) friends in the Bastille, too many crepe, watching the rugby in Stollys, wandering the streets of the Marais, foie gras, Musee Rodin, cafe et chocolat chaud, 2 wonderful meals out at ‘Chartier’ and ‘Au Pied de Fouet’, breakfast in bed, drinking “champomme” under the eiffel tower…I could go on forever. But I won’t, except to say that the two restaurants we ate at were fun, cheap and very french, and I wouldn’t hesitate to go back.

http://www.restaurant-chartier.com/www/

http://www.aupieddefouet.com/

Living in Paris, on a tight budget, it’s easy to loose the sense of spontaneity you have when money’s no object. This weekend I really enjoyed Paris for what it is - a beautiful, romantic, expensive, but delicious place. Sometimes you just have to be prepared to let go of those well earned pennies. Especially when you’re in the mood to celebrate with your long lost love. Trust me, you won’t regret it.