Observations about Paris:

People look you up and down. After 3 days of feeling inferior and hating Parisians I realised that's just what they do. They're looking at your shoes, checking you out. It's not done maliciously.

Even when it's really crowded no one does that thing of not knowing which way to pass you and going, 'Oh, er oops, sorry'. I don't know if this says anything about the French but somehow they always know which way to pass.

If you say 'bonjour' when entering a shop and 'au revoir' when you leave, or at least make an effort to speak in French then people will be really nice to you. I learned this the hard way.

On a Sunday in the Marais you may observe thousands of sparkling Converse boots being herded down Rue Vielle du Temple and Rue des Francs Bourgeois by their owners.
They are not battered and beloved like mine, they look brand new and EVERYONE wears them.

Fashion week is considered an important event by the city as a whole. Perhaps because of this you feel you are actually there to appreciate the clothes. It's somehow more friendly and dare I say it, fun.

Boulangeries make you fat. French girls are freakishly thin. I haven't quite worked this one out yet as right now my jeans are straining to contain all the baguettes I've eaten.

French girls are taught how to knot a nonchalant chignon as soon as they have enough hair to work with.

When the sky is blue and I walk accross the Seine, my head spins with just how beautiful it all is. Total cheesiness alert:

I feel as if I can't quite take in any more beauty or perfection. AND I have been writing poetry. A whole notebook full so far.

Go on, take the piss.

Everyone I have met here is a writer, poet, artist or creative type.

French boys are cute and sexy. They actually speak to you in bars and when they say 'enchante' I forget it really just means 'pleased to meet you' and kid myself that they are really enchanted.

Every non French person I have met who lives in Paris has a variation on the story that they came for a holiday and stayed for 1, 10, 20 years.

The wine I always drink from Nicolas in London which costs £4.95 (very reasonable) costs 2 euros 90 here. 'What a bargain' I thought.
Then I saw tramps drinking it in the Place des Vosges. Admittedly they were upmarket tramps, being there in MY neighbourhood, but still..
Perhaps zey are shipping it over to us to snigger at ow stupid we are to love ze tramp plonk.

I love Paris but I miss Lola. Her passport is almost finalised. Soon she will be able to travel. She is fully vaccinnated against 'La Rage'.

C'est tout.