PARIS! PARIS! PARIS! AGAIN...

All that keeps me going during this gloomy week that refuses to turn into spring is the thought of Paris Paris Paris! Although I feel a pang of guilt each time I look at Loly's little face, so contented as she lies purring by my side, I am still super excited about going to Paris. Again.

Can I really keep hopping on the Eurostar like this or am I going to have to make a life changing decision at some point? Unfortunately Lola's usual babysitter is unavailable so it falls to her absolutely favourite adored uncle Olive to feed her while I'm away. This is the only man she has ever had any time for, even purring and rolling over in a most unladylike manner when he comes to visit. Uncle Olive claims he is allergic to her, but only since she bit him that ONE time. So he 'can't' touch her, he claims. No one to nuzzle, oh dear, but it's only for a few days.

There are a few places I must go to. One is La Nouvelle Eve, a 1950's cabaret in Pigalle, which was featured in World of Interiors this month and looks just.so.perfect.

I will also be checking out the new Marc Jacobs store, and how convenient - it's located a stone's throw from the Didier Ludot vintage store which I raved about on this blog before. Of course I will have a look, just looking mind (I wont be buying anything at Didier Ludot because I am not Reese Witherspoon who bought her 1955 Christian Dior Oscars gown there) and then I'll amble around in the Jardin du Palais Royal where M.J who just happens to be there walking his dog will no doubt sit down on a bench next to me and strike up a conversation. Something along the lines of 'oh my God, you remind me of Sofia. But somehow even chicer! Would you consider being my muse? I'll name a bag after you, Louis Vuitton will pay you a ridiculous amount for inspiring me and bringing me the odd fabric swatch or book. Come with me immediately and take your pick of both the spring summer and autumn winter collections.' 'Sorry I'll have to get back to you,' I'll reply. 'I'm in the middle of an adoption process and I don't want to mess things up with Carine.'

And you're awake.
Things like that do not happen to me.

I actually saw Marc Jacobs walking down the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore years ago, when he first got the LV job. Did I rush up to him and introduce myself? Congratulate him for being the fashion equivalent of George Clooney? (i.e beloved by all, can do no wrong) Did I perhaps try and wangle some kind of assistant job by showing him in the space of five minutes how creative and brilliant I am? Of course not. He did give me a kind of funny look though. Probably because I gave him a 'gasp - oh my God there's Marc Jacobs, do something quick!' look.

I would never, ever ask anyone for their autograph. I once stood next to Ewan McGregor for a full 20 minutes in the arrivals hall of an Italian airport. I was the only person who recognised him since at that time Italy only knew him from Trainspotting. (As in 'hai visto Trayyynnnneespottiiiiyyng?) At the airport he had long hair and was about 15 pounds heavier but obviously still you know, hooottt.
I was too shy to say a thing so just stood next to him like a lemon all that time. I also didn't want to draw attention to him. Wasn't that considerate of me? When my friends found out they actually went on a search of the city for him. Not me. Too shy. Too reserved. Too British. And also the reason why I am the worlds' worst networker. I just can't do the claw your way to the top social climbing thing.