Friday, December 23, 2005


Her Royal Highness Princess Lola wishes all her loyal subjects a Merry Christmas and a healthful and happy 2006.

To those who risked their fingers and dignity in the service of biccie dispensation when Princess Lola's personal maid was unavailable, (usually in rehab) a medal for services above and beyond the call of duty will be bestowed upon those persons postehaste upon completion of the chainmail mittens currently being fashioned by elves in Lapland.



You, my dear readers, will no doubt have etched indelibly upon your minds my post of September 9th (Bonjour Paris) in which I recorded my vain attempts to locate one particular Vanessa Bruno dress. Having accepted begrudgingly that it was not destined to be mine - imagine my surprise when I chanced upon a brand new shiny Vanessa Bruno shop in rue Vieille du Temple. I popped in and there she was, in my size - a French 36 (Jesus, I fit into a size usually reserved for anorexic Gauloise smoking caffeine addicted Parisiennes. Although, ahem, I must say it is a little tight around the bust. Ha!)

* Obviously this amateur snapshot does not do the dress justice. Just be patient!


Location: Streets of Paris
Caca alert: extremely high
Spot on chin: throbbing
Coffee: Non!
Chances of finding out what the hell pumpkin hokkaido is: slim
Chances of actually finding the fucker even if I did know: slimmer

See this is what happens when you try and make a plan. I am happiest bumbling along ready to respond to what the day brings. Always expect the unexpected I say. But today I thought, I'll try making a plan and see what happens.

Well, Pain de Sucre - the amazingly fabulous boulangerie where I was planning to buy my bread was closed. Mais bien sur, c'est Mercredi! How silly of me to expect it to be open when everything else is closed on a Monday. So then I made a new plan to go for a coffee. Cafes serve coffee, you know generally in France. It did not occur to me even to doubt this. But as we know within every assumption is contained the possibility of its' opposite.

The nice waiter explained, hands to head that the whatchamacallit of the something or other to do with the doodat of the hot water thingy was BROKEN (he was speaking really fast ok, I got the general gist). So instead of a coffee I partook of a chocolat chaud and a croissant (the hot milk thingy was in perfect working order). Then, still attempting to stick to the futile plan I made my way to the Pompidou centre which I had unsuccessfully attempted to visit the previous day. ('C'est ferme, c'est Mardi!' the security guard helpfully informed me.) So back to the plan of Wednesday. The Pompidou Centre is open but there is a queue a mile long. So I say fuck the plan, go and get a coffee and watch the queue subside until I can go in without freezing my arse off.