Parisian notes

The architects of Paris were traditionally big fans of twirly bits and gubbins. And also faff. I think the correct name for this is Rococo, or romanticism, or neoclassicurlywhirlyism. Or something. Still, whatever it was, they liked it a lot, and at this point we diverge.


Though terribly romantic in some ways – atmospheric and all that crap – it rains in Paris considerably more than people let on it does.


They have a strong respect for coffee, and for sitting about drinking it while watching to world go by. This is obviously correct and right, and proper.


I like their river. It is better, and there are more places for walking and picnics.

My favourite thing about London and New York is their similarity in being kinetic places: places that are seemingly powered by the movement within them, that they were places that just kept moving, and they have small pockets of stillness, and places where people relax, and all of that, but overall, I feel like in London – and from what I experienced in New York – when you move you move and when you stop, you stop for quite a while, and then relax, and never do it in the way of the Londoners or the New Yorkers unless you are a tourist.

Meanwhile, the while pace of life in Paris seems more relaxed, which I think is one of the things that people like about it. It does occasionally however, have a habit of manifesting in people just having a bit of a stand everywhere.

What shall we do today, Marcel?

Oh, I do not know. Although now I think of it I was thinking I might go for a bit of a stand

Where might you stand, do you think?

Most likely right at the top of these busy Metro stairs, smoking, for a few hours, or perhaps in the centre of this Extremely Busy pedestrian junction?

What great ideas! Why dont we take one each?

[Marcel shrugs, like he wants his friend to die, a bit].

A ha ha ha ha! Ok superb then! See you later Marcel!


As any fule know, your enjoyment of any walky-city is directly inversely proportionate to the hurtiness of your feet.

So in brief:

– First night.

– Lovely evening, much food, wine etc.

– Dark corridor behind the street leading to dark courtyard leading to dark stairwell.

– Heels.

– Anna fucks her ligamentty bridge of foot bit up. A bit.

– Again.

– Spends next three days having intermittently lovely time but then saying things like Ow and OW! and What do you mean the Eiffel Towers Still over THERE, for fucks sake?


Parisians are very lovely. Or the ones that I met, anyway.

(The ones that I met in a non-waitrorial sense, obviously)

They were lovely. Parisians, as far as I can tell, like chocolate cake, and wine.

And they like them both a lot.

And any people who like those things are clearly very good with me.


Other than that I quite liked it, and it was a very nice birthday present.

(Not that someone pushed me down some stairs as a birthday present, that was my own special addition)

(And now I am home)