Being able to sit back in a deckchair at my aunt’s house, having had a swim, whipping out my book (The World According to Garp by John Irving if you’re interested) and think ‘well life ain’t so bad after all’.
Three days to go everyone. Three days until I get on a plane with my life, and make my way back to my new home. It ain’t so bad at all.
I have extreme doubts that this confession in any way distinguishes me from the general public, but regardless; it is well known in certain circles that I have a bit of a ‘thing’ for Paris. I would even go so far to say that Paris is my spiritual home. I feel like if I am good enough in this life, I may be lucky and reincarnated into my true, French form in the next. A girl can hope, hey?
This Christmas I was lucky enough to receive How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are by Sophie Mas, Audrey Divan, Caroline de Maigret and Anne Berest from my aunt. You could say that she knows me well. The lady knows how to spot a Francophile at 20 paces, let’s just put it like that, ok?
In all honesty, I completely devoured this book. It’s written in short, pithy chapters and takes you through first dates, friendships, marriage, men, and dinner parties with even a few tried ‘n true recipes thrown in for good measure. It is very tongue-in-cheek but honestly, that’s what I liked about it. It makes fun of itself, in that the authors know it’s ridiculous to want to be a Parisienne, because in some (many) respects, they themselves are faintly ridiculous. But they just do it with style.
I really recommend this book if you’re into a bit of French fun, and secretly believe that having a signature scent really is quite chic.
As a bonus for you all, here’s how to not be very Parisian when you’re taking photos. Even if your leggings are really rather splendid:
If you could be any other nationality, what would it be?
Returned last month’s library books on the day they were due. Yeah boy, I like to live on the edge.
Here’s what I picked up for July:
I love Sarah Waters – I think she is a very evocative writer. Also I love a bit of lesbian erotica, and frankly, who doesn’t? My personal favourite is reading erotica on the bus. Especially when other people can see you’re reading erotica on the bus. Way to go!
My Mitford fix. The most recently released memoirs from the famille extraordinaire. I love how the DD of D is looking so vacantly prim on this cover.
And for a bit of DVD period drama bliss:
It’s practically local history, because Charlie baby lived in Rochester for ages. So there.
Tonight I’m going to look for some sort of Victorian literature book club or Jane Austen book club in the area, and if I can’t find one, then I’ll have to start one, wont I???
This is how I feel about the bliss ahead:
So should you
Anne of Green Gables being The Lady of Shalot.
This series really had a profound effect on me. I guess I’ve never really thought about it before, but Anne of Green Gables really has a special place in my heart.
I remember watching this over and over as a child, and though there are many things I’ve forgotten, the thing I remember so clearly is Anne’s imagination. She was an orphan, and alone and talked too much, but she always relied on herself, and her own imagination to get her out of scrapes. I’m sure, had she really existed, that she was very lonely, but there are much worse ways to deal with loneliness than by pretending that you’re surrounded by friends.
I have a lot in common with Anne. Always wanting to be the heroine in some wild fantasy. Wishing I looked different or was different. But then learning that things you can’t change in real life are somehow changeable inside. Such a rich internal life. I really had that for a long time, and I guess, as I met the man I love, and met people that inspired happiness in me, I relied less and less on that internal life to provide the sustenance I needed. Now that things are a little more difficult for me, I’m finding that I’m turning inwards again. Reading more, imagining more. Is that a bad way to live your life? Should I be actively living, or is it ok to go back to the cave and wait for the sun to come again?
I’m not sure. I’m not sure what Anne would do.
I’m living on a farm at the moment. In Wales. It’s pretty remote, and possibly the place I would have thought the least similar to my home town. But actually it’s not too dissimilar, and it’s giving me both warm fuzzies and a bit of a heart pang.
I had a bath this evening, and here they have a proper bath room. It has a bath in the centre of the room, a sink, and an armchair for a gently talkative companion to relax into. All around the bath are potted trees. Beside the taps is a small orange tree, and tonight I plucked some leaves and blossoms off to scent the bathwater. The ceiling is glass, and the view is spectacular. Nothing beats the sky at night in the country.
The BF came in for a kiss but then left me to my own devices. I love that he knows me, and as inseparable as we are, he still knows when to step off.
I finally got the bathwater to the ideal temperature. I do enjoy extremely hot showers, but there is nothing worse than lying in the bath sweating. It’s gross, so I upped the cold ante. I lay back and read my Diana Mitford book in the candlelight.
Half an hour later I look back and I have the thought that I’ve never had a more beautiful bath in my entire life. Possibly the most beautiful and relaxing experience of my life. I’m always out of my comfort zone, travelling, but here I was content, and my mind still. As still as it’s ever going to get. It was heavenly.
Hello Sam Goodbye Samantha 