This is my current theme song. If you’ve never heard it, you should find a copy, stat.

Peter Sarstedt
26/02/1969 – 4 weeks at #1 – 16 weeks on chart

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are

You live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I’ve seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you’re found in Saint Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don’t

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Won’t you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha

They say that when you get married
It’ll be to a millionaire
But they don’t realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

Where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
‘Cause I can look inside your head

(Thanks Miss Alex!)

Exfoliating All the Way to the Champs Elysees

Four more days.
Can you believe it?
I can scarcely contain myself.
What I also can’t believe is that the entire lower half of my body is smeared with splotchy orange streaks that are actually getting darker as each day passes. Thank you Kiehl’s.
With spring in the air and all of my favourite skirts taken out of storage, it occurred to me that my legs are not unlike the pasty, clammy flesh of a freshly plucked chicken. So on Saturday, when I ran all of my last-minute trip errands (on foot, thank you very much) I added some very expensive self-tanner to the mainicure, pedicure, and…er…other bits of grooming that took place.
I got home, read the directions, and even consulted the internet, applying liberally here, and sparingly there, and low and behold, I look like one of those unfortunate souls with a pigment deficiency. Splotchy, Sexy, Good…
A dear friend (who is also very pale – but on her it’s lovely!) suggested hydrogen peroxide, but guess what? It doesn’t work either.
Perhaps someone has a belt sander that I could borrow?
On the up side, a very kind Facebook friend, (who barely knows me, but who must be psychic) sent me this link! Guess what I’ll be doing next Monday morning?

Each New Day Has a Tiny Chocolate Surprise!

I realized mid-day yesterday, while squinting at a computer screen and wishing I was outside, that in exactly two weeks, I will be in Paris! In between packing, and moving, and squatting in the homes of my friends, dealing with work, getting over a cold, and missing dear old Arthur, I have completely forgotten to be excited. Enough of that, I say!

Today begins the advent calendar countdown to the joyous final destination. Ok, I realize that an advent calendar usually spans the entire month, and to some of you the birth of the Infant Christ is a much more momentous occasion than some fruity girl’s running off to France, but the point I’m straining to make is that instead of feeling overwhelmed, tired, and kind of numb, I will wake up each morning and put a stroke through the calendar day, and blink a couple of times while actively digesting the reality that I am going to do something huge.

And it is huge. Infant Christ huge in my world. (Sorry Grandmaman.) Paris represents a giant leap towards freedom and independence, and living the life I’ve always wanted for myself. Everything that has unfolded in the last month, though really emotionally draining and scary as hell is making me feel like I can do anything.

Except in those moments where I’ve had too much tea/wine before bed and I get the nighttime blinkies. (Nighttime Blinkies: Imagine you are a cartoon, and you are in bed with the covers pulled up around your chin, trying to sleep, but your huge, white, blinking eyes are illuminating the entire room.)

Today, I am switching to herbal, and settling in to really enjoy the ride.

Arthur is in full support of this plan.

Pied A Terre

Here is the truly delicious description of my petite home in Paris:

When I moved to Marseilles, I looked for a pied-à-terre in Paris so I wouldn’t lose touch with this magnificent city where I had lived for so long. I found it in the little corner of the Villa Dancourt, a peaceful retreat in an otherwise lively neighbourhood known as being so very Parisian. The Montmartre that I discovered across from the Théâtre de l’Atelier, is a true architectural wonder.
The studio is located on the 7th floor of a building constructed in the 30s where I was honestly “in seventh heaven”.
Well-lit, comfortable and quiet, it’s a great place to relax before running off to follow in the steps of Picasso, Braque and Modigliani who often frequented the Bateau Lavoir, the meeting place for artists of 19th and 20th centuries, it still attracts a large number of current day artists from around the world. Take time to visit the numerous museums, the Sacre Coeur Basilica, just up the street and the galleries along the cobblestone streets of old Paris
Montmartre is also known for its charming shops far from the large shopping centres of Paris. Visit the Gana bakery on the corner of the rue d’Orsel ad the rue des Martyrs, for your morning croissants. Check out the hundreds of cheeses at the cheese shop on the fur des Abbesses. As for bistros, the quarter is littered with them where you can enjoy a drink or a meal all day long. The restaurants offer great food for all palettes. My favourites are “Le Soleil Gourmand” on the rue Ravignan and “Le Restaurant” on the rue Audran.
In short, it’s a true microcosm, lively and picturesque – a true Parisian village. Just 10 minutes from the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs Elysées or 5 minutes from the Opera. Metro lines 12 and 2 are just minutes away and bus lines 30 and 67 will take you to the other end of Paris in 20 minutes.

And who knows, if you ever come to Marseille, I can help you discover some of the most beautiful, nature sites in France.

Are you jealous yet?

Is this thing on?
I’m new to this world, and feel a little out of my element. The world I speak of isn’t just this crazy world of bloggy goodness either. One or two of you (maybe three or four) will know exactly what I’m talking about, won’t you? For the rest, suffice to say that many a great story will be told here in the coming months. At least that’s the plan right now. But it’s just so big, isn’t it? The possibilities are crushing in their hugeness. I swallow back that familiar lump and keep noticing how one thing after another right now is lining up perfectly. Unfolding exactly right. The ducks filing neatly into their rows.
Stay tuned for true stories of living on air-mattresses, and in guest rooms, that will culminate with an amazing journey to the City of Lights just in time to see the tender buds of May. Such a cliche can really only be fantastic, can’t it?