And I was like Baby Baby Baby Oh!

People are all about Paris in the spring (unless they’re Woody Allen, then it’s all about Paris, in the 20s, in the rain. Which is fine by me.) But Paris in autumn is where it’s at. Coming out of the metro into air that’s fresher than it probably ever is in Paris, you just wish you could devour the city with your eyes. My friend Elise from South London pointed out that “Paris just seems like it knows it’s beautiful, and tries a bit too hard.” And there’s absolute truth in that. But there’s the rub – Paris knows it’s beautiful.   Er, because it’s beautiful.

It’s funny that as I write this I’m not in Paris anymore – it’s off to Chartres for a few.  But I’m coming back in December with my best mate and I’m stoked. It’s going to be nippy noodles for sure, but all nice and moody and grey and gorgeous.  (& mmm, Christmas.)

Paris, it’s been good times, and it’s early days yet. You are, how do the French not say it, le bomb. As the few creepers that stalk your streets whisper in my ear, so I will declare you: “la bebe”.  And I was like baby baby baby oh! Paris…it’s been said more than enough. Like, hey, girl, you’re a classy city, but your ego’s liable to get too big for your own good if one more person tells you they love you. But I just can’t help it. Something about your river and your people and hey hey hey, your bread.

Hey, Paris?

Je t’aime.

 Love, Tabby