Postcards from Paris

So a couple of months ago my sister and I popped along to Paris and I'm only just telling you about it. I know, I'm awful. But I've been busy, honestly. Not even pseudo-busy, but honest-to-gosh, getting-a-degree, saving-lives, evacuated-from-my-flat busy [more on this later].


With our holiday wardrobes planned and packed, and our itinerary carefully researched [read: searched #paris on instagram], we were off to our little apartment with a view. Balconies are a prerequisite for any Parisian adventure, after all.

As it was my second time in Paris and Phoebe's first, I of course became a seasoned tour guide. 'Here is le Tour Eiffel. Here is Ladurée. Here is the fondue place where you drink MELTED FROMAGE. Voilà. C'est Paris.'


It turns out that doing French AS level isn't quite the waste of time I thought it was, as I understood enough of an irritable man's tirade at me on the train [for future reference, égoïste = selfish], to respond with gallic hand gestures and shrugs. Plus I could order ALL the flavours of ice-cream I could ever want. Merci, Madame Poulet.

Jumping on and off le métro to get everywhere seems impossibly chic, and we have developed a foolproof anti-pickpocketing ploy - walk around incredibly confidently, as if you know exactly where you are going, even if you don't. And then do several confident U-turns to get to where you actually need to be. Maps are for tourists, after all. Sneaky métro iPhone apps are for locals.

Phoebe, as it turns out, despite interning in London for months, has no idea how to deal with buskers. Despite my hissed instructions to not engage, she proceeded to flirt with every Tom, Dick & Henri with a portable xylophone and a métro card. And, every time, after several minutes of being serenaded by these hairy Dick-Van-Dykes, she turns to me and says "I've got no change". Honestly. It's a miracle I had any euros left to feed myself.

And the food. Oh the FOOD. Particularly astute readers may remember the last time I visited Paris I had a torrid love affair with éclairs. A love affair that was tragically cut short. Well, this trip was my 1 year anniversaire with French éclairs. "I missed you so much," I whisper to the éclair, "parting is such sweet sorrow." Phoebe looks at me with confusion. My face is covered in crème patissière. 

All in all, it was an idyllic trip - and our first solo sister-sister holiday. Turns out we can cohabitate in a very small space without arguing, although the litres of red wine probably helped with that. And seeing as I had just been evacuated from my flat because of unsafe masonry, separated from my blender, juicer and other essentials by several padlocks and un-scalable fencing [thanks Glasgow council], it was nice to be somewhere that didn't require a police presence to ward off looters. 

A girl's got to have standards, after all.

Yael Naim - Paris

Snowmine - Columbus

Kevin Drew - Good Sex

Lyla Foy - Easy

Isbells - Elation

Postmodern Jukebox - Fancy (Iggy Azalea cover)